Harry tried to work out what was what and who was who, keeping his eyes open; check the lads putting the cards up in the ‘phone boxes, all eastern Europeans now, spot which anonymous doorways furtive looking men emerged from, watch the street dealers and clock the clip artists luring punters in for cokes that cost a score minimum. Filing it all away, remembering who he was and where he had been, with sky over his head now instead of concrete—a free man in London.
***
When Harry got his first day release one of the screws escorted him into town and took him to a coffee shop. It was nothing like the greasy snack bars that Harry had haunted when he was on the outside. The coffee shop he sat in seemed a temple to polished modernity; free trade coffee for the same price as a pint of lager, uniformed baristas shipped in from around the globe and paid minimum wage, brushed steel altars and a whole cult worshipping the corporate bean. Harry had ordered a latte.
Now he sat in another coffee shop, a clone of that first temple, opposite his daughter. Again Harry ordered a latte and Nicola had a hot chocolate. They sat in silence, Harry staring at the foam on his drink, until Nicola spoke. “She’s gone.”
“Who has?”
“Rhian.”
“Gone where?” asked Harry his voice level but his stomach dropping like a lift with the cables cut.
“I don’t know.” Tears appeared in Nicola’s eyes. “Up here, West End somewhere with her boyfriend.”
Harry gripped the table edge with his fingertips. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to fucking well find her. You know people don’t you?”
“That was a long time ago, Nicola. More than twenty years ago, places change. I’m not even sure any of the same faces are around anymore. I’ve changed too.”
Nicola looked disgusted, as though Harry had just exposed himself at her. “So you won’t help?”
“I never said that!” Harry slapped his palm down on the table. People turned from their cappuccinos and espressos to look. Harry placed his hands palm down on his knees and stared at the floor between his boots. The people quickly turned back to their affairs. Harry looked up at Nicola. “I’ll look, I’ll find her if she’s here and I’ll bring her back to you.”
Nicola nodded.
Harry reached inside his jacket and took out a biro. He used a piece of napkin for note paper. “How long has she been gone?”
“Four days.”
“She done anything like this before?”
“She’s stayed out all night but she always came home the next day.”
“You’ve tried ringing her?”
“Of course I have! About a hundred times but her ‘phone is always switched off and the voicemail is full.”
“Who’s the boyfriend?”
“He’s called Danny Carter. He’s a bit older than her . . .”
Harry cut in. “How much older?”
Nicola looked away.
“I think he’s nineteen.”
“Rhian is fourteen, Nicola.”
“Don’t come that with me, Daddy. You weren’t here when I was fourteen and you’ve never even met Rhian so don’t act like you know anything about this.”
Harry held up his hands, palms open. “Where does he live?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s he from?”
“Somewhere out near us but he spends a lot of time up here. I’ve never met his family.”
Harry nodded. “D’you know what he’s into?”
“How d’you mean?”
“I mean puff, pills, chang, horse—what?”
“Jesus! Nothing like that I don’t think. He always seemed like a nice kid. Dressed smart, plenty of money, always kept his car clean.”
“What kind of car?”
“One of those little Italian ones. Bright yellow.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard to spot in a city with what two, three million cars.” Harry stared into Nicola’s eyes until she looked away. “You want me to find her, Nic, you need to give me something here.”
“I think he said he works for his Uncle.”
“Name?”
“I don’t think he said.”
“Come on, you have to think.” Harry sat with the pen poised over the napkin.
“I think Danny said his Uncle was called Howie.”
Harry dropped the pen onto the table. “Howard?”
“No, Howie. Could’ve been Howard, why?”
Picking up the pen Harry shook his head. “Nothing, I used to know a Howard ‘round here before I went away. Couple of people used to call him Howie.”
“Maybe you could see if he’s still about?”
Harry laughed and the sound made Nicola shiver. “I don’t think old Howard would be too pleased to see me. But if it’s him I’ll find out.”
“Do you need anything?”
Harry looked up as though shocked his daughter would ask.
“Money or anything to help you look?”
He shook his head at her. “No. I’ll use Shanks’ pony to get about and I’m alright for walking about money.”
Nicola nodded.
“There is one thing though.”
“What?” replied Nicola.
“Have you got a decent photo of her? The one your mum sent me must be seven years old now.”
“Course.” Nicola scrambled in her handbag and pulled out her purse. From within she pulled a picture of a smiling girl with long auburn hair and dark, dancing eyes. “That’s a couple of months old.”
Harry stared at the snapshot of his granddaughter, repressing his urge to touch his fingers to the image that looked so like his dead ex-wife. “Thanks, Nic.”
“Just find her for me.”
Harry finished his latte. “I’ll call you if I find anything.”
***
Harry had lied. After the two lattes he had a total of fifteen pounds and seventy eight pence in his pocket—all that was left of his discharge grant. He cut away from Covent Garden and down Long Acre until he hit Endell Street. As he walked Harry pushed all thoughts of Howard Kinski from his mind. Harry walked halfway up the street and sighed with relief when he saw that the Café Valetta was still there. It looked different but the name was the same. Harry stepped into the cramped coffee bar, empty before the lunchtime rush. A young, thick set man with a five o’clock shadow appeared from the back.
“Alright?”
Harry nodded.
“Get you something?”
“Eddie about?”
“Eddie who?”
“Eddie Nax.”
“Granddad? He’s not here at the minute.”
Harry looked away. “Any chance you could give him a message for me?”
“Sure, you a mate of his?”
“Yeah. From a long time ago, the good old days.” Harry forced a smile.
The young man grabbed a pad and a pen. “Who shall I tell him?”
“Harry Sands.”
The young man stopped writing. “Shit. Sorry. D’you want to take a seat and I’ll give Granddad a call?”
Harry nodded and pulled up a stool to the counter as the younger man disappeared into the back.
He came back out a few minutes later. “He said he’ll be right down. Get you something while you wait?”
Harry shook his head. “I’m good thanks.”
As they waited Harry saw the man throw surreptitious glances at him. Eventually Harry caught his eye. “You alright over there?”
The man laughed.
“I’m really sorry Mister Sands but growing up Granddad told us so many stories about you. It’s just kind of funny to see you here, in the flesh so to speak.”
Harry laughed.
“Bloody hell, Son. I’m just another old man now, I’m trying to sort out my pension!”
“Are all them stories true?”
Harry held out his hands. “Not heard them but probably not, your granddad always liked to blow a story up.”
“Did you really .
. .” The man faltered.
Harry held his gaze and the man looked away. “Best leave that one, eh?”
The young man nodded and went back to cleaning the espresso machine. Fifteen minutes later Eddie Nax stuck his head into the café. “Harry!” He waved a gloved hand and then looked over at his grandson. “Nico, if your mother calls I’m feeding the pigeons in Covent Garden. Harry we’re going for lunch!”
Eddie Nax wore a heavy camel hair overcoat, burgundy scarf and a brown fedora. He looked to be about eighty. Harry jumped down from his stool and walked over to the door. “See you later, Nico, and don’t believe everything you hear.”
The two men walked in silence up Shelton Street, crossed Charing Cross Road and sliced into the underbelly of Soho.
“How’ve you been, Harry?”
“Same old, same old. Seems like a different place ‘round here now.”
“Not so different,” muttered the old man.
Harry stopped and looked at Eddie.
“I know, I know,” Said Eddie. “You still remember me twenty five years ago—you’re asking yourself where did that handsome young Maltese go!”
Harry laughed. “You were fifty then, Ed.”
Eddie shrugged.
“The girls said we looked like brothers, Harry.”
The old man turned and hugged Harry to him.
“It’s been too long. I’ve had no one to beat at chess for a long time.”
“Where are we going for lunch?”
“French house?”
Harry nodded. “Why not. Is Gaston still there?”
“No, he retired not long after they sent you away. A lot of changes after you left.”
“All the old faces gone?”
“Most, but not all. Perhaps a few left from our time. You have someone in mind?”
“Howie, fucking, Kinski.”
Eddie stopped dead and his old head turned like a tortoise towards Harry. “Yes, Kinski’s still around.”
Harry nodded and walked away. “Come on, Eddie. I need a fucking drink.”
Lunch consisted of steaks with halves of lager on the side. Once the food was done they moved on to Ricard, just like in the old days.
“I need to ask you something, Eddie.” Eddie gestured with his hand for Harry to continue. Harry took Rhian’s picture from his pocket. “You seen her around the way?”
Eddie took the photo and studied it. “Harry, you have to remember I spend most of my time in the flat at Clerkenwell. It’s not like the old days. I could ask Nico, but he is a good boy—not like we were.”
“And I need my money, Eddie.”
“You don’t worry, Harry. I’ve kept it safe.”
Eddie passed three hundred in twenties to Harry under the table and put a bank card down in front of him. “The other six grand’s in there. The PIN is one seven nine eight.”
“Thanks, Eddie. I need to know something else. Where can I find Kinski?”
“Harry, I don’t think I should tell you that.”
“How long have we known each other, Eddie? I need to see him and make sure it’s done.”
“The only way it would’ve been done is if you had buried your axe in his head that night.”
“I did. But the cunt’s still walking. Persistent fucker to say the least.”
“And still the same from what I’ve heard.”
Harry looked Eddie straight in the eye and laid the photo of Rhian on the table between them. “That’s my granddaughter, Eddie. Tell me where Kinski is.”
“He sits in the Montagu Pyke with his boys through the afternoon.
Harry looked confused.
“The Marquee Club as was.”
“How many boys?”
“Usually there are two. Please don’t do this, Harry.”
“I have to see him, Eddie.” Harry stood legs unsteady from the Ricard. Harry looked down at himself. “I’ll see him tomorrow.”
Eddie remained seated. “Go and see Marnie first. She’s working in China Town. She missed you, Harry. You should see her, she’s waited a long time for you.”
Eddie held out a piece of paper and Harry took it.
“And we should play chess again, just be two old men playing chess in the café.”
Harry looked back for a moment and then he was gone into the night.
***
Harry lay in his bed in the bail hostel in Camden, the liquorice taste of Ricard thick on his tongue, as the room tilted and tipped. On the inside Harry had steered clear of the hooch prisoners made from fermented fruit so the afternoon’s drinking session had been his first in a quarter of a century and he was feeling it.
Harry tried to concentrate on the light fitting above him. The shadows around the room seemed to close in on Harry as he stared up and he felt an old familiar feeling begin to worm its way inside him where it grew and grew. Harry closed his eyes but that just made it worse and made the feeling rush up on him more quickly. A car passed by in the street below and the light thrown by its headlights made the shadows flex and elongate as though they were grasping hands reaching for him. This feeling had been with Harry since he was a small boy in a council flat on East Street, above the market. Even with his mum and dad in the front room, telly blasting through the wall, and the hall light shining under the door Harry had felt the exact semi-controlled terror he felt in the bail hostel.
He sat up, swung his legs off the bed, opened his eyes and looked at the dark around him. He placed his hands palms down on his knees and closed his eyes again—total dark. Harry began to count in his head. Even as he felt sure that fingertips were reaching out of the shadows to caress his flesh Harry kept his eyes shut tight and maintained his count. Harry’s heart pounded like a copper’s fist on a front door at five A.M, his breathing quickened and sweat broke out on his forehead. With his eyes shut Harry’s imagination ran rampant with thoughts of what could be going on around him; things slipping out from beneath the bed, doors of wardrobes opening as hidden attackers crept out and the dark itself wrapping around him in a black embrace. He reached the count of five hundred and his breathing and heart rate slowed as the sweat dried on his forehead. Harry swung his legs back under the covers, eyes still shut tight against the night. He lay back and sleep claimed him.
***
Morning brought with it waves of sickness and a headache that made Harry curse Eddie and The French House. He headed out into the rain that had been falling since dawn and bought a latte to drink on the tube. He caught the Northern line to Leicester Square, headed up Shaftsbury Avenue and cut back into Chinatown. The familiar sights and smells cheered Harry. He’d spent a lot of time in the warren of alleys and side streets that spider webbed around Gerrard Street and Lisle Street.
He checked the address on the piece of paper that Eddie Nax had given him the night before. Royal Vale House, a large red brick block of apartments, sat almost unnoticed in the heart of the West End. Harry rang up on the intercom.
“Yes?” The sound of Marnie’s voice made Harry’s heart jump.
“Marnie, its Harry. Harry Sands.”
Silence.
“Marn’?”
A sharp intake of breath, audible even through the static of the intercom. “Come on up, Harry.”
Harry heard the buzz of the door being released and the click of the handset being replaced.
Harry looked at the lifts for a moment and then took the stairs. He climbed to the fourth floor and quickly found the door he was looking for. It was open. Harry stepped through into the dark hallway, the smell of incense touched his nostrils. “Marnie?”
“In here, Harry.”
Harry followed the sound of Marnie’s voice and found her in the lounge, which was nearly as dark as the hallway had been. Marnie sat behind a round table and for a moment, in the shadows of the room, it seemed to Harry that no time at all had passed since he had last seen Marnie.
“Hello.”
“It’s been a long time, Harry. A lot of years—wasted years.”
“It has at that.”
Marnie offered a hand and Harry stepped over to take it. He looked down at Marnie; eyes like chips of blue ice set in a pale face and framed by dark hair that still had a hint of the Rockabilly look that Harry remembered. He could see that the years had been kind to Marnie but they had still left the mark of their passing.
“You haven’t changed a bit, Babes.”
Marnie slapped her free hand against Harry’s stomach. “You’ve toned up. You’re looking good for a man who lost a third of a lifetime.”
Harry shrugged.
“Still the same old Harry—man of a thousand words.” Marnie laughed.
Her laugh reminded him of when they first met—her a croupier and him a doorman at a casino off Russell Square.
“You should never have let them push you so far, Harry.”
“They pushed a bit and I pushed back. That’s all.”
“And now you’ve got other problems?” Marnie squeezed his hand.
“That your gift talking?”
Marnie winked at Harry. “Oh, my gift’s still working, Harry.” She gestured around the room. “It pays for all this and I don’t have to work the tables anymore. No more séances in the back rooms of pubs in Hackney and Kilburn with a pint glass passed round for change either.”
It was Harry’s turn to squeeze Marnie’s hand. “Then I need you to tell me something, Babes.” Harry put the picture of Rhian on the table.
“Who is she?”
“My granddaughter. I’ve never got to see her, Marn’ and now she’s gone.”
“Sit down next to me. You’ve seen how this works before, Harry. You just sit there and I’ll do the rest. I’ll see you on the other side.”
Her lips brushed Harry’s and he kept hold of her hand as her eyes closed. Her face lost expression as the muscles slackened and her lips began to move quickly in silent conversation. Harry tried to pick out the words but Marnie’s lips moved too swiftly for him to follow. She reached the trance state much more quickly than when Harry had seen these performances two and a half decades earlier. He waited a moment.
For The Night Is Dark Page 16
