Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1) (16 page)

              Nodding to the heavy on the door, Nick dropped his hat and coat off at the top of the stairs and paced down into the warm smoky embrace of the darkened bar. He caught a mournful trumpet solo drifting up the stairs as he dropped below street level into a twilight world of whispered promises and broken dreams.

              The place was pretty busy. Nick saw a few of the same old faces huddled in the darkness as the soloist came to an end to rapturous applause. The band kicked straight in to a more upbeat swing number, but no one was dancing yet. It was far too early. Nick ordered a Scotch and soda at the bar and asked if someone could go get Clara from backstage. The barman nodded and headed off behind the bar. He came back and held up a palm, fingers outstretched. Nick nodded. It took some longer than five minutes and it wasn’t Clara that came out but Lou, the manager, lumbering through the throng towards him, neck rolling over his bowtie and fine sheen of sweat on his rumpled forehead and across his saggy jowls. Nick was already on his second Scotch by the time the fat man reached him.

              “Hey, Nick. You been here long?” he asked, one eye on the glass in front of Nick as he lumbered his porcine bulk around the bar to give him a sweaty hug.

              “No not too long, Lou,” Nick replied as they parted.

              “Hey, then that drink’s on the house,” Lou beamed, clapping Nick on the arm. “Now what can I do for ya?”

              “I need to speak to Clara,” Nick said.

Lou’s face creased and he dabbed at the perspiration on his forehead in a somewhat effeminate manner. The guy was light on his feet for a big man. He pushed the silk hanky back into this top pocket and pulled Nick closer.

              “She ain’t here, but you ain’t the only one that’s been asking. What’s going on? I don’t need trouble in here, Nick.”

              “Who else has been asking?” Nick asked urgently.

              The big man shrugged. “Besides you? Some guys came by earlier, before we was even open, coppers I think. I told them she didn’t work here any longer, but my doorman tells me they still hanging around outside.”

Nick nodded.

“Then also Signor Manzelli, over there, from the Italian Embassy.” Lou wrinkled his nose. “I don’t like their sort. They’re always here with those Germans.” His look of disgust changed to a beaming smile. “But they spend well, eh, Nick!” He clapped Nick on the arm again.

              “The German friends of Signor Manzelli been in?”

              “Nah, not since the other night, but you were here then too I think? Something going on I should worry about?” Lou looked around beaming then started to pull Nick towards a quiet corner in the darkness at the end of the bar. “This place is good to ’em, and we’re good, too, Nick. I don’t need trouble. I’m not in trouble am I?”

              “No, Lou, you’re not, but Clara may be. Where is she?”

              Lou shook his head. “I don’t know, she…” He wouldn’t look Nick in the eye.

              “Lou, your loyalty is admirable, but she’s in trouble and I’m the best hope she’s got. If any of these other goons catch up with her, she’s in trouble. So where is she?”

              Lou swallowed and looked back up at Nick. “Okay. I don’t need trouble, so I’ll tell you if you keep it out of here.”

              “Sure, just tell me, Lou. We may not have much time.” Nick was beginning to get exasperated.

              “Look, Nick, just keep me out of it okay. You didn’t hear it from me.” He dabbed at his face again.

              “I’ll keep you out of it, Lou, just tell me what you know.”

              “Okay, okay. Clara called up and said you’d sent her a warning note to be careful, and she thought she might have been followed home the other night, when you were in here. Anyways, she just said she wouldn’t be in for a few nights but to keep her spot open, ’cos she’d be back.”

              “What else?” Nick demanded.

              “I hadn’t finished,” Lou whined. “I don’t know if she’s there or not, but some of the girls told me there’s a boat party tonight – you know, one of those late night paddle cruisers. Leaving Embankment Pier at midnight and cruising down to Greenwich and back.” He shrugged again. “She’s worked those before. I think there’s a good chance.”

              Nick was about to reply when he registered a familiar scent and an arm linked through his.

              “Care to dance?” Lucia slipped between the two men and pouted as she held Nick’s gaze.

              “Thanks, Lou,” Nick said.

Lou was already backing away, winking at Nick.

              “Oooh, thanks for what?” Lucia turned to face Lou, but he had almost disappeared into the crowd. He raised his hands apologetically with a smile and walked away. Nick made to go after him, but Lucia held him firm.

“You don’t want to leave already, surely?”

              “I didn’t enjoy our last dance much. I ended up with sore feet, but okay, let’s dance.” He pulled her to him forcefully, causing a look of surprise to burst on her face as he held her tight against him and propelled her backwards, not towards the floor but towards a dark alcove. Taken by surprise, she couldn’t regain her balance but had no choice but to go with him.

“Where’s Jurgen?”

              “Bastardo! You’re hurting me!” hissed Lucia.

              “It’s getting to be a habit, for both of us. Where’s Jurgen?” As Nick asked he squeezed Lucia’s ribs hard so she squirmed in pain and tried unsuccessfully to yank her other hand out of his, pushing against him with the other. “Keep struggling and I’ll break your wrist,” whispered Nick, flexing her hand back as he spoke.

              Lucia gave another gasp and looked at him with pure venom, but she stopped struggling. He manoeuvred her right back against the wall of the club and she gritted her teeth as he planted his feet inside hers, pinning her legs to the wall.

“I thought you were a gentleman,” she snarled.

“I thought you wanted to dance,” Nick said innocently.

              “This isn’t dancing.”

              “No?” As he replied, he slipped his arm from behind her back and caught her other arm, pinning it to the wall so that he now had both her arms and legs pinioned. He leant his weight on her. “I guess not, but this is much more fun.” They would have looked to anyone caring to glance at them like two lovers in a passionate embrace.

              “You pig!”

              “Thank you. Now didn’t you ask me to come find you when I had some information?”

              “Yes. You have some?”

              “No. I need some.”

              “That wasn’t our deal. You’re making a mistake – a big one.”

              “Who said that I’m still not going to come good for you? But I need to find Jurgen.”

              She gave a throaty laugh. “Jurgen! Jurgen is gone.”

              “What about the information he wanted?”

              “Tell me. What does Carruthers know?” she eased closer to him. Nick pulled his head back. What was she up to? A sly smile played around the corners of her mouth.

              “Nothing. He’s asking me the same things about Jurgen. He wants the pictures back obviously.”

              “Obviously. I’m afraid that they are gone, along with Jurgen.”

              Nick became aware that Lucia’s inner thigh was rubbing along the outside of his own leg. He was momentarily distracted. He felt her shift her balance slightly and their feet scuffled then somehow she had a leg inside his. She thrust it forward and Nick countered by leaning into her. They were now pressed close; he could feel her heaving bosom tight against him, her thighs pressed against his groin. He was losing his train of thought.

“Jurgen is gone, we have the plans, Carruthers is chasing dead ends. It’s over. Consider our deal finished. You can leave Carruthers for us. The pictures might make him useful in the long run,” she breathed into his ear.

              “Where is he?”

              Lucia leant her mouth even closer, her lips brushing the nape of his neck. He could feel the sweet, moist air from her mouth on his ear. “A long way from here.” Her thighs moved. “You like this don’t you, Nick? I can feel you like it.” She pushed hard against him. “What would Clara say?” she sighed in a whisper.

              The spell was broken and Nick pulled away abruptly, embarrassed, but he saw immediately from her triumphant smile that that had been her plan.

              “Men,” she smiled. “Too easy, Nick. I’ll tell you what…” She stalked towards him, placed a hand on his chest. “I’m going to go backstage and get a drink. By the time I’m back you’d better be gone.”

              “What about Clara? You mentioned Clara,” Nick asked angrily.

              Lucia arched a single eyebrow. “I don’t think you were thinking about Clara a moment ago were you?” she pouted. “Go home, Nick. It’s over.”

              He stepped forward angrily. “This isn’t over, not by a long shot.”

              Lucia simply smiled and stepped up to him, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Okay, whatever you say. Then maybe we can do this again, with no one around.” With that, she turned and glided off across the crowded floor, a spectre of shimmering sequins and shining, bouncing, black hair.

              Nick stood there helplessly for a moment, fists balled at his sides. What now? Then he caught sight of the small Italian, happily regaling a bored-looking girl with animated chatter and what looked like copious amounts of champagne judging by the bottles on the table. The man looked surprised when Nick sat down. Not as surprised as he was going to be, though.

              “Excuse us please, ladies. I need to talk to Signor Manzelli here about a matter of business,” smiled Nick. Despite the presence of the little Italian, the girls needed no encouragement to take a break and graciously melted away.

              “What is this?” the Italian began irritably.

              Nick shoved the barrel of the Luger hard into the man’s soft belly from inside his pocket. “Try to raise anyone’s attention, make a sound, do anything and your guts are all over that wall. Understand?” There was a brief flash of incomprehension, a swallow then the rapidly paling man nodded. Nick guessed he’d be sobering up pretty soon, too.

“Let’s not waste time. I know you’ve been working with Jurgen Platt.”

The man started to shake his head so Nick rammed the gun in hard and leaned close, making the man recoil in fear.

“I said let’s not waste time. You can tell me what I know you know, right here, now, and you can go on having your pleasant evening boring those poor girls to death and squandering your money on champagne to still go home alone. Or you can leave with me now and we can discuss it in private. What’s it going to be?”

The little man was actually shaking. He looked at Nick dumbfounded.

Nick shook his head and hooked his arm round the Italian’s and started to get to his feet. “Too bad for you…”

              “Wait! Wait! Please. I cannot tell you anything. I–”

              “Then I’m afraid that your evening’s going to end very badly.” Nick half stood, but the Italian dug in.

              “No wait. What is it you want to know?”

              “Where is he?”

              The man looked around as if hoping that some help might come, but there was no one and Nick prodded him again with the gun. He didn’t have the stomach for this. Nick could tell.

“I…” He looked at his watch and smiled. “He is on a boat.”

              “What?” Nick said confused.

              “It’s too late; you have missed him. Jurgen is leaving. He is going to rendezvous with a boat in the tideway then straight across to Germany.” The man smiled at Nick’s obvious confusion.

              “What boat?”

              “I don’t know. He leaves on a party boat from Embankment then he meets another boat at Greenwich.” He pulled his arm away angrily. “That is all I know. But you know I am a diplomat; your government will hear about this. I will take this all the way to the top. I…”

              But Nick was already gone, sprinting up the stairs and out into the night, without even stopping for his coat and hat.

CHAPTER 17

Nick didn’t stop running until he could see the river. Pelting headlong through the streets, scattering the late-night walkers, he arrived at the Embankment panting, suit dishevelled and bathed in sweat despite the chill of the night. Ahead he could hear lively jazz and see the bright lights of a boat sitting alongside the Embankment Pier. A column of steam rose up from its tall funnel, whipped quickly away by the river breeze. Garlands of light bulbs sparkled draped along the length of the gleaming white boat, illuminating dozens of black-jacketed men and brightly dressed women thronged on deck, clutching champagne glasses or sipping cocktails. A whistle blew and Nick sprinted again, staggering onto the gangplank to the amazed and outraged stares of both guests and crew.

              “Sir! This is black tie, invitation only!” barked a deckhand at the top of the plank as Nick had already barged roughly past a surprised purser at the bottom of the plank.

              “Police!” Nick barked. “Don’t put that plank up. I’m looking for someone. Get me your captain.”

              “Sir!” replied the sailor in automatic response. He recovered himself almost instantly and looked at Nick suspiciously, before darting off. Nick’s gamble had paid off but he knew he’d only brought himself a bit of time. Behind him he could hear the sailor start barking commands out. There was a commotion on the plank and they wouldn’t be sailing just yet, not with the police on board, at least until they’d located the captain. That wouldn’t take long.

              The upper deck extended forward and towards the stern. It was full of people admiring the London night skyline as they sipped their champagne. Nick urgently snaked his way up towards the bow of the boat, scanning the crowds desperately for any sign of Clara. The guests were already merry. Nick pushed through a particularly large group with mumbled apologies. They pawed at him and tried to hold onto him to get him to dance. He angrily shook them off. The boat was perhaps two hundred feet long; it didn't take him long to skirt around the fore deck, back down the far side and to the smaller stern area. Clara was nowhere to be seen, but he had noticed that the music was being piped up by speakers. He rounded the stern but quickly ducked back. A group of sailors and officers stood at the top of the plank in feverish conversation. Nick stuck his head back round and saw an older officer – it must have been the captain – start pointing men in different directions as he impatiently looked at his watch. Nick cursed and dived inside, into the upper salon.

              He pushed his way through a cramped bar area. He didn’t see the attraction of boats like this himself; the ceilings were low, the walls at curved angles, the people were squashed around the bar clamouring for drinks. It reminded him of the horrible voyage he’d had across an inclement channel to the front all those years ago. It had seemed like hell at the time, but then he’d got to the front. He shook his head to clear the memories. How many rooms did this thing have?

Pressing through the bar, a corridor opened up in front of him, bathed in the glow of small ceiling lights. He rushed down it and to the forward saloon. Here was where the band was set up on a large stage at the front of the saloon area. People were already dancing energetically and Nick paused in a corner as he tried to get his bearings. There would be another deck below this one, possibly another after that open to the public. He looked at his watch; it was already five past midnight. Would they even wait to find the policeman or give the order to sail irrespective?

              A lithe form in a shimmering red dress drifted past, long, blonde hair flowing, held back by a small, glittering tiara. Nick lunged. “Clara!”

              The woman turned and gave a laugh. “Sorry, honey.” She looked him up and down. “You wanna dance?” She moved forward but Nick gently pushed her away with a shake of his head, already desperately quartering the room with his gaze. There were statuesque blondes everywhere, which didn’t make his task any easier. It was darker in here and everyone was moving around so much, his head practically bumping the ceiling, and to cap it all, the floor actually curved up. He was lost in a sea of ever-changing swaying and bobbing heads, adrift in a sea of swinging jazz and good times. Then he had an idea. Nick forced his way through the dancers like an icebreaker patiently pushing through the mush of semi-frozen pack ice. Hands pulled at him, bodies twirled in front of him, but he made the stage and hopped up, to the surprise of the musicians.

              “Hey, man, what you doing? You’re not allowed on the stage.” The singer sidled up to him, holding the microphone away at arm’s length.

              “Police!” Nick growled.

The man gave a shrug and dipped back to the microphone and continued singing. A few people near the front had looked up at Nick, but the majority were too intent on having a good time to clock the tall, well-built man in the worn-looking suit scouring the audience. The crew noticed, though, especially the sailor that had been sent to look for him. Nick caught the man’s eye. He was at the far end of the saloon to the stage and now began fighting his way through the dancing people, causing a commotion. Nick looked around desperately, shielding his eyes from the glare of the stage lights. Then he saw her, towards the back of the room, talking to another girl. He squinted, but he was sure.

              Nick dived off the stage and plunged through the crowd with less grace than he had done on the way up. He could feel the mood in the room change as angry shouts went up from where the sailor was forcing his way through. And behind him, Nick left a trail of trodden toes and spilt drinks. Clara looked up in surprise as he grabbed at her arm.

              “Nick, I–” she began. She looked gorgeous, her hair was up and she was encased in a glistening, metallic-blue gown that matched the light of her eyes, her lipstick shone deep red and he kissed her, hard, passionately. She resounded and when he stopped and pulled back to look at her, she had that look of love and surprise in her eyes. “Nick, what–?”

              “You’ve got to get off the boat. Now,” Nick spat as he began to steer her away from her confused companion.

              “But, Nick, I’m singing later on. Haven’t we left the pier already? What’s going on?”

              Her feet skipped in her stilettos in her effort to keep up with him as he pulled her out of the saloon bar and down the far-side corridor.

              “There’s no time, but you’re not safe on here. You need to get off this boat. Don’t go home, don’t go to my place and don’t go to The Blue Rose.”

              “Nick! You’re scaring me? What’s going on? I need to get off the boat? Aren’t we getting off together?” Her face had creased in concern and the sight of it caused pangs of regret to run through him, regret that he’d got her mixed up in this, that something could happen to her. He should go with her. But Jurgen was on the boat, with the plans and the photographs. He had to finish this.

              “I can’t explain now, honey. But you are in danger. Please, get off the boat, get a taxi and get out of here. I’ll be right behind you.”

              “I don’t understand. I won’t go!” She thrust her bottom lip petulantly. Nick grabbed her by both arms and shook her, looking deep into those baby blue eyes.

              “Clara, please. Trust me. Just get off, get somewhere safe.” He peeled off a note. “Check into the Langham for the night. I’ll meet you there.”

              “Nick, that’s expensive. Why can’t I go home?”

              “I’ve got the money. Don’t worry, just go. I’ll meet you there.”

She stood looking at him, a tear beginning to well in the corner of her eye. It broke his heart. He pulled her round to the shore-side of the boat and pointed at the gangplank. “Please, Clara, go. I love you.”

              She looked at him, bit her bottom lip, looked at the gangplank then back at Nick and wiped away a tear. “My coat…”

              “Forget your coat. We’ll come back for it. Go!” he commanded and gave her a little push.

“Nick.” She turned to him, eyes ablaze with anguish. “Forget this. Come with me. Let’s go.”

But he wasn’t listening. He gave her another push. “Go!” he shouted.

As if in a daze, she tottered off. The officers at the plank asked her if she was all right. Nick saw her nod and sniff without saying anything, then, holding the rail, she carefully made her way down the plank. Halfway down, she stopped and looked back, right at Nick, her face frozen in an uncertain half-smile. Nick smiled back at her and nodded. She turned away and carefully skittered off the plank. He watched her walk slowly up the pier and onto the Embankment. She hailed a passing cab and clambered in without looking back. Nick allowed himself a sigh of relief. The relief didn’t last long, though; men were casting off the ropes. They scrambled aboard and the gangplank was lowered away, the rail secured. They were leaving.

              They’d obviously decided that Nick probably wasn’t police, which, Nick had to admit, really wasn’t such an unfair supposition. He’d run on without a coat or hat then evaded all attempts to speak to the crew. The captain probably had to sail with the tide. Nick wasn’t terribly up on boats; he’d never really liked them since a disastrous sailing holiday on the Norfolk broads as a very young child, the chief memory of which was lying on the damp bottom of a wooden clinker-built yacht being violently sick for days on end. He’d then avoided them until sailing to France. Since then he’d made a conscious effort to avoid waterborne transport when possible. As the boat slowly pulled away and the gap between the quay and the boat widened into an oily black chasm of frothing water, he reflected that on this occasion he’d just have to make do.

He was dying for a drink, but he couldn’t risk going to the bar. He’d stand out too much without black tie and who knew how many of the crew had been alerted to the presence of the bogus policeman? Instead, he worked his way back inside, keeping his head bowed and crouching slightly to drop below head height of the other revellers. Sticking to the curved edges of the room as much as he could, Nick took his time, slowly working his way round, scanning the faces once more, but this time looking for someone altogether different.

Under his feet, the deck trembled and he could feel the pulse of the engines running through the boat, even above the stamping of the dancing feet. This was no way to travel and Nick could feel the first uncomfortable rumblings in his stomach as the boat began to sway as it moved farther out into the flow of the dark river.

              Nick breathed deeply and paused at a bulkhead. This was impossible. He didn’t feel good and he was not only trying to find someone on board this boat crammed with hundreds of people all moving around as they circulated between bars, but also trying to avoid being collared by the crew. He’d just had a narrow escape, managing to duck from the inner corridor to the outer deck as a sailor walked past. He sucked in the cold night air and watched the dark, southern bank of the Thames drift by. Nick stood by the railing for a while. Behind him were the bridges and lights of London. Big Ben stood shining in the darkness framed by the strings of lights running along the Embankment. A pale yellow glow hung above the city, between the low, dark clouds and the rooftops. He’d give anything to be back on dry land, safe, with Clara. The thought of her spurred him on. He wanted to get this done before Greenwich.

              Re-entering the interior of the boat, Nick picked his way gingerly down a steep staircase towards the bowels of the vessel. He’d entered another, smaller and altogether quieter room, some sort of snug. It was richly carpeted, had oak-panelled walls, oil paintings and a small bar. Here comfortable armchairs sat round small table and there was a low hubbub of conversation as people rested from the dancing, the thudding footsteps of which could be heard on the ceiling directly above. The room was well lit and Nick was still in the darkness of the small passage outside, so he could scan the room. Then he saw them – Jurgen and his companion Gunther Braun. Nick cursed inwardly; he’d been expected Jurgen alone. A small leather folder, like an orders case, sat on the table between them. That had to be it. It was fairly thick, probably waterproof, Nick guessed. The men seemed in good spirits. They had brandies and were chatting animatedly, not really paying attention to the room or their surroundings. As far as they were concerned they were as good as gone, home safe if not quite dry. Well, Nick would soon change that.

              He took a quick look around. The other drinkers were mainly couples, some older men; most were sitting, a few standing idly as they drank. Jurgen and Gunther were at an angle from the door. If they didn’t look directly up they shouldn’t see him. Nick looked behind him. The staircase he’d come down looked to be the only way leading directly back onto the deck. There was another door off the lounge, but that might take him deeper into the ship. Once he had the plans, he had nowhere to go, except to the captain. Once he showed him the contents of that wallet, he’d be sure to hold the Germans and turn the boat around. Nick hoped so anyway. Unless he was in on it of course. Nick paused and thought. Rendezvousing boats at night wasn’t easy. What were the German’s proposing to do? Jump overboard or have a boat alongside? The captain and crew would need to help surely. Nick bit his lip. He couldn’t risk it. He took a deep breath. There was only one thing to do, but he’d have to be fast.

              Nick eased the Luger out of his pocket and held it down by his side, hoping that no one would look down as he crossed the lounge. His heart was beating hard as he eased the safety off. Gunther was the man facing him and he looked up in surprise as Nick reached their table. That surprise turned to alarm and he jerked in the seat as if making to stand, but Nick raised his arm part of the way so the man could see the pistol. Jurgen had whirled at Gunther’s sudden movement, hand darting to the inside of his jacket and now he sat, twisted, glaring at Nick.