A Last Act of Charity (Killing Sisters Book 1)

by Frank Westworth

  ‘Steady with that. Too much booze too fast can make you throw up.’ Stoner’s half smile was showing signs of revival.

  ‘Oh what wit! Very funny. Practice makes perfect.’ She sipped. ‘Perfection in many things. Something to aim for. Did you know that all men believe that only men can hold their drink? It’s true. I mean it’s true that they think that. But women can absorb alcohol better than men. It’s because of the higher fat content in their bodies. Did you know that? I’m betting another drink that you did not.’

  She drank that other drink before he could reply. He didn’t reply. Poured himself another spirit and turned his gaze to the stage. The house band had left for their break. Stoner observed that someone had placed his Fender on its stand next to his amplifier, that the amp was switched on, lights were glowing. He admitted temptation. But only to himself.

  Amanda studied him. ‘Play or fray, Mr Stoner?’

  ‘JJ. I think you know me well enough to call me JJ. Friends do that.’

  ‘I’m a friend? That’ll be the booze, then. In the morning I’ll be nothing. Just another fan. Or will your morning bring tea and toast with the classy piece in the wig? She never looks away from you, y’know. Never. Do you always have this effect on women?’

  Stoner looked back at her. ‘No. No, I don’t. Do you ever actually shut up?’

  Amanda smiled, wider and wider and the smile split into a laugh. A loud laugh which stopped the conversations at tables around them. She wound down to a wide smile and flicked back another shot.

  ‘I’ll go get the sax.’

  She bowed to the nearby tables, turning more than half a circle while doing so, ending up facing the door.

  ‘Back soon.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Dave Reve settled uninvited into the still-warm seat. ‘Looks nice. Welcoming. Not blonde, so I can feel safe? No?’ He did the quizzical eyebrow thing, settled a soft drink on the table. ‘You getting smashed, Stoner? Thought you were going to do some of your musical stuff. Or do you perform better when rocket fuelled? Do you need a fight first?’

  ‘Fuck off, Dave.’ Stoner’s expression was as welcoming, as amiable as his words. ‘Welcome to the club. The Blue Cube welcomes all-comers to an evening of booze, schmooze and bluesy music. What’s so urgent that it’s dragged you away from a lovely evening of domestic delight at the family hearth? You hoping for another magic blonde? This place is crawling with them tonight. Chap can’t move without tripping over some classy tart or other.’

  ‘Who’s your brunette, then? Looks nice. Nice shape. Wide mouth, decently upholstered.’

  ‘You make her sound like an easy chair. A sofa. She’s a saxophonist.’

  ‘Any good?’

  ‘No idea. Shall maybe find out in a little while, although I am no judge of techniques on things without strings. What d’you want anyway? Tell me now. If I carry on with my Russian friend here, Miss Stolichnaya, and most especially if I remake my fond acquaintance with her sister, the bad lady Pertsovka, I shall soon lose all interest in everything but the girl, the music, the bottle and the night. I’m halfway there, so . . .’

  He looked up, quite suddenly becoming aware that Reve was paying him no attention. He was staring at the bar.

  ‘What’s up?’ Stoner was rushing back to sobriety. ‘Who is it? Who’ve you seen? Is there a threat here? I see none.’

  ‘Back in a minute. You armed?’

  Stoner shook his head.

  ‘No. Do I need to be?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Reve stood slowly, made a show of draining his glass of its non-alcoholic contents, and made his way to the bar, displaying conspicuous politeness to those he moved gently aside. He leaned, elbows to the counter, attracted attention, and ordered.

  ‘Stoner gets no new bottle till he’s played. You tell him that. Please.’

  The barman was a big man.

  ‘You tell him. Man wants a drink, he has a drink. You want to be his mummy, you be that thing for him. I’m sure he’ll love you for it.’ He looked around at the faces around the counter, shrugged, displaying no recognition, and returned to his seat.

  ‘There a problem?’ Stoner appeared harshly sober. No trace of a slur. Eyes active, hands out of sight. ‘Tell me now.’

  ‘The blonde at the bar. The beautiful one.’

  ‘Yes? I have eyes, I can see. She bought me the bottle here. My friend Stoli. You fancy her? You’re acting more like you want to call in an air strike, mind.’ He was relaxing, misunderstanding. Reve’s tension was hidden, controlled.

  ‘She’s the woman from the pool.’

  ‘Say again.’ No lightness now. Stoner took his phone from his pocket. Keyed a text message to Shard.

  ‘The blonde woman is the woman who tried to drown me. No doubts. I was very close. I know exactly what she looks like. She’s the killer. She nearly killed me.’ Reve’s voice was rising, in both pitch and volume.

  ‘Look at me. Look directly at me.’

  Reve did as he was told.

  ‘Pick up the bottle, Amanda’s glass, and pour yourself a drink. Take your time. Look one hundred per cent relaxed. She’s looking this way. She’s very nice looking, my goodness me, yes. I am unarmed and have no wish for violence in here. Unless it’s my own and I’m in charge of it. Look at me. Say something funny.’

  ‘Holy sweet fucking mother of God, that insane bitch is sat at your fucking bar and you ask me to say something funny? You off your fucking head, Stoner?’

  Stoner smiled widely, shook his head. ‘Oh that was funny. That was so funny. You are such a comedian, Dave! Dead right. I’ve called for reinforcements. They’re on their way. Any moment now the cavalry will arrive.’

  ‘You’re talking crap, Stoner. I’m going to arrest her. You might be acting some stupid part as an unarmed superhero, but I have a gun in here, and . . .’

  ‘Oh do shut up!’ Stoner was actually laughing. ‘Forget all talk of guns. You’re not waving some fucking bazooka around in here. The place is crawling with civilians having a good time and no one, cop or no cop, shoots them. OK? Speak up. Are we OK with this, Dave? Say yes and you live, fail to answer and I’ll disarm you and break your head to shut you up. Simple.’

  ‘OK. It’s OK. I don’t understand a fucking thing. Why are you grinning like some sort of fucking maniac, you fucking maniac?’

  ‘Talk about anything. Tell me again what a great fuck she nearly was. I need to do a thing with the phone.’

  Stoner texted. Reve stared, tried to speak. Mumbled. There was a ripple of small applause from near the stage. A distraction.

  ‘Amanda with the saxophone and the wondrous lip technique,’ Stoner replaced his cell phone into his pocket.

  ‘What? I’m losing this.’ Reve reached for a drink. Stoner poured a clear spirit into a clear glass for him. Water for his own.

  ‘Shard’s here. Outside. You know Shard? Harding? Do you pay him?’

  ‘I’ve seen the name, but I only pay to account numbers. But we’re all big buddies tonight, right? You and me, you and Harding? Do you work together, then?’

  Stoner nodded; ‘We do today, I think. I’m going to invite the blonde bombshell over to our table.’ He stood.

  ‘You’re what?’

  ‘You heard me. Turn and look at her.’

  Reve did as instructed.

  ‘Fuck,’ under his breath. ‘It really is her. Fucking madness.’

  ‘Then why doesn’t she recognise you? Why is she smiling at me like I’m Mr Wonderful and ignoring your handsome, manly features? It can’t be easy for a lady who’s clamped those same manly features into her innermost self to forget them in just a few days. Really. I think you’ve got it wrong. I don’t think it’s her at all. I think it’s time to find out who she is, though. Stay there, I’ll go get her. Do you know Amanda, by the way?’

  That expert player was moving importantly through the audience in their direction.

  ‘You don’t pay her, do you?’

  ‘Surname? Real surname? Account number
s?’

  ‘Not a clue.’

  ‘Then I’ve no idea. Idiot. Who is she?’

  ‘Saxophonist. Strange girl. Saxophonists are often strange, but she’s stranger than most. A clue for you. If the blonde bombshell leaves, let her go. Shard will tail her. Have you ever done fieldwork?’

  ‘Yes and no. What do I talk about?’

  ‘Improvise. It’s the stuff of dreams in a jazz club like this one. Just make it up as you go along. Beats learning anything. Follow my lead if you feel the need.’ Stoner walked towards the bar, intercepting Amanda as she headed tablewards.

  ‘Hey. I got the sax, the alto.’

  ‘Cool as cool. Go sit down and introduce yourself; he’s called Dave. He’s a good guy. But nervous. He’s never been in a place like this before and it’s doing things to his sanity. He needs calm. Can you do calm?’

  ‘Ask nicely.’

  ‘I never met her. I’m asking you, Ms Notnicely.’

  ‘Can we go out afterwards? Can we go and, y’know, talk, take a time? I want to hear how you like the way I play. And to, y’know, talk more.’

  ‘Yeah. Fine. Might be very late. OK?’

  ‘I go do calm, o master. Tranquilo is my middle name.’

  ‘Liar.’ Stoner approached the blonde.

  ‘Hey. Care to join us? We keep nearly meeting, but somehow not. You here for the music? You a follower of the blues or something?’ Stoner was sounding almost human. He flicked a hand for another bottle.

  ‘This suit you?’

  The familiar Stolichnaya bottle stood between them.

  ‘And thank you for the other little Russian soldier. Come help sink its brother with us, hey?’

  She smiled. She truly was a looker, Stoner mused as he led her towards their table. And she was over-dressed for the club, so carrying, concealed. Life was packed with visual delights. None of them could be what they seemed. Life was also packed with sadnesses.

  Stoner did introductions. ‘Amanda,’ that lady bowed. ‘Dave,’ that man smiled with strain and looked away. ‘I’m Stoner, as you know, and you are?’ His voice trailed invitingly.

  ‘Charity,’ she smiled. ‘Charity. I believe it’s a virtue. In some. A burden for others. It’s very good to meet you all, but I actually know nothing at all about jazz music and I don’t have a lot of free time this evening. I wanted to talk with Mr Stoner here about a personal matter.’

  She smiled.

  ‘But it’ll keep. No rush. Another day.’ She turned to Amanda. ‘I saw you carrying a saxophone. Do you, y’know, play it here? Isn’t it . . . heavy? Loud?’

  Reve interrupted.

  ‘Charity? That’s one rare name. But don’t I know you? Haven’t we met before?’

  She returned a gaze and a pause.

  ‘I don’t believe so. Where? I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before, but I have seen Amanda and Stoner. Are you another musician?’

  ‘Hardly.’ Reve’s stare was intense. ‘No. But I do know a lot of songs, I suppose. Didn’t we meet before? At . . .’ he paused. ‘A hotel? Near Oxford?’

  Charity’s smile was steady, unflinching.

  ‘Rings no bells here. Was it a concert, a gig or something? I’m no great fan of popular music. I only came here to catch Mr Stoner.’

  She smiled at Amanda. ‘You have talent. Think I’ve heard you play before. Another club, another place. But I thought that was a trumpet, not a saxophone. I’m no real judge of guitars, but understand that Mr Stoner here has something of a reputation.’

  Reve persisted. ‘The hotel had a great indoor pool.’

  Charity looked blank. Shook her blonde head.

  ‘Do you swim?’ Reve could not drop it.

  She ignored him and turned to Stoner.

  ‘Can we meet soon? Just the two of us? I have a business concern which I’d like to share, but it’s a private thing, as they usually are.’

  She turned back to Dave Reve. ‘I do swim, but mainly in rivers and the sea, almost always outdoors. I’ve not swum indoors for a long time now, and I don’t think I’ve ever swum in a hotel. Ever. So whoever you think I am, it’s not me. I would remember you. I’ve a great memory for faces.’ She looked at Stoner as she rose to her feet. ‘I’ve a great memory for names, too, Mr Stoner. And places. May I call you?’

  ‘You leaving?’ Stoner stood. Reve also started to stand, but Stoner’s hand lowered him back to his seat. ‘I’ll walk you out.’

  They headed towards the exit.

  Stoner spoke close to her ear, fighting the noise of the club. ‘I’m sorry. What did you want to talk about?’

  ‘We have a mutual concern. It’s quite serious, and it is not, I’m afraid, going to go away on its own.’

  ‘You’ve lost me now. Something to do with the club?’

  ‘Don’t play silly with me, Mr Stoner. My concern is your current problem. We have a conflict of interest, although it can be resolved. Most things can, given a little effort.’

  She stopped, turned, looked hard at him. ‘We can resolve the problem. And we should.’

  Stoner’s expression drained of any pretence at humour. He looked levelly back.

  ‘Am I looking for you, then? Should I be knocking you on the head and calling the cavalry?’ No twinkle of humour. None was returned.

  ‘That would be a bad thing for us both, Mr Stoner. We have much in common, many shared interests at the moment, but we are not on the same side. It’s important that we keep our heads clear and our tempers cool. Can we meet again soon? I keep coming here and I keep missing you. And I don’t wish to cause a conflict by calling on you at home or accosting you in the street.’

  ‘Give me a number and I’ll call you. Tell me a time and I’ll call then.’

  ‘I have your numbers, several of them. What time do you breakfast tomorrow?’

  Stoner shrugged. ‘Nine? I don’t mind, really. I’ll clear the day for you. Would that be a wise thing to do?’

  They were at the door.

  She smiled. Offered her hand, which he took.

  ‘It would be a lot better if we could work together on this. Better for us both, and a whole lot better for those close to us. I’ll call.’

  ‘I look forward to that. Text or leave a voice message if I can’t pick up. One thing?’

  She stood by the door. The door manager stared fixedly away from them.

  ‘One thing?’

  ‘Dave, back at the table. Dave Reve. He really does think he knows you, doesn’t he? He’s a copper, doesn’t really do mistaken identities. You do know him?’

  There was no trace of a smile in reply. None. Charity looked through him, eyes far away for a moment. A cold stare towards a cold place unknown to Stoner.

  ‘I’ve not met him before. I do know the name. You sure that’s his real name?’

  ‘What? Of course it is, why?’

  ‘You known him long?’ Wherever she’d been to in her mind, she was back now. Returned and focused.

  Stoner shook his head. ‘No. But I have no doubt who he is. And he does tell quite a tale.’

  ‘I honestly never saw him before, not in the flesh, although I believe I have seen his likeness. And I do know who he thinks he’s met. He spells his name Reve, not Reeve. French. Dream, it means.’

  Stoner remained silent.

  ‘Dream,’ she repeated. ‘As in bad dream, wet dream, if you like.’

  ‘Nightmares? That sort of dream?’

  ‘All dreams are nightmares, Mr Stoner. If they’re bad, violent and aggressive dreams, then they’re bad dreams for the dreamer. If they’re dreams of success, fulfilment, winning and accomplishment, they’re bad for the losers, the lost. Someone always plays the loser in every dream. His dream is no different. It’s not possible to make happy endings for all.’

  Stoner reached for her. Failed to make any contact. She was unreachable, untouchable and almost out the door somehow, as though the door had moved to meet her. The door manager looked over. Stoner shook his head. Called across
the noise to her.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Later.’

  No room for negotiation there, Stoner could see that.

  ‘OK. Later it is. Look forward to it.’

  ‘I bet.’ She smiled, bleakly and without any warmth at all. And left. Stoner’s cell phone shook a minute later. Just once. No message. Shard.

  ‘What the fuck was that about?’ Dave Reve’s voice was raised, and not simply because the background sound was loud. He looked confused more than angry. Amanda more bemused than anything. She looked up. ‘You’re not friends, then. You and Charity?’

  Stoner stood by the table, suddenly too tired to sit.

  ‘No. Never spoken to her before. You’ve never seen her before, either, Dave, but she knows, she says she knows, who you’re confusing her with. She knows my cell numbers, too. She should not.’

  Amanda appeared increasingly baffled, and bored.

  ‘Why not? Someone must have given them to her. Obviously. Come on.’

  Stoner looked at her, no smiles.

  ‘Do you have a number for me?’

  Amanda shook her head.

  ‘Neither should she. I hate that.’

  ‘What’s so important about a phone number? Christ, JJ, there are bigger things in life than phone numbers.’ She tried to smile. ‘The guys are on the stage. Are we playing? Is it OK if I play?’

  Reve shook his head again, pouring a drink for himself. ‘I have so lost the thread of this. We need to talk, Stoner. I came to this madhouse so we could talk.’

  ‘You’re correct. This is a madhouse. The time for talking is later.’ Stoner leaned across the table until his face was close to the other man’s. ‘Tomorrow or the next day. Promise. Nothing strange will happen to me in the meantime. I cannot say the same for you. I feel . . . concern for you. You should go to a safe place. A hotel or the nearest nick. I think you should go there right now and I don’t think you should tell anyone – including me – where you’re staying. If your car is nearby, leave it and walk somewhere. Anywhere. If your car is parked a decent distance away, which would be better, then walk to it by a very roundabout route, and check to see if there’s a tail. There shouldn’t be if you leave quickly. Like right now. Go somewhere secure, park your car as far as you can face walking away from it. Use some police safe house. Any one you have access to. And take the card out of your phone. Battery too. I’ll leave messages for you when it’s safe. Pick them up at six o’clock tomorrow evening. Make that the first time you put the battery and card back into your phone. After you’ve read my messages, take the card and battery out again and text back to my number on the brand-new pay as you go phone you’ll have bought before then. Do not use that phone before then. Go now. Go quickly to a place you know is safe. If you actually have any tradecraft, now is a great time to remember it and implement it. Truly. Don’t talk, just go. Out the fire door.’