Zip Gun Boogie (18 page)

‘I'll be there,' I said. ‘Look, I'd better get back to Ninotchka. I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on her tonight.'

‘I could keep an eye on her anytime.'

‘Very funny. Six o'clock this evening, right?'

‘Right.'

‘Very good,' I said and went to get another drink.

The Miracle
were loitering with intent around the bar. They were still fully accessorised with a bottle and a babe each. The one with most hair grabbed me by the lapel with the hand that held the bottle. I could smell the fumes from either its mouth or his. Whichever, it wasn't pleasant. ‘You with that chick, Ninotchka?' he asked.

‘Yes,' I said, untangling myself from his grasp.

‘Good screw.'

I wondered if his comment was a statement or a question. I shrugged and turned to catch the barman's eye over his shoulder.

The one with the top hat picked up the conversational banter without a fumble. ‘Fucking A,' he said.

I knew that I didn't have to protect Ninotchka's reputation. It preceded her like a fanfare of trumpets. But I must confess I didn't like these guys. I looked at the geezer with the top hat, and his beaky little face with the black thatch sticking out from under the brim of it, and I wanted to re-model his chin. ‘Do you have to be an arsehole to be in your band?' I asked mildly.

‘No, but it sure helps,' said the one in the red tail coat and they all dissolved into raucous laughter.

What was the point? I pushed past them and up to the bar.

‘Pussy man,' said one of them, but I ignored it. It wasn't worth the trouble. I ordered a beer and the bottle was covered in ice and the liquid freezing. I drank it straight from the neck. Pussy? Me?

A voice from beside my shoulder said, ‘You handled that well.' I looked round. A woman in a slinky cocktail dress stood beside me. She had short, shiny black hair cut in a bob. ‘Dignity and strength,' she said.

‘Hardly. More like indignity and weakness.'

‘You'd only have been thrown out. They've got minders everywhere. They like to start fights and let other people finish them.'

‘They're not the only ones,' I said.

‘They'll pick on someone else in a minute, you'll see.'

I looked at her more closely. I didn't object to the view one bit.

‘Have I got a smudge on my nose?' she asked.

‘No,' I said. ‘It's a very attractive nose as noses go, and totally smudge free.'

‘I thought I had by the way you were looking.'

‘Sorry,' I said. But I wasn't. ‘My name's Nick. Nick Sharman.'

‘I'm Carol Daley. But everyone calls me Sweetheart.'

‘I'm not surprised.'

‘Thank you.'

‘It's a pleasure.' Then the penny dropped. ‘Do you work for On Line?'

‘That's right. How do you know?'

‘I was talking about you the other day. I'm working for
The Box
.'

‘Are you? So am I.'

‘I know. You were in Danny Shapiro's suite on Monday night.'

She pulled a face. ‘I was. I heard what happened. And that poor roadie.'

‘It's getting the band's name in the papers.'

‘Sure. But I'm not going back to that hotel 'til they catch who's doing it.'

‘That's what I'm meant to be doing.'

‘Are you a policeman?'

‘Private.'

‘How thrilling.' Thinking about thrilling her perked me up no end. ‘Did you see anything strange that night?' I asked.

‘No stranger than usual. We all sat around and got stoned and listened to music. I always get stoned when
The Box
are in town. I don't mean to, but you know how it is.'

I agreed that I did.

‘I got a cab home about eleven,' she went on. ‘I had an early call the next morning. The next thing was I heard from Lindy that Trash nearly died.'

‘No one was acting strangely?'

‘
Everyone
was acting strangely. That's the whole point, isn't it?'

Once again I had to agree. And that was more or less that.

Another dead end.

‘Are you going to be around for long?' she asked.

‘What, tonight?'

‘No, generally.'

‘Christ knows. I'm surprised I've lasted this long.'

Ninotchka appeared at my elbow. ‘Nick, I see you're talking to the best-looking woman in the room.'

‘I always do,' I said. ‘That's why I'm with you.'

‘Flatterer.'

‘Not at all.'

‘What do you say, Sweetheart?' she asked.

‘I think Nick's right.'

‘I'd like to believe you, dear, but you're paid to say nice things like that.'

Meanwhile a little spat was flaring up about ten yards away from where we were standing. The guys from
The Miracle
were giving Tony Box a lot of stick at the other end of the bar. He had decided not to be as dignified or as strong as me. He might have been wasted, but he wasn't scared of them. Or maybe that was why he wasn't scared of them. And he had been looking for a fight all evening.

I saw the one with the most hair grinning, and the rest of the band laughed, and Box gave him a whack on the side of the jaw that sent him flying in one direction, his Bourbon bottle in another, and the blonde on his arm in yet another. He ended up in an undignified heap at the edge of the dance floor.

Aye, aye, I thought, and moved in the direction of the fracas. I wasn't the only one. From all corners of the room came other interested parties.

It was
The Boxes,
plus their security men and road crew, versus
The Miracle,
plus their security men and road crew. It could easily have turned into a pitched battle, like one of those saloon-bar brawls in the movies that would have suited the ambience of the place perfectly.

As we all squared off Ninotchka saved the day. She flounced through the crowd and stood between Box and the fallen member of
The Miracle
with her hands on her hips. ‘Ah declare,' she said, and her voice took on a slight southern lilt, ‘you two boys should be ashamed. Fussin' and feudin' when we should all be havin' a good time.' She held her hand out to the geezer on the floor. He looked at it for a second, then took it and she pulled him up. ‘Now shake hands and be friends,' she said. ‘Tony…' For the first time she wasn't quite so confident. ‘Tony,' she said again. He mumbled something and stuck out his hand. The guy from
The Miracle
shook it. ‘Good,' said Ninotchka. ‘Now have a drink and let's hear no more of this nonsense.' And she flounced back to me again and the place relaxed and everyone moved away.

‘Excellent,' I said.

She smiled. ‘I've
still
got it,' she said. And she had.

After that, people started to leave in ones and twos. But Ninotchka was determined to party the night away. By the time she'd had enough, it was well past three and everyone else I knew was long gone, apart from Don, who was sitting on the edge of the stage looking like he wished he'd taken up a decent profession when he left school. Finally even Ninotchka had to give in. ‘Nick,' she said, ‘I'm bushed. Let's get the hell out of here.'

‘Your word is my command.'

It was still dark, but only just, when we left the hotel with Don. There was only one Mercedes left in the street outside, and Chas was standing leaning against it. When he saw us he stood up straight and opened the back door. ‘Sorry, Chas,' said Ninotchka. ‘We lost track of time. Are we the last?'

He nodded. ‘No problem, miss. I wouldn't do this job if I didn't like staying up late.'

‘You're an angel.'

We got in the back, and Don got in on the front passenger side, and Chas drove us slowly back to the hotel through almost empty streets.

22

T
he limo slid to a halt outside the entrance to the car park. The barrier was down, blocking our way in. Dawn had just been a faint pink glow over the rooftops as we'd turned under the arch into the mews and the lights mounted on metal poles were still lit, and made dark shadows on the cobbles. The gatekeeper's hut was deserted. Chas tapped the horn lightly. Definitely illegal at that time of night. I hoped the neighbours wouldn't complain. No one showed. He turned to Don and said something we couldn't hear. Don glanced into the back of the car. He looked worried. Ninotchka leaned forward and pressed the button that lowered the partition between us and the driver's compartment.

‘Something wrong?'

‘There should be one of our blokes here. I don't understand it. Lock your doors, I'm going to check.'

‘Want me to come?' I asked.

‘No. Stay here. Look after Miss Ninotchka. Will you wind up the partition, miss? I don't want to take any chances. If there's no one about, we'll drive round the front.'

‘Maybe we'd better do that now?' I suggested.

‘I'll just take a quick look,' said Don. ‘I'll stay near to the car. Now please close all the windows and lock your doors.'

Ninotchka did as she was told, and closed the partition. I slipped the lock on my door, and leant over and did the same on her side. All of a sudden I wished I had a gun handy.

Don got out of the car. He unholstered his pistol and held it in his right hand. Chas kept the engine running. Don squeezed through the gap between the barrier and the fence and walked to the hut. He tried the door knob and the door opened. He looked down, then back to the car, and waved his gun hand, gesturing us away. I hit the button to lower the partition. Chas stuck his head out of the open driver's window, and as the partition slid down I heard Don shouting: ‘Get back. Get away. Go! Go! Go!' Chas stuck the column-mounted gear shift into reverse and slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The limo stalled. He'd given it too much gas.

I saw Don move his head, and look behind the car down the mews, and lift his gun. I looked through the back window as Chas ground at the starter. Someone was running towards the car. A shadowy, frightening figure with wild hair and limbs that looked too long for his body. As he ran his shadow lengthened across the ground which seemed to make him look even more frightening. He slammed against the back of the car and spreadeagled across the boot, and his face pressed close up to the tinted glass. The angle of the floods around the car park lit up his face. He looked crazed. Eyes wide and staring. A straggly beard. Filthy, matted hair and a gap-toothed mouth open in a silent scream. Ninotchka's wasn't. She looked back and put her hands to her mouth and cried an awful cry. As she screamed the starter caught and Chas put the car into gear and we sped backwards, picking up the figure as we went.

Chas was looking back through the open partition, his eyes as wide as those of whoever was leeched to the back of the car. The huge car veered crazily from side to side, and the bumper caught one of the tubs outside a mews house door. It exploded, and dirt showered the back of the vehicle. ‘Stop!' I shouted, and he hit the brakes and the figure was catapulted off the boot.

He rolled and came to his feet, and ran off away from us. I heard the clatter of footsteps and Don ran past the car in pursuit. I slipped the lock on my door, opened it and got out. I ran towards the car park, jumped over the barrier and went to the hut. The door was jammed open by the body of a Premiere security man. I didn't recognise him. His throat had been torn out. The floor of the hut was slick with blood. I didn't bother looking for vital signs. He was dead.

I turned and ran back to the car. Chas sat in the front looking shocked. I slammed my hand on the door sill. ‘Round the front,' I shouted. ‘Quick!' He didn't respond. I opened the door and pushed him across the bench seat and got in behind the wheel. I reversed the car fast down the mews, then out under the arch, and it screamed up the wrong side of the street, and skidded to a halt outside the main door. I didn't bother with Chas. I jumped out of the car, opened the kerbside back door and dragged Ninotchka out, up the steps, through the doors and into the foyer. Two more Premiere men were in the lobby. I quickly told them what had happened, brushing aside their questions. One got on the radio, the other hit the phone on the reception desk. I bundled Ninotchka into the lift and up to her suite.

When we were inside she came into my arms and burst into tears. I held her close. She was sobbing and shaking so hard it was difficult to make out what she was trying to say. Eventually she calmed down a little. ‘Nick,' she said. ‘Nick… My God, I knew him.'

‘Who?'

‘That guy. That guy out there.'

‘You knew him?'

‘Yes.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Of course I'm sure!'

‘Who was he?'

‘Bobby. Bobby Boyle.'

‘Who?'

‘Our old drummer.' And I remembered what the roadies had talked about at dinner. When was it, one, two days ago? Everything was starting to merge together like a bad dream.

‘Christ,' I said, and she started to cry again.