“What was that, honey? Forty quid for French and straight up? That sounds like the perfect way to round off my business trip. And who knows, I might even pick something up for the wife while I’m at it.”
Most of the other traffic was simply enjoying an early start to the weekend. Inquisitive backpackers, the occasional middle-aged couple and a steady flow of businessmen were all taking in the neon before moving on to more sterile climbs. Here and there I noticed a figure I could tell was neither passing through nor visiting the area for its novelty value. They lingered because the gutters were where they made their living.
You know the type. I’m sure every city has them, but that doesn’t make it any more forgivable. They are the lowest form of existence, drawn to the darkest recesses of modern life.
It was my misfortune to be following one of these limber fuckers as he slid along the pavement in front of me. He walked, stopping every now and then to whisper in a girl’s ear or shake a sovereigned hand, and always with a lecherous leer on his face. His type is a germ that thrives on depravity and squalor. They are the reason these streets feel so slippery.
Still, he served a purpose for me today. As it turned out, Sassie’s was part of his sour little milk round and he led me straight to its tatty pink entrance.
There was a female flunky dressed in a pair of clear heels and fishnets standing outside. The two of them swapped a few words until they saw me approach. As soon as I was within earshot, the germ looked at me out of the corner of his eye and slithered quickly on. I guess he figured me for the law.
‘Live sex show,’ the flunky slurred at me. It wasn’t the most tempting pitch, but judging by the way she was collapsed against the wall, it was all she could handle.
‘How much?’ I asked.
She looked at me vacantly, her head rolling loosely on its scrawny neck.
‘Live sex show,’ she blurted out again.
I sighed.
‘Yeah, I got that. But do I need to pay to go in here?’
She gave no reply, except to pinch the side of her mouth.
‘Look, love, I know that being able to debate isn’t a prerequisite for life as a whore, but the gift of speech is quite fundamental to this whole bartering process. D’you know what I’m saying?’
Still no reaction. I was wasting my time. My comment was soaring in the empty sky above her head somewhere. Rather than wait for it to land, I walked past her and into the club. A few seconds later she called after me.
‘Hey, listen a’ight. You say Mandy sent you. A’ight?’
I remember thinking it strange that she should suddenly regain the ability to speak, but I did nothing about it. At that moment I was too busy worrying about my own safety to question her motives.
Throughout my thirty-odd years on this planet I’ve tried to live my life according to certain rules, and one of them is that I never drink in cellar bars. Drinking without natural light is not only inhuman, but tends to attract the kind of people that thrive underground. Goblins and trolls are great company when you’re one-eyed at two o’clock in the morning, but they soon lose their charms when you wake up with one in your bed. Not only that, I know from experience that this type of dungeon never has enough exits when you really need them.
With this in mind, I approached a dangerously narrow set of stairs spiralling down into darkness. I picked my way down the stone steps and when I opened the black door at the bottom, I found exactly what I’d been dreading: a bar so dangerously claustrophobic that it felt like a converted Victorian larder.
A stubby little stage almost filled the entire space, but there was just enough room for a few chairs to be placed against the black brick walls. I’d been in elevators more spacious.
On the other side of the room, a couple of optics hung alongside a mirror. A young woman sat smoking at the makeshift bar. At the sound of the hinges she turned to face me and it was instantly clear why her job description stated she stay below ground. She was one of the nastiest looking skanks I’ve ever seen, easily the wrong side of forty. The surprised look on her tired face told me she wasn’t expecting custom, though she quickly adapted to the situation.
‘Ah, come, come,’ she said, in a heavy East European accent. ‘You here for free sex show, yes?’
When I didn’t reply, she climbed down from the stool and assumed the role of hostess. It was not a part that came naturally, because everything about her was synthetic: the blue plastic dress, the cheap mismatching hair extensions, and most of all her smile. It looked strained, like the kind of coerced hospitality a hostage might show her captors.
‘You like drink?’ she said, holding a laminated booklet open in front of me.
‘Not right now, thanks. I’m actually looking for someone.’
This one had a few more wires connected than her colleague above stairs (though I could tell there were still some pretty serious programming issues) and when I failed to provide her with the required response, her forehead bore down in confusion. Her bottom lip quivered, exposing a disorderly set of lower teeth.
‘First you buy drink, second we find this someone. Yes?’
I looked at her and then at the drinks list in her hands. I needed to be careful in a place like this, but I suppose it was only right to pay for the information.
‘Alright,’ I said, ‘what’s the cheapest one on there?’
‘Every drink ten pounds. OK?’
I nodded. ‘I suppose it’ll have to be.’
‘Good,’ she said, snapping the little book shut. ‘What you want?’
‘I’ll have a VAT.’
‘What that?’
‘Vodka and tonic?’
‘Ah, yes, vodka. Water of life. I bring it you.’ And she pointed to a sorry looking chair in the corner.
I walked over and looked down at the cushion she expected me to relax on. There were cigarette burns all over it, but most worryingly of all, the fabric was worn through in the crotch so badly the ribbing shone through. I turned the chair sideways and carefully perched on its edge.
She soon threw the drinks together. After handing one to me, she squatted on the corner of the stage, making sure her grey underwear was just visible. The twenty pounds I handed to her went straight underneath her oversized belt.
‘So you like Soho?’ she said, sipping her drink.
‘Not really.’
‘Aw, you do. I know you do.’ She parted her legs another couple of inches and leaned back.
‘Are you businessman?’
‘No.’
I saw her eyes pass slyly over my wedding ring.
‘But you married, yes?’
‘Yes and no. Listen, I’ve bought a drink, so do you think you could help me now. I’m looking for Paul Storer.’
‘Who?’
‘Paul Storer. I heard he works here.’
‘No. Don’t know,’ she said, admiring her dirty toenails in an offhand way.
‘Well, is there someone else here that might be able to help me?’
She began to whine. ‘No. Is no one. You, me and vodka. We party. You drink.’
I took a swallow and immediately grimaced.
‘I must have yours,’ I said. ‘This is just tonic water.’
‘No, they same.’
‘But yours is green!’
That didn’t seem to matter. She turned her head to one side and took another sip of the liquid, which glowed under the ultraviolet light.
‘Great,’ I said, ‘that’s just what I wanted; a ten pound tonic water. Very refreshing.’
She immediately sensed an opportunity. ‘You want more vodka?’
‘No, I do not. Just forget about it.’
Picking up on my increasing irritation, she ran a hand down the front of her dress.
‘You want live sex show now?’ she asked, pouting her thin lips.
‘No, I bloody well don’t. Look, I think I’m wasting both our time here. I’ll come back later.’
I placed my glass on the floor bes
ide me. When I stood up to leave she was blocking my path. All pretensions of seduction were gone and replaced by what was obviously her more natural glare. It was a formidable look.
‘You no leave now,’ she scowled. ‘First you pay bill.’
‘Pay bill? I just did. The money’s in there.’ I pointed at her belt. She slapped my hand away.
‘No, you only pay for drinks. Now you pay for me.’
‘Eh? What do you mean pay for you?’
‘I am hostess. You pay for my time.’
I laughed. ‘Like fuck do I.’
‘You pay me or I tell wife. What would wife say if she knew you here?’
I raised my pointed finger to her face. ‘Don’t you even try to threaten me, love. I’ve paid what I owe, so move out of the way. I’m leaving.’
She didn’t budge and instead pushed me back when I tried to pass. As she did so, her hand struck against my inside pocket and the thick envelope containing the golliwog money. Her eyes lit up.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ I said, buttoning up my jacket. But she knew exactly what I was up to and called out in distress.
‘Rudi, help. Help me, Rudi. Help me now.’
She sounded so convincing I began to wonder if I hadn’t actually done something to harm her.
The wall behind the bar broke open and a huge cube of a man stepped out from a hidden door. The aperture was easily over six feet high, but still he had to crouch to enter the room.
‘What the fuck is going on with this shit here?’ he asked. His accent was the same as the skank’s but his grasp of English seemed a little better.
‘He leave. He no pay. He hit me.’ she said, trying to cry.
‘Hit you?’ I said, in disbelief. ‘I never bloody touched you!’
But it was too late. Rudi was already moving.
‘You dead fuck now,’ he growled, striding towards me.
I stepped back against the wall and held my hands up in defence, knowing full well it was a futile gesture. If this guy wanted to, he could tear the muscle off my bones.
‘Look,’ I said, trying not to panic, ‘there’s no need for this. I already paid for the drinks, I shouldn’t have to pay any more. And I never touched her, I was just trying to leave.’
There were two fleshy spades poking out from the sleeves of Rudi’s brightly coloured biker jacket and he waved them in my face.
‘You pay what you agree to pay,’ he said, ‘or I break you in two.’
‘Hey, I never agreed to anything, especially not for her time. She’s making that fucker up.’
Again I pointed in the woman’s direction but she was disappearing behind her enforcer.
‘You agree, you agree,’ she said, suddenly reappearing with the drinks list. ‘See? There.’
She thrust the little book into my hand and pointed to the bottom. I needed to strain my eyes but right at the bottom of the page was a line of small print. I read it aloud.
‘“Additional charge of three hundred pounds applies for hostess service.”’
‘…applies for hostess service,’ the skank read with me. ‘That right. I hostess. You owe three hundred pounds.’
‘Now hold on a minute,’ I said. ‘That is bullshit. You can’t pull that one on me.’
‘No. Bullshit you,’ she said, and snatched the list back. ‘You agree when you buy drink. You pay three hundred pounds now.’
‘Three hundred? No chance. You can fuck right off.’
Rudi leaned in closer. Much closer.
‘You telling me “Fuck off”, eh?’ he growled.
‘No… no… I’m just…’
‘Kill him, Rudi, kill him,’ she screamed.
‘You better fucking pay up or I turn you to hamburger,’ Rudi said. He opened his giant hands, turning the spades into forks before my eyes.
The skank liked that idea. ‘Hamburger, yes. Kill him, fuck wife. Hamburger fucker.’
If their performance was intended to intimidate then it was definitely working. At that moment all I could see in my future was lettuce, tomato and onion, all served up in a sesame seed bun. I would’ve gladly paid the three hundred pounds they said I owed, but I knew that if I pulled out the golliwog money, there was a good chance I would lose it all. Desperation set in.
‘Look, fuck all this,’ I said, ‘I’ll take my chances. Call the police and get them down here. If the law tells me that I have to pay up then I will, but until then, you’re getting nothing out of me.’
Then a remarkable thing happened. They stopped moving. Like a mythical wizard, I had uttered a spell and frozen my assailants just seconds before the fatal pounce. And that is how they stayed, with only their eyes and chests moving. Until another voice broke the silence in the room.
‘Alright, alright, that’s enough of that talk,’ it said. ‘You pair, the fun’s over. Fuckin’ back off him.’
Like a pair of well-trained hounds, they did as they were told and slowly moved away, the snarl never leaving their faces. A few paces later they were alongside the bar and to my surprise, I saw it was my old friend who had called them off.
‘Paul?’ I said in amazement. ‘What the fuck?’
He smirked when he saw the look of relief on my face.
‘Almost fuckin’ had you there, Mr. Shill,’ he said.
Since we had last met, Paul seemed to have aged badly. Either that or he hadn’t slept for the last few days. His greasy hair was pulled back in a ponytail, with a few irritating strands draggled over his shiny white face. Along with the silky black shirt and leather trousers, it combined to make him look as though he had been doused in oil, presumably to help him slip out of any squeeze he might find himself in.
‘Jesus Christ, Paul,’ I said. ‘What are you trying to do to me?’
He ignored my question and muttered something to his bloodhounds instead. On his word the two of them nodded and headed towards the stairs, scowling at me all the time. Once he was sure they were gone, Paul turned to me again.
‘You want a proper drink?’ he said.
‘I think I deserve one after that, don’t you?’
He continued to smirk, then walked back into the room behind the bar. I could just see his faint outline moving through the mirror and when he re-emerged, he was carrying a cheap bottle of vodka and two tumblers.
‘VAT right?’
‘Yeah, better make it a large one,’ I said.
‘We don’t usually serve it here, but I’ll make an exception for you. VAT’s a dirty word, if you know what I mean.’
‘Hold on a minute, how did you know–? Were you in there watching all the time?’
I gestured to the mirror but Paul didn’t look up. Instead he continued to grin and pour the drinks.
‘You crafty fucker,’ I said. ‘Tell me, would you’ve come out if I’d paid?’
He gave a low grating laugh as he passed me my drink.
‘Cheers, Mr. Shill,’ he said.
We chinked glasses and he lit a cigarette. The pack was about to go back into his shirt pocket when I held out a hand. Reluctantly, Paul passed them over.
‘Maybe I was just trying to get my hands on that fifty quid that you owe me,’ he said.
It took me a second before I remembered what he was referring to.
‘You’ve got a bloody long memory,’ I said.
‘You don’t know the half of it. I never forget a bet.’
‘Yeah, I can see that, but how do you know that I didn’t marry her?’
‘The same fuckin’ way that you knew where to find me.’
‘Darren Clarke?’
‘Darren fuckin’ Clarke. I caught his fat bollocks in the cookie jar about twelve months ago. He said that he still saw you sometimes.’ Paul looked over to where I had been sitting. ‘That stupid bastard threatened us with the police as well.’
‘What, you mean that wasn’t a joke with those two? You actually play that scam for real?’
Paul’s eyebrows were lower when he looked back at
me.
‘Don’t knock it, Shill,’ he said, dropping the formalities. ‘I make a fuckin’ good living out of this place.’
‘Good living? You call that a good living? It’s extortion.’
‘No it fuckin’ ain’t,’ Paul said, raising an authoritative finger, ‘not according to the law. If you agree to something then it’s up to you to check the small print. Everyone knows that, and it’s your own fuckin’ fault if you don’t.’
‘Yeah, but what about the eastern bloc that you use for intimidation?’
‘You mean Rudi? He’s just there for show. Most of the wankers fold long before he makes an appearance, they’re too shit scared of what might happen if their other halves find out.’
‘That is unbelievable. And I thought the local council were trying to clean this part of Soho up a bit?’
‘Yeah, that’s what they say, but they haven’t got the elbow grease. None of them civil servants have got the bollocks to come near us. I mean, would you pick an argument with Rudi if you were on two hundred quid a week?’ He scoffed.
‘Would you, fuck.’
It went against the grain, but I relented. If I pushed Paul too hard I knew he would rally against me, and I needed him to have an open palm, not a clenched fist.
‘So, how you doing?’ I asked, trying to sound gracious.
It took a while before Paul answered. When he did he fixed my gaze, making it perfectly clear that he had no intention of elaborating.
‘Me? I’m as happy as a dog with two dicks, Mr. Shill. What about you? How’s the family?’
‘Good. Yeah, they’re good.’ I studied the cigarette.
‘Oh yeah?’ Paul said, having none of it. ‘Now try looking me in the eye and saying that.’
‘Yeah. alright, I’ll give you that one. Let’s just say we’re taking a bit of time apart at the moment. Nothing serious.’
‘Of course you are, yeah. Time apart, I get it.’ He sounded distinctly pleased at the idea. ‘Same old, Shill, I see. Always fuckin’ things up.’
‘Well, you weren’t much better from what I can recall.’
‘True,’ Paul said, smiling proudly. As he drained his glass, the ice clattered against his yellow teeth.
Felix Shill Deserves to Die Page 7
