by James White
“Well, well. Nick Valentine, last time I saw you you said you’d kill me if you saw me again. That don’t seem so likely now does it?” There was a chuckle from the men behind Nick. He rolled his head as if loosening up his neck. In reality he was trying to get a better view of his surroundings. He was in an office all right, carpet on the floor, poor pastoral oil paintings on the wall from some shockingly bad artist and a huge desk. The man behind got up and moved his bulk round to sit on the creaking desk in front of Nick. He already knew who it was. Teddy sported a livid red line on his cheek where Nick had cut him, not to mention a bruised face. No prizes for guessing who the jokers behind him were.
Teddy gave another chuckle. “Lost for words are you? You will be. You think you can walk into a pub and do that to old Teddy? I’ve got a business to run, customers that need to pay me. How they gonna do that if they think I’ve gone soft, if some washed-up old soldier jumps me? You see, I got to make an example of you, Nick. I put the word out, but you’re a man with a lot of friends it would seem, or a lot of loyalty. People don’t rat on you. Nothing, then one of my boys here spies you, just like that, walking along like you ain’t got a care in the world.” The fat man leaned forward. “You’re going to have a whole world of cares shortly. Oh yes, old Teddy’s going to let his boys have some fun with you.” The man’s breath stank.
Nick looked him firmly in the eyes. “I need to be somewhere, somewhere important. I’ll do you a deal; let me go and I’ll come back when I’ve concluded my business and we can settle this to your satisfaction then.”
Ted threw back his head and laughed, his whole body wobbling in waves with the sound. “Of course, I’ll just let you walk out of here so you can come back when you want.” He suddenly punched Nick hard in the mouth. Nick saw stars flash then tasted blood. He ran his tongue around his teeth. One of the back ones had cracked. He spat a fragment out.
“That’s just for starters,” snarled the fat man.
“Who put you up to this?” Nick asked.
Ted looked surprised.
“Who put me up to it? You did, when you jumped me, tried to humiliate me in public.”
Nick’s mind raced. He’d thought Carruthers or Jurgen was behind this, but could it really be just bad luck, a horrible coincidence?
“You’re not working for anyone?”
That earned Nick another punch in the mush.
“Now…” The big man towered over Nick’s seated form. “It’s payback time.” A huge right hand to Nick’s stomach knocked the air out of him. The man grabbed Nick’s chin with pudgy fingers and forced his head up. “I’m going to go get a drink and let Razor here” – the scarred, thickest man from the pub stepped forward into Nick’s vision, grinning, already holding a cutthroat razor in his hand – “soften you up a bit. Then I’ll be back, and you’re going to be sorry you crossed me.”
“Original name,” quipped Nick, looking at Razor.
Teddy punched him in the side of the head again and lumbered off out of the room. Nick heard the door shut behind him. Then the other, younger lad was there, practically hopping up and down with excitement on the other side of Nick. Razor leered viciously and flashed the blade around in front of Nick’s face.
“Where you gonna cut ’im first?” squealed the younger lad.
“You watch and learn, son.”
Nick felt a fiery pain as razor slashed at his chest. Nick looked down; a thin welt of blood began to well up through his shirt.
“That’s just for starters. I’m gonna carve you a whole new face.” The man stank of booze, but with both of them now in front of him and carried away, Nick was managing to work his hand loose. They’d done a rotten job of tying him up. Razor slashed again and Nick hissed in pain as another livid line scored open across his chest. He looked down. They’d left his feet untied.
“Let me have a go!” squealed the young boy, holding out his hand. Razor smiled cruelly and turned to hand the blade over. As he did so, his leg was side on to Nick. He took his chance. In a flash he hooked one foot on the far side of Razor's own then crashed his other foot flat in a stamp onto the side of Razor’s knee, pulling his bottom leg in as he did so. The man gave a howl as his knee joint shattered as it was smashed in completely the wrong direction and he fell to the floor, screaming in pain, his shin bone obvious in the fast bloodying tangle of his trouser leg.
The younger boy paled. His eyes fixed on the grisly sight of pale bone glistening through dark red flesh. Nick swung around and brought a foot up sharply into the boy’s groin, doubling him over on the floor. With an extraordinary effort, he strained at his hands and jumped up and down on the chair. He could hear the thunder of approaching footsteps. He redoubled his effort, the chair bouncing up and down like a bronco as the two prone figures screamed and groaned respectively. The door crashed open and Teddy stood in the frame, surveying the scene, shock all over his face just as Nick’s hands came free. As the fat man stepped forward, Nick cannoned up off the chair with a flying head-butt that caught the man full on the nose. Blood sprayed the whole door as both men rocked back. Teddy growled with pain, blinking his eyes furiously. Nick’s hand darted to his trouser pocket; they hadn’t even searched him. His fist closed around the knuckleduster just as Ted was fishing in his own jacket pocket for something.
“Don’t let there be a third time, Teddy, or I will kill you,” Nick panted as the brass knuckles socked into Ted’s jaw with a sickening crunch. His while fat face wobbled like jelly with impact. Inside his jaw shattered and he dropped to the floor out cold, blood already pouring from his ruined mouth. Nick stepped over him and looked at his watch. He’d been out an half and a hour. He ran out into the street, relieved to see he was still in Soho. He sprinted to the Phoenix club.
“Hey, Nick, long time. Hey, you all right?” The doorman’s greeting turned to a look of concern as he caught sight of Nick’s bloodied face. Nick pulled his jacket collar up around him to hide his shirt. If the door guy saw that, there was no way he was getting in.
“Yeah, fine. Stephen come in, with another guy?”
“No, but a guy came in asking for you.”
“He come out yet?”
“No, but Nick, I can’t let you in like that.”
“Steve, please. Stephen’s life’s in danger. Let me go in and get him. I’m not staying.”
The big man looked uneasy, but nodded. “Okay, seeing as it’s you, but be quick.”
Nick shook the man’s hand in thanks and bolted down the red velvet staircase, past the Venetian masks on the wall and into the gilded theatre land grotto that was the Phoenix. A bolthole of actors, actresses and playwrights, it stayed open all night and the authorities turned a blind eye. It was busy as usual, everyone in high spirits. Nick spotted Carruthers straight away. He was alone.
Carruthers looked worried and pale as Nick came over.
“Where’s Stephen?”
“What happened to you?” Carruthers asked, staring at the bloody mouth and blood-stained shirt.
“I had a little trouble on the way over. Now where’s Stephen? We had a deal.”
Carruthers dipped his head and pursed his lips. Nick felt sick. Somehow he knew what was coming.
“Nick, I’m sorry. Stephen is dead.”
The silence extended between them. Nick stared at Carruthers, unable to speak for what seemed an age. Carruthers cleared his throat nervously.
“I lied to you. We never picked him up. Well…” The man was blustering. “I never actually said that, did I, that we had him? I intimated it.”
Nick said nothing just continued to stare at the man, face expressionless but his fists were balled on the table, knuckles white with the tension. “Nick, I’m so sorry. We found him last night. That’s why I was late. Someone got to him. We don’t know who yet.” He swallowed. “He was in a bad way; they’d tried to beat some information from him. Nick, it wasn’t pretty.”
“Who?” Nick said, his voice devoid of emotion.
�
�At a guess? Jurgen and co. They may have been onto you and picked him up leaving his house. We don’t know. A police officer found him in alleyway on his beat last night. Nick, I’m sorry I lied to you, but I needed the leverage. I…”
“If you come near me again, I’ll kill you,” Nick said flatly. “I had a chance to kill Jurgen tonight. If I’d known I would have taken it. But you knew that didn’t you? Didn’t want anything to jeopardise you getting these.” Nick spat the words out in disgust and threw the rolls of film onto the table along with the sheaf of prints. “I hope your black soul burns in hell. Where’s the body?”
“Nick, I understand how you feel, but it wasn’t my fault…”
“Save it. Where’s the body?”
“At the morgue. There’ll be an autopsy. It should be released in a few days. Did he have any family?”
“Only me.” Nick stood abruptly and turned to go.
“Where are you going?” demanded Carruthers.
“Unfinished business,” Growled Nick without turning round. He slowly walked towards the staircase, blind to the people around him, deaf to the music. He’d lost the last link with his dead parents. The only friend and mentor he had. He reached the stairs and slowly started to climb them, feeling empty inside. A hand grabbed at him and he turned his head slowly as if in a dream.
“Nick! Did you look at these?” Carruthers was angrily shaking the films and prints at Nick. Nick just shook his head. “These, these aren’t the right ones.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “Ramona took more than this. But these…” He shook the other negatives and prints. “They aren’t the plans. These are rubbish. Nick, where are the real plans?”
Nick looked at him dully and shrugged.
“Nick, they must still have them. These are duds. We’ve been tricked. We have to get those plans. Nick.”
Nick shook off his hand, ignored his pleas and carried on up the stairs. At the top he stopped and turned slowly to look down. Carruthers stood looking up at him expectantly, documents in either hand.
“Call your men off me and Clara. I’ll get your plans,” Nick said simply. Then he opened the door and was gone.
CHAPTER 19
Nick didn’t get far. He stumbled along the darkened street as if drunk, barely aware of the guarded looks of the people giving him a wide berth on the pavement. He was worse than drunk. His mind reeled, a jumble of thoughts that all kept returning to one dark dominant kernel: Stephen was dead. The man who’d saved his life, gone through the hell of the front with him and been left behind there when Nick was seconded to his new career by the War Office. Stephen was the only person he could call a friend that knew what Nick had gone through, because he’d been there with him for most of it, and after the war, ridden with guilt at having left Stephen in the shell-strewn maw of the Western Front, Nick had apologised repeatedly, before unburdening himself with dark confessions of his own. The man had been a rock, a protector, a father in the place of the one Nick had lost. Now he was gone.
Nick stopped suddenly and leaned heavily on the brick wall of a building next to him. He screwed his eyes tight shut, as if trying to block out a blinding light, his knees sagged and he raised his other arm to his temples and let out a groan alarming enough to cause a passing lady to stifle a shriek and scurry across the road to avoid him.
Nick’s breath came in short gulps. How long did he stand there? He didn’t know. The world and time blurred and spun until at some point, like a drowning man coming up for air, he surfaced with a gasp. Despite the terrible shock, he’d been unfortunate enough to experience death too many times, so frequently that he sometimes wondered whether death was playing some cruel trick, perching on his shoulder and testing his reaction to each twist, whether delivered by Nick or to someone close to him. Killing others didn’t make you mourn less, Nick had learnt that, but losing people you cared about, seeing your comrades mown down time and time again, that could inure you to some degree from the loss. Stephen was gone. It was that simple. Just like so many men Nick had known. Nothing could bring Stephen or any of the others back. Grieving was a penance for the living and Nick would grieve for Stephen for the rest of his life, carrying the loss like a small stone in a boot, constant, but bearable. That was the only way he knew how, the only way he could do it without going mad.
He looked around with clear eyes and stood upright. He’d lost his friend, but he still had Clara and a shot at a happy future, and that was what mattered now, and what Stephen would have counselled if he’d been there. It was imperative to wrap this up and move on before more people got hurt, or worse.
Nick didn’t bother with a drink at The Blue Rose. The crowd had thinned out a little but the place was a lot livelier now, the band was in full swing and the small dance floor was packed. Nick shouldered his way through and spotted Lucia sat at a table with a group of men. Nick gave a curt nod to the men and bent to whisper in Lucia’s ear.
“You’re coming with me now.”
She whirled her head and smiled at him, batting her eyelids.
“Twice in one night? I’m afraid I’m busy right now…”
“My friend is dead, I nearly died and killed a man myself tonight. Believe me, I will have no qualms about killing you here and now in this place.”
Lucia’s smile stayed fixed in place. “I see.” She turned back to the table. “Excuse me,” she said, gracefully rising.
Nick had her arm in his and he guided her forcefully towards the entrance of the club.
“Nick, do you mind telling me what you’re doing?”
“You and I are going to my place then you are going to tell me where I can find Jurgen.”
Lucia suddenly stopped, jerking Nick back in unexpected surprise.
“Jurgen is gone. I told you that.”
“Yes, you did. And someone told me where he’d gone and luckily I was able to get to him.”
Lucia’s narrowed eyes drifted towards the little Italian dancing comically near his table. She looked back at Nick and noticed the blood on his shirt for the first time.
“My God! What happened to you?”
“Your concern is touching, but misplaced.” He jerked her arm. “We’re leaving.”
She twisted free and put her hands on her hips. “What if I don’t want to go?”
“Too bad for you,” snarled Nick, scooping her up again, this time pressing the point of the blade he’d palmed into her ribs with a pressure that made her gasp.
“Okay! Your place sounds like fun,” she snarled.
Nick pulled her on but at the bottom of the stairs she stopped again. “I need my coat. It’s out back.”
“You can take mine,” Nick growled, tugging her up the stairs. He picked up the greatcoat and hat he’d checked earlier and draped the coat around Lucia, throwing an arm around her shoulders as he did so. “No funny business,” he whispered.
The doorman looked at the pair of them in mild surprise as they left, but Lucia avoided his gaze.
“I’m impressed. I thought you might try something," conceded Nick.
“Why? You’re not going to hurt me. You need me.”
“That’s a big presumption. What about after you tell me what I need to know.”
Lucia was silent as he marched her through the streets, seemingly lost for words. A fog had begun to form, pale and wisp-like, it was thickening even as they walked, muffling their footsteps along with the sounds of the city.
“So what, you’re going to torture me?”
“If I have to, but maybe you’ll just tell me what I want to know.”
“Maybe I will. What is it you want to know?”
“Where I can find Jurgen. The boat turned around, they fished Gunther out the river and Jurgen lost the plans. I’m betting he’ll come back to get them. They’re the only lead he’s got, so he’s got to follow it. That means he’s got a place he can go and that he’ll be looking for me. I want to save him the trouble.”
“Do you have the plans?” Lucia asked inno
cently.
“Nice try. Where’s Jurgen?”
They were quite alone in their curtain of fog. Lucia stopped suddenly, catching Nick off-guard again. She turned to face him. “I can take you to him, or where I think he would be anyway.”
Nick searched her face. “Why would you do that?”
She shrugged. “This game we’re in, it’s a game, Nick, you should know that. Things change. I’m offering to take you to him; why are you questioning my motives?”
“Because not questioning anyone’s motives so far seems to have got me in a lot of trouble, and someone I care very dearly for killed.”
“I’m so sorry for that, Nick, really, but why do you think it would be Jurgen?”
“Who else?” he spat.
Lucia bit her lip but didn’t say anything. She took his hand. “I can take you to one of the safe houses. It’s close by. He’d go there I think. He has a wireless set. He’d want to make a report back then start looking for you. He has to get those plans.”
“Why?”
She laughed. “It’s his job, his duty, and if he goes home without them he’s failed. The Abweher don’t like failure.”
It was the first time anyone had mentioned the word. Nick searched her face. “So, you’re Abweher? I’ve heard a lot about you lot.”
Lucia smiled. “I’m not, but Jurgen is.”
“You work with him, though?” Nick said, confused.
“Like I said, this game is complicated. Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. Twenty-three Berners Street. Flat three.”
“What?”
“Nick, be careful. He’s well trained. He may have others there. Don’t go. You might not like what you find.” She looked deep into his eyes.
“We can be careful together. You’re coming with me.”
She smiled and leaned in with a kiss that took Nick completely by surprise. Her lips were soft against his. He winced at the pain in his mouth but her hot tongue was darting against his, swirling. He felt the pressure of her body against him. She slowly pulled her mouth away.
“No, no I’m not.”
