"That's dwarves, not Smurfs," said Donovan, refilling their glasses.
"But, yeah, it's a crazy fucking world all the same."
Fullerton sipped his champagne.
"Do you want a lap-dance?" he asked.
"You're not really my type, Jamie, but thanks."
"You know what I mean," said Fullerton. He waved at the girls on the podiums.
"My treat."
"Maybe later," said Donovan. He frowned as he saw someone he recognised walking into the club. Ricky Jordan. Jordan waved and walked over. He was with a short stocky man with close-cropped grey hair.
"Den, didn't know this was one of your haunts, "Jordan said. Donovan stood up and the two men hugged. Donovan introduced him to Fullerton. They shook hands. Jordan introduced the other man as Kim Fletcher. Donovan had met Fletcher before, he was one of Terry Greene's crew.
Fletcher patted Jordan on the back and said that he had business to take care of in the office. Before he left he motioned for Sabrina to bring over another bottle of champagne.
"On the house," he said.
"How did it go with Jesus?" Ask Donovan "Sweet," said Jordan.
"Seems like a sharp guy."
"Be careful, Ricky. He's a vicious bastard."
"It's only business, Den. We've got the cash and the gear's on the way. Volkswagen Beetles, huh? Whose idea was that?" He slapped Donovan on the back.
"Jesus's uncle. Carlos."
"Fucking brilliant. Beetles. This one could run and run, Den."
"Yeah," said Donovan.
Sabrina arrived with champagne and a glass for Jordan.
"What was your problem with him, Den?"
"Water under the bridge, Ricky. Forget it."
"Takes me and Charlie to the next level."
"Yeah, well, just remember who helped you on the way, yeah?"
Jordan leaned over and clinked his glass against Donovan's.
"Cheers, mate."
"Yeah," said Donovan ruefully.
"Cheers."
Fullerton banged his glass against Donovan's.
"Down the hatch," he said.
"What's this about VWs? If you want a car, I can get you a deal on a Porsche."
Jordan threw back his head and laughed.
"Bloody hell, Den. Where did you get him from?"
"We're not buying VWs, Jamie," said Donovan.
"Bloody right, we're not," said Jordan.
"I'm confused," said Fullerton.
"Good, let's keep it that way," said Donovan. He threw a warning glance at Jordan. Fullerton had done a great job selling Donovan's paintings, but he still wasn't sure how much he could be trusted.
"How's it going, boys?"
The three men looked up. It was one of the pneumatic blondes. Jordan leered up at her.
"Getting better by the minute," he said.
"You're new, aren't you?"
"I'm twenty-two," she said. She shook her platinum-blonde hair, which reached almost to her waist. A small gold stud pierced her belly button.
"I meant.. Jordan started, but then he grinned.
"Forget it," he said.
"Go on, then, darling, do your stuff."
The other blonde who'd been dancing on the podium walked over, swinging her hips and flashing Donovan a beaming smile.
"I'm Angie," she said. She slipped her arm around the other girl's waist.
"She's Kris."
"With a K," said Kris.
Fullerton leaned over the table.
"I know you, don't I?" he asked Kris.
Kris put her head on one side and pouted as she looked at him.
"Don't think so."
"How long have you worked here?"
Kris frowned as if he'd asked her to solve a difficult mathematical equation.
"A week. I was at one of Terry's other clubs. He asked me to move here for a bit."
"Which club?"
"Angels. Marble Arch."
"Didn't know Angels was Terry's."
"Yeah, it was his first club," said Donovan.
"I used to drink there all the time."
"I've seen you somewhere, I know I have," said Fullerton.
"Leave the girl alone, Jamie," said Donovan. He held out his hand.
"Come and give me a dance, Kris."
"Give?" she said, tossing her long blonde hair.
"Nothing here's for free, you know."
"I saw her first," said Jordan.
"Let her choose," said Donovan. He grinned up at Kris.
"Lady's choice."
She looked at him, then at Jordan, then back at Donovan. Her smile widened and Donovan knew that he'd won. He grinned at Jordan.
"Never mind, mate."
"Yeah, she probably goes for older men," said Jordan.
"I do actually," said Kris, taking off her bikini top and releasing her impressive breasts.
"Bloody hell," said Fullerton, then he yelped as Mimi prodded him in the ribs.
"Hey, I was only looking," he said.
Mimi had climbed down off the podium without him noticing. She sat down next to him and put her hand on his thigh.
"Are you going to buy me a drink or do I have to go back to the sad bastards over there?" she asked, pointing at the suited businessmen sitting around the podium.
"You drink what you like, lover. I am yours to command."
Angie took off her top and straddled Jordan. His hands went up to her breasts.
"No touching," she said.
"Club rules."
Jordan took out his wallet and slipped the girl two fifty-pound notes.
"I can touch what the hell I want," he said.
"Ricky's rules."
Angie slid the notes into the top of her white stockings and thrust her breasts into Jordan's face. He sighed and slid down the sofa.
Kris laughed. She held out her hand to Donovan.
"Kris," she said.
"Yeah, you said."
"And you are?"
Donovan grinned.
"The guy you'll be dancing for." He settled back on the sofa. Kris started to dance, a slow sinuous grind, her green eyes fixed on his. She had full lips and white, even teeth and she smelled of fresh flowers.
She put her lips close to his ear.
"Really, what's your name?" she whispered.
"Mr. Mysterious," said Donovan.
Kris wrinkled her nose.
"I know who you are, anyway." She pushed her breasts together with her upper arms, emphasising her cleavage.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You're Den Donovan."
Donovan frowned.
"How do you know that?"
"One of the girls told me. You're a friend of Terry's, aren't you?"
"Which girl?" asked Donovan suspiciously.
"Elizabeth." She jerked a thumb towards the podium.
"The black girl. She's been here for years. Knows everyone. Remembers you. Said you were a big tipper and that you liked blondes."
Donovan relaxed.
"That sounds about right."
Kris was an accomplished dancer, totally at ease with her body. Donovan looked across at Fullerton, who had a glazed look on his face as Mimi ground herself against his hips, her mouth open and inviting.
Kris leaned forward, pouting and pushing her breasts together and giving him a close-up of her cleavage. Donovan felt himself grow hard and shook his head, annoyed at himself for reacting so physically to her charms. She saw the effect she was having on him and grinned.
Jordan was having simulated sex with Angie. She was sitting astride him and kissing him full on the mouth as she pounded against him.
The track came to an end and Donovan reached for his wallet. Kris shook her head.
"First one's on me, Den."
"What?"
"It's not always about money. Specially for a friend of Terry's."
Den took a fifty-pound note from his wallet and handed it to her.
"You're working," he said, 'and I'm a pun
ter. Take it."
Kris looked like she would argue, but then she smiled and took the money.
"Thanks."
"Pleasure was all mine."
"Another?"
"Later, yeah?"
Kris kissed him on the cheek and sashayed back to the podium. She waved without looking back, knowing that he was still watching her, and he smiled to himself.
Jordan patted Donovan's leg.
"Good here, in nit
Fullerton had opened his eyes again. He leaned over to Jordan and winked conspiratorially.
"Hey, Ricky. Fancy a line?"
"Dead right," said Jordan.
"Den?" said Fullerton, and he tapped the side of his nose.
Donovan glared at Fullerton.
"For God's sake, Jamie. Are you still carrying?"
"Just a bit. Couple of lines."
"Didn't you hear what I said to you before? I don't go near gear."
"Leave him be, Den," said Jordan.
"Yeah, well, you can say that when we're all behind bars."
"We're among friends here," said Jordan.
"Ain't that right, Jamie?"
Fullerton gave Jordan a thumbs-up.
"You're as bad as each other," sighed Donovan.
A waitress was waving at Kris and miming that she had a phone call. Kris climbed down off the podium and hurried towards the bar area where a barman was holding the phone up.
"Come on, Den," said Jordan.
"Lighten up."
Donovan shrugged. Maybe he was being over-cautious. Jordan was right, Lapland was safe territory. An undercover cop wouldn't get within half a mile of the place, and those cops who did drink in the club were as bent as Dicko Underwood.
Jordan and Fullerton stood up and headed for the bathrooms. Donovan followed them, shaking his head. He liked Fullerton, but he seemed to be thinking with his nose.
Jordan pushed open the door to the gents' and checked that the cubicles were empty. As Donovan stood at the urinal, Fullerton used a platinum American Express card to shape six lines of cocaine on the marble surround of one of the sinks. They were long, thick lines. Fullerton was either a very heavy user or he was trying to impress.
Jordan rolled up a twenty-pound note and sniffed up two of the lines and then handed the rolled-up note to Fullerton.
"Oh, that's good," said Jordan.
"I'll take five kilos of that."
"Personal use?" asked Fullerton.
Fullerton attacked his two lines, then laughed as he licked his finger and ran it along the marble to get the last of the powder, which he then rubbed along his gums.
"You missed a bit, "joked Donovan, as he zipped up his flies.
"Oh, wow," said Jordan.
"Can you feel that?"
"Are you sure you don't want some, Den?" asked Fullerton.
Donovan shook his head.
"Never touch it," he said.
"All done?" Fullerton asked Jordan.
"Oh yes," said Jordan. He grabbed Fullerton by the back of the neck.
"You're all right, Jamie. You're a bit mouthy, but you're all right."
Fullerton had a lop-sided grin on his face and he was blinking rapidly.
"You're all right too, Ricky."
"Bloody hell, are you two going to get married, or what?" said Donovan. He pulled open the door.
"Out you go or I'm throwing a bucket of water over you."
The two men left and Donovan followed them. Jordan put his arm around Fullerton's shoulders and then tried to trip him up. Donovan sighed. They were behaving like a couple of schoolkids.
Kris was still on the phone and she was pacing up and down as she talked. Donovan went over to her.
"You should call the police," she said into the phone. She flashed Donovan a tight smile and pointed at the receiver.
"Friend of mine's got a problem," she mouthed.
"You can't let him get away with shit like that, Louise," said Kris into the phone.
"Next time he might have a knife."
"Anything I can do?" whispered Donovan.
"No, it's okay, Den," said Kris, then she held up her hand to silence him as she listened to whoever it was she was talking to. Kris sighed.
"Den Donovan, he's an old pal of Terry's."
"Not that old, thanks," said Donovan.
Kris shook her head and turned her back on him. Then she looked at her watch.
"Okay, I'll come. Of course I will." She listened again, and then she turned around to look at Donovan.
"Yeah, I'll ask him." Kris nodded.
"I know, I'll see what he says." She handed the phone back to the barman.
"Louise is a friend of mine; we worked together at another of Terry's clubs, Angels. A customer has just followed her home and tried to rape her. He's not there now but she's scared stiff that he might come back. I don't suppose you'd .. ."
"Of course," said Donovan without hesitation.
"Knight in shining armour, me."
"Really? I don't want to spoil your evening."
"Come on. What's the choice? Drinking champagne with a couple of coke-heads or rescuing a damsel in distress?"
Kris grinned.
"Thanks. She sounded really desperate. Thing is, we're not allowed to leave with customers. You know the car park around the back?"
Donovan nodded. That was where Fullerton had parked his Porsche.
"Give me five minutes and I'll meet you there. Blue MGB." She hurried off.
Fullerton was ordering a fresh bottle of champagne when Donovan got back to the table. Mimi was draped on his arm and caressing his thigh. Angie was giving Jordan a personal dance and had stopped complaining about him pawing her. Donovan sat down and sipped his champagne. After five minutes he put down his glass and patted Fullerton on the shoulder.
"I'm off," he said.
"I'll come with you," said Fullerton. He tried to stand up but Donovan pushed him back down.
"You enjoy yourself," he said.
"I'll get a black cab. Catch you later. And thanks again for the paintings. You saved my life."
Before Fullerton could say anything, Mimi leaned over and clamped her mouth over his. Donovan waved at Jordan, gave him a thumbs-up and headed for the door. The doormen all said goodbye to him and used his name, so they'd obviously been briefed that he was a friend of the owner.
Kris already had the engine running. She had changed into tight blue jeans and a light blue long-sleeved woollen top that showed off her washboard-flat midriff.
"Quick, get in," she hissed. As soon as Donovan had closed the door she pushed down on the accelerator and shot out of the car park. She turned away from the club.
"God, I'm in so much trouble if anyone saw you," she said.
"It's okay. Nobody did," said Donovan.
Kris stamped down on the accelerator and shot through a traffic light that was just turning red. She screeched around a corner and whipped the MGB in front of a double-decker bus. Donovan squinted into Kris's driving mirror. Any car that might have been following would have been trapped behind the bus. She went through another set of lights at amber.
Donovan reached over and put a hand on her leg.
"Take it easy, it's not gonna help her if you get pulled over."
Kris nodded and eased back on the accelerator.
"If he's hurt her, I'll kill him."
"Does it happen a lot? Punters giving you grief?"
"Not to me, but to some of the girls, yeah. You can't let them get too close, you know. They've got to know it's just business."
"What about you? Is it always business to you?"
She flashed him another sidelong glance.
"You mean, why are you sitting in the car with me?"
"Well, you haven't known me for long, have you?"
"I know of you, Den Donovan. Your reputation precedes you. Besides, I'm using you as weight, not inviting you into my bed."
Donovan looked over his shoulder. The road behind was clear.
>
"Is that right?" he asked.
She grinned.
"We'll see."
"And that's how you see me? Weight?"
"Again, your reputation precedes you."
She swung the MGB over to the kerb and stopped inches from the rear of a black cab, stamping on the brake pedal so savagely that Donovan was jerked back by the seatbelt. She was out of the car before Donovan even had the belt off. He hurried after her.
Kris pressed one of six doorbells to the left of the front door.
"Come on, come on," she said, jabbing at the button with her thumb.
The intercom crackled.
"Louise, it's me. Come on, let us in."
The door buzzed and Kris pushed it open. Donovan followed her inside. The hallway was shabby with a threadbare carpet and fading wallpaper. Kris rushed up a flight of steep stairs.
Louise's flat was on the first floor and she had the door open with a security chain on. She undipped the chain and opened the door wide for Kris. Kris hugged her. From the stairway Donovan could see a girl in her early twenties with a tear-stained face. She had black hair, cut in a bob that was slightly longer at the front than the back.
"This is Den," said Kris, nodding at Donovan.
"Come on, let's sit down."
Kris shepherded Louise into the flat. Donovan followed them and closed the door. Every light and lamp had been switched on. Kris took Louise over to a large leather sofa and sat down next to her. She pointed at a kitchenette and mouthed 'tea' to Donovan.
Donovan walked into the kitchenette. It was bright and spotless as if Louise rarely used it. He switched on a gleaming chrome kettle and went through cupboards until he found tea bags
By the time he carried a tray with three steaming mugs back into the sitting room, Kris was sitting with her arm around Louise's shoulder and Louise was dabbing at her eyes with a large handkerchief. Donovan put the tray down on the coffee table in front of the girls.
"Are you okay?" he asked Louise.
"I'm sorry," she sniffed.
"You don't have to be sorry about anything," said Donovan.
"What happened?"
"He pushed his way in and threatened to kill her, that's what happened," said Kris.
"It was my fault," said Louise.
"I thought if I talked to him, I could .. . you know .. ." She shook her head.
"He wouldn't have it. Said I had to be his girlfriend. Said if he couldn't have me no one could."
Tango One Page 26
