Gun Street Girl (7 page)

‘I'm freelance, Miss Pike,' he said.

‘I think you'd better send me the bill personally for any damages.' Then she leant closer so that only the four of us could hear, and said in pure Australian, ‘But don't try and stitch me up or you'll be chasing me through the courts for ever, or maybe I'll send Nick here to pay you a visit, you little cunt.'

The look on his face was beautiful, and it was mirrored on Vincent's. I realised what she had meant when she said she'd grown up fast. Fast and tough, a real chip off the old block. I'm sure Sir Robert would have been proud of her. I walked over and took the camera from Vincent's grasp and gave it back to the photographer.

The Roller was blocking the street and there were drivers freaking out all the way back to Cambridge Circus. I turned to Vincent and said, ‘You'd better move on. I'll give you a call on the car phone when we need you.'

He gave me a look of pure disgust as he walked away. I shrugged and turned and followed Catherine into the club where Elizabeth was standing by the reception desk, tapping her fingernails on the top. I could see that she was well pissed off.

‘I'm going to the loo to repair my face,' said Catherine. ‘Why don't you look after Liz. She looks as if her knicker elastic just broke.'

I could see what she meant. ‘Okay,' I said. ‘I'll catch you up.'

‘You'll find me in the bar,' said Catherine and wobbled off on her spikes. I went over to Elizabeth Pike.

‘What's the story?' I asked, although all I really wanted to know was the location of the bar.

‘That prick Barrington hasn't shown and the people here aren't happy.'

‘Who's Barrington?' I asked.

‘The PR for the magazine.'

‘Where is he?'

‘How the hell do I know? You're the detective. You tell me.'

‘I love it when you scold me,' I said.

‘No silly jokes, Mr Sharman. This is serious. And what the hell was going on outside?

I explained and she shook her head. I thought I was due a scolding again, but suddenly there was a big commotion at the door and a tall, skinny geezer came bursting through dragging a pretty brunette behind him. I looked at Elizabeth.

‘Barrington?'

The look on her face was answer enough.

The publicist was a long-haired article whose locks had been caught up in an elastic band and pulled tightly back into a single bunch. Personally I've always had great difficulty relating to mature men with ponytails, but that's my problem. What's more, he was wearing a better suit than mine, his shirt had cost twenty quid more than my shirt, and his tie had cost more than my shirt alone. Even the shine on his shoes made my heart ache, so I concentrated on the girl who had come in with him. She was a real blinder, not very tall, but with a figure that could knock your eyes out and a mane of hair as black as the inside of a crow's eyelid that reached almost down to her waist. She wasn't trying to hide her light under a bushel either. The dress she was wearing was a shiny, ruched number in electric blue. It was tighter than a sausage skin, well off the shoulder and ended up just below her crotch.

‘Down, boy,' said Elizabeth.

‘Just keeping an eye out for concealed weapons.'

She gave me a look that could have peeled paint. I gave her a boyish grin back, but somehow lately I think my boyishness is wearing a bit thin.

‘I'd better get on with my job,' I said.

She nodded and turned to the publicist. ‘Barrington!' she yelled. ‘Get into the bar, now.'

‘Hello, boss,' said Barrington. ‘I'll take a rain check on the drinky if you don't mind, I'm a bit late and there's masses to do,'

‘No drinky, Barrington. Talky. And right now. I don't want to talk to you out here. I want some privacy.'

Barrington pulled a face and followed her through to the bar where staff were still putting the finishing touches to the preparations for the reception.

‘And leave the bimbo behind. This is business,' said the guv'nor over her shoulder as she went.

I turned and looked at the brunette who'd arrived with Barrington. She returned my look and said, ‘Don't take it too much to heart. I'm sure she'll let you in later.'

I gave her another look. ‘Not bad,' I said. ‘Off the cuff. Why don't we leave them to it and get a drink? I'm sure we can find a corner out of their way.'

‘Yeah, all right, why not?'

‘I'll take care of this young lady,' I said to Elizabeth's and Barrington's retreating backs. They ignored me. I shrugged and pulled a face at the girl. ‘Do you think that means they approve of the idea?'

‘Couldn't give a fuck. Just lead me to the juice.'

The more I saw of this girl, the more I liked her.

We walked together to the bar. ‘What do you want?'

‘A cottage in the country and a BMW,' she replied. ‘What the fuck do you think I want? Something to get me off, of course.'

A right shrinking violet, I thought. ‘Anything in particular or shall I amaze you with my powers of perspicacity?'

‘Is that like Malibu?'

‘Better and better,' I said. ‘Do you go into training for this?'

For the first time she cracked her face and gave me a view of her teeth. ‘No, it just comes naturally. I'll have a Killer Zombie.'

I beckoned the barman over. He was a muscular clone, all brush cut and big moustache, wearing a white shirt, bow tie and black pants so tight you could see his appendix scar. ‘A Killer Zombie please and a pint of mild for my mother,' I said. The girl gave me a tight-faced, deadpan smile.

The barman didn't smile at all. ‘I'm sorry, sir, we don't serve mild ale.'

‘Make it a large vodka and orange juice instead.'

‘A Killer Zombie and a large Screwdriver,' he said. ‘Yes, sir.'

While he was preparing the drinks, I turned back to the girl and asked her name.

‘Fiona.'

‘Are you with him?'

‘Who?'

‘Barrington,' I replied patiently.

‘What do you mean, with him?'

‘Is he your boy friend?'

‘Piss off … that prat? Not likely. I'm working here tonight.'

‘Doing what?'

‘Don't you know?'

‘No.'

‘Are you kidding me?'

‘No.'

‘You really don't know what I do?'

‘No.'

‘This,' she said, and tugged the ruched top of her dress down to her waist exposing her breasts. I didn't know quite where to look. It seemed that everywhere I went that day women were flashing their flesh at me.

‘Oh,' I said.

‘Page three,' she explained. ‘I'm a topless model. I'm famous.'

‘Oh,' I said again. The barman who was just bringing our drinks didn't turn a hair. He'd probably rather have seen my chest. She pulled the top of her dress up again and wriggled around until it was comfortable, then dumped the umbrella and fruit and plastic crap in her drink in a sticky mess on the top of the bar and sank half of it in one gulp.

‘I'd better have another two of those,' I said to the barman. ‘And bring me another vodka while you're at it.'

He went off to do as he was told and out of the corner of my eye I saw Elizabeth giving me the evil eye from down the bar where she was talking to Barrington.

‘I'll remember next time,' I said.

‘Yeah, you'd better. I'm in the
Sun
tomorrow.'

‘I'll be sure to buy a copy. Perhaps you can autograph it for me.'

‘What?'

‘The paper.'

‘Oh, is that all?'

‘For now.'

‘What's your name then?' Fiona asked.

‘Nick.'

‘What do you do?'

‘Not a lot,' I replied.

She looked me up and down. ‘I can imagine. What are you doing here, then?'

It was a good question, and I improvised. ‘I'm doing a spot of work on behalf of Sir Robert Pike's estate, and as I'm staying at the Pikes' house they invited me along.' It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth.

‘Christ, you're privileged.'

‘Am I?'

‘Maybe not. The old boy was okay. I met him a couple of times. It was a shame about him. But the kids, not a patch. They're a stuck-up lot.'

‘Are they?'

‘You heard the way Miss Elizabeth,' she heavily accentuated the word “Miss”, ‘spoke to Barrington. There was no need for that. He's not so bad. A bit of a pain maybe. But I'll tell you this, he could handle one of these thrashes in his sleep. And the other one, Miss Catherine, ain't much better.' She stopped and looked at me hard. ‘You're not knocking one of them off, are you?'

‘No, nothing like that.'

‘Thank Christ for that. Me and Barrington are in enough trouble as it is, without me putting my big foot in it.' She lurched closer to me and I saw that the pupils of her eyes were as big as saucers. ‘You wouldn't have any luck with that Elizabeth anyway, from what I hear, but the other, the blonde. You could be all right with her.'

‘Is that so?'

‘So they say.'

‘Who says?'

She winked. ‘All sorts. I get around and so does she. But I'm being naughty.' She touched the lapel of my jacket. ‘Perhaps I'm jealous.'

‘What of?'

‘Of you with her.'

I could feel myself starting to warm up. ‘Don't wind me up, Fiona,' I said. ‘I didn't just pop out of an egg.'

‘I bet you didn't. If I didn't know better I'd say you were Old Bill.'

Too close for comfort. Then, like the cavalry to the rescue, Catherine came out of the loo and made towards us, the barman brought our extra drinks, and Barrington headed our way. ‘Here we go,' said Fiona. ‘Looks like I'm wanted. I'd better go and change. I'll see you later.'

‘I'll look forward to it,' I said.

‘Thanks for the drink.'

‘It was a pleasure.'

She pulled a wry face and headed Barrington off at the pass and they went together to the back of the club.

Catherine arrived as Fiona left. They didn't acknowledge each other. I should have known from the start they weren't soul mates. I took a hit off my new vodka. ‘Common little cow,' said Catherine.

‘She seemed all right to me. Do you want a drink?' I felt more like a cocktail waiter than a private detective.

‘Gin, please, large.'

‘You didn't have to say,' I muttered under my breath as I passed the order onto the barman.

Then Elizabeth joined us. ‘Get me something, please,' she instructed. See what I mean? ‘That guy is such a fuck-up, I can hardly believe he's still in business.'

‘What's the problem?' I asked solicitously as I beckoned the barman over again and ordered another large gin and tonic.

‘Just the usual. Lack of communication. I should have kept a closer eye on Barrington. It's my fault, I've let things slip. He's snorting coke over in the Zanzibar with that little scrubber when he should have been here sorting out the guest list. And that's another thing. The guest list. It's just a load of Barrington's broken-down old ligger mates. I told him I wanted A and B people who'd get this reception into the papers and get the magazine some good publicity, and he comes up with every loser in town. I just hope we get some good press people down here or he's out.'

Down or out, I thought, but said nothing.

The barman brought the drinks and Elizabeth took a miserable sip of hers. ‘I wouldn't mind, but Daddy so wanted this magazine to succeed.'

Catherine touched her arm, ‘It will, you've done a wonderful job.' I almost expected a “there, there” from the look on her face.

‘Are the drinks free?' I asked.

‘All night,' Elizabeth said.

‘You'll be all right then.'

‘Thanks Mr Sharman,' she said, covering my hand with hers. ‘I wish it were that simple.' There was so much touching going on I thought we might contact Sir Robert on the other side and ask him ourselves.

The first of the guests started dribbling in around about then. I don't know much about A and B people, although I guessed that I'd comfortably fit somewhere between X and Z. But this crew didn't strike me as exactly the cream of the glitterati. The first few crept through the door clutching their free copies of the new magazine and looking about as happy as the Jackson Five getting ready to entertain a Ku Klux Klan convention. Catherine went back to the loo. Weak bladder? Maybe, maybe not.

‘Jesus,' said Elizabeth, disturbing my reverie. ‘Where did he dig these turkeys up?'

‘Early days,' I said. ‘Why don't you circulate and give the hoi polloi the benefit of your charm and poise? Don't worry, I won't be far away. And listen, I've got to talk to you soon. Catherine's been telling me some things.'

‘Like what?'

‘I can't tell you now, later maybe.'

‘I won't be through until after this is all over. How about tomorrow?'

‘Tomorrow morning, first thing?'

‘As first thing as I can.'

‘It's important.'

‘All right, Mr Sharman, first thing tomorrow it is, I promise.'

Catherine came out of the Ladies'. Elizabeth grabbed her and they were immediately pounced upon by a pair of Gerrard Street smoothies who looked like they were flogging a frozen prawn franchise. I hesitated, but Elizabeth shrugged and made a pushing motion with her hands so I left them to it.

The place was filling up. The prospect of free food and drink was dragging the movers and shakers away from the TV and their usual haunts to check out the first edition of
Cause Célèbre
. A couple of chefs in tall hats were getting ready to dish out a sumptuous-looking buffet from a long table at the back of the restaurant and several waiters were working the crowd with trays of champagne in fluted glasses. It was all very smooth and sophisticated, but the whole set-up made me distinctly uncomfortable.