S K Paisley

by Take a Breath (epub)

  “What are you waiting for? Rack them up,” he growled.

  Placing down his pint on the baulk end of the table, Paul set up a new game and rubbed the tip of his cue with chalk. “You want to break?”

  “On you go.”

  Paul leaned over the table, expertly lined up the cue and smashed the white ball into the neat triangle of reds, knocking them explosively across the table.

  Manny nodded approval at his shot. “How’s the face?”

  A shard of light shone through the window, catching the tiny specks of dead skin that swirled and glistened around Manny.

  “Bit better.”

  “You look like ten pounds of mince squashed in a five-pound bag,” Manny sneered, his mood seemingly upbeat – which wasn’t to say a burst of extreme violence wasn’t waiting round the corner. He bent down to take his shot.

  Paul watched him closely. He was well used to reading the warning signs indicating that restraint was about to slip. His concern was rising. Manny’s fingers were clamped to the handle of his cue, his knuckles turning white.

  “Listen, Manny, about the other night…” Paul began. “I don’t know what happened.”

  Slowly Manny’s fingers unfurled. He eased the cue gently to the base of the white ball, hit it to make a perfect pot.

  “You don’t know what happened?” Manny straightened, stretched and rested on his cue. “Neither do I.”

  “It’s just, me and Dario, we’ve been having some problems at the club—”

  “You broke his nose.” Manny cut him off. “At his birthday party, paid for by me. In front of a lot of people. His people.”

  Paul took his turn, knocked a few balls in, but his mind wasn’t on it. He was hitting too hard. Smashed the white into the corner pocket. Manny took it out and placed it carefully on the semi-circle.

  “I’ll apologise to him,” Paul offered, but Manny put up a silencing hand.

  “It’s not fucking him you should be apologising to.”

  “I’m sorry, Manny.”

  Manny leaned over the table, lining his cue with precision, easing it back and forth between his splayed fingers, gauging the right moment to make the shot. He took it. The white rebounded off a cushion, the red he’d been aiming for knocking the rest of the balls into mayhem. Dropping the cue on the felt with finality, he held his hands up to Paul.

  “I’m heading off for a meeting. We can talk on the way.”

  Paul nodded and reached for his coat.

  The two of them left the pool hall and began a brisk walk along Glassford Street. The pavements were still busy with shoppers, but there was no weaving in and out: when Manny walked, no one got in his way. They turned onto Ingram Street and started in the direction of GoMA. Paul skipped to avoid a woman wheeling her oversized pram. Gridlocked traffic thrummed beside them. Manny marched on in silence. Entering Royal Exchange Square, they passed the European-style cafes with outdoor seating where customers, coffees in hand, were braving the strong winds and light drizzle with dogged determination. When they reached the upmarket cocktail bar nestled in the corner of the square, Manny stopped and pulled out a packet of cigarettes. He offered one to Paul and lit them both.

  “I’ll take care of Dario.” Manny glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “As far as I’m concerned, the incident is over. You two still have to work together, and I don’t want to hear any more whining from either of you.” He took a long draw of his cigarette and trained his eyes on Paul. “But you need to know the score. No more fuck-ups.”

  Paul nodded his head in acquiescence.

  “Those other guys,” Manny continued, “they’re morons. But they do what they’re told. Don’t think too much. Know what I’m saying? Dario, I love him, but there’s no substance there. I need to know I can depend on you, Paul. If some bird flashes her knickers, I need to know you’re not a liability. Remember what you’re good at. Thinking with this…” Manny tapped Paul’s head. “And not with this.” He pointed to his crotch.

  Paul flinched at the mention of Lena. He’d been hoping to keep that part out of it.

  Flicking away his cigarette butt, Manny opened the door of the cocktail bar, a twisted glint in his eye. “After you.”

  Paul stubbed his fag out and entered the dark bar with a creeping fear that an ambush was imminent. Inside, his eyes darted to every corner of the room. Something wasn’t right. He could tell.

  He followed cautiously behind Manny as they walked past the square bar in the centre, to the booths lining the wall at the back. From across the floor, Paul could see a woman waiting in one of the booths. At first all he could see was the long, black hair and he hoped desperately it wasn’t her. But of course it was. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt.

  “Paul, I wanted you to be here to welcome the newest member of our team.”

  Lena smiled up at him. Manny shuffled into the booth beside her. Reluctantly, Paul lowered himself onto the edge of the bench.

  “What’s this about?” Paul felt the blood rush to his face, his lips pale.

  Lena cut in. “Mr Munroe has offered me a job. To help with recruitment and the promotion of the club. Escort a few important clients to dinner. It means I don’t have to dance anymore and I’ll be doing something I’m actually interested in. It’s a really good career opportunity for me.”

  “See, that’s why I like her. She’s smart. Like you, Paul. I know talent when I see it. There’s always a role for a beautiful, intelligent woman in business.” Manny winked at Paul. “Makes all kinds of men lose their heads. Not you though, Paul. You think with yours. Isn’t that right?”

  Manny’s message was crystal clear. She was his investment now. And it was hands off.

  “Isn’t that right, Paul?”

  “Right, Manny.”

  “Good. So we’re all happy to work together. I’m glad. I see great things.”

  Manny reached into his inside jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope and turned to Lena. “OK, so your first job’s tomorrow. Details are in here. He’ll meet you in the bar of the Central Hotel at seven thirty. Dinner reservations have been made for half eight at 78 St Vincent under the name Rose. He’s from out of town, so just show him the city, give him a good time. There’s money in here to get yourself a nice dress, get your hair done. Make sure you look the part.”

  Lena took the envelope from his hand and put it into her handbag. “OK, wish me luck.” She smiled at him.

  “You’ll be great,” Manny assured her and stood up to leave. “Any problems, you know how to contact me.” He tipped his hat. Paul stood up to let him out of the booth. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got somewhere I need to be.” He gave Paul one final challenging look, then patted him on the shoulder. “Thinking with this.” He pointed to his head and walked away.

  As soon as Manny was out the door, Paul leaned over the table and grabbed Lena’s arm. “What are you doing?”

  She yanked it away with a yelp. “You just said you didn’t have a problem.” She looked tired, burned out, possibly medicated.

  “You’re going to get us both killed!”

  She looked at him incredulously.

  Paul could feel his chest constrict. His vision blurred. “Lena, I can’t protect you from him.”

  “Protect? What are you talking about?”

  “You have no idea how dangerous he is.” His hands went to his head in exasperation. “It’s my fault for putting you in his way.”

  She gave a sharp snort. “This has nothing to do with you, Paul. I put myself in his way. It was me who did this. I’m not your responsibility. I can take care of myself.”

  “Like you did the other night?”

  She shook her head, unravelling before him. “No one asked you to do that.” Her voice was sullen, petulant.

  “What if I hadn’t been there?”

  �
��You weren’t. It wasn’t then that I needed you.” She gave him a strange, haunted look. In the sad empty shell before him he barely recognised the girl he once knew.

  He took her hands across the table. They were small and cold. He’d always remembered them being warm. “Come away with me. Tonight. Just the two of us. We can start again, some place else.”

  She disentangled her hands from his. He could tell he was losing her.

  “And miss all the fun?”

  Paul could hardly bring himself to look at her. Tears were forming in his eyes. “You leave me no choice, Lena. I have to walk away. For your sake as well as mine. This time I can’t help you.”

  “So walk,” she said listlessly. “There’s nothing here for you to stick around for.”

  He looked into her hardened eyes. No hint of emotion in them. He wasn’t even sure if she was there any more. So beautiful. So damaged. Manny would use her. Give her the helping hand she barely needed. And she would bring Paul down with her.

  The only way out was to never turn back, the only way out was to never turn back.

  Though it broke his heart to do so, he stood up from the table and started walking towards the beckoning glare of the distant doorway.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The following night, Paul was looking out over the heaving dance floor at Limbo, his arms resting on the balcony. The rotating mirror ball cast flecks of white onto the hazy mass of dancers and merging kaleidoscopic colours waltzed round the walls. Security melted into the background, allowing people the peace and freedom to enjoy the music and spend at the bar. It was an existence he’d grown to love. It was his livelihood, the source of his self-respect. He’d built his life around it. Without it, he didn’t know what would be left. But as Paul turned away from his balcony vantage point and weaved his way through the chaotic bordello-style corridors, via the plethora of red and purple velvet swags, fleur-de-lis flock wallpaper and threadbare baroque carpets, he knew it would be for the last time. The next day he was leaving it all behind, on a train bound for London. And Lena was going with him.

  Because he couldn’t turn away. He’d tried. The night before, after he’d left her in the cocktail bar, he’d taken the long route home. He made it as far as his front door before sighing deeply and finally accepting he wasn’t capable of walking away. He couldn’t watch her destroy herself, let Manny use her up and pretend not to care.

  At seven fifteen the following night he walked into the bar of the Central Hotel because none of it mattered. It was worthless without her.

  Her back was to him as he came through the doors. The leather soles of his Italian brogues clicked as he walked across the smooth marble tiles.

  “Lena?”

  She turned, twisting round on her high stool at the bar. A halo of light was shining on her from the domed glass roof, small twinkles from the chandelier falling like diamonds on her waist-length black hair. She wore a slim-fitting sleeveless red dress that stopped above the knee.

  The rose she’d been holding in her hand dropped beside her barely sipped glass of champagne. Her face registered surprise; she’d been expecting someone else.

  “Paul, what’re you doing here?”

  “I came to ask you not to do this.”

  Lena’s surprise turned to annoyance. Her brows closed together. “Why can’t you leave me alone?” she sighed.

  There were only a few other people in the bar: two waistcoated barmen behind the bar, a couple at one of the high-chaired tables against the wall, and one or two others around the table beneath the large curved window overlooking the concourse of Glasgow Central Station. Paul could sense their ears pricking up as they tuned in to the conversation.

  One of the barmen made tentative steps towards Lena. “Is there a problem, miss?”

  “There’s no problem,” Paul answered.

  “No, he’s leaving,” Lena answered simultaneously.

  “Not without you, I’m not.” Paul stood resolutely, a finger up to silence the barman.

  “Go away, Paul!” She turned her back to him, heaving an even louder sigh.

  “I’m on my knees, Lena. I’m begging you.”

  “Miss, do you want security called?” The barman avoided eye contact with Paul, his hand resting on the wooden bar separating them.

  Lena lifted her head, drummed her red nails on the bar. “No, there’s no need. Sorry… I can handle this. Can you watch my drink, please?”

  The bewildered barman nodded as she dismounted her stool onto kitten heels, took Paul by the arm and pulled him through the doors and into the quiet corridor of the hotel. The closed doors of function suites and meeting rooms ran the length of it, interspersed with photos of famous former guests. Lena stopped in front of a black-and-white portrait of Gene Kelly in the 1950s; in thick woollen coat, his collar pulled up to his ears and a cheeky smile spread across his face, he was walking on cobblestones, the familiar station clock behind him.

  “My client’s going to be here any minute. You have to go,” Lena whispered.

  “No!” Paul said loudly. “Fuck that guy, Lena!”

  “Stop making a scene,” she hissed under her breath.

  “I’m not making a scene. I’m asking you to come away with me!” he said, the volume rising.

  “I already told you no!”

  A head popped out angrily from behind one of the closed doors. A balding middle-aged man. “Can you keep the noise down!” he snapped, and quickly disappeared again with a slam of the door.

  They paused for a second before starting up again.

  “Why, Paul? Why would I go with you?” she shouted, getting irate now.

  “Because I need you. And because you’re not safe here.”

  The back-and-forth continued for some time until the door at the far end of the corridor swished open and a uniformed security man marched towards them. They both stopped talking and watched him approach.

  “I’ve had a noise complaint.”

  “Sorry – we’re having a discussion,” Paul said calmly. “We’ll keep it down.”

  “Are either of you guests at the hotel?” the security man said and stopped beside them.

  “I am. He isn’t,” Lena said.

  Paul flashed her an angry look.

  The security man turned his attention to Paul. “Then I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir.”

  “I’m not leaving unless you promise to go with me,” Paul continued, ignoring him.

  “Sir, can you leave, please.” The man stood squarely beside Paul, his weight resting on the balls of his feet.

  “Lena, I’ll tell you everything. No more secrets. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Tell me what I have to do!”

  “If you don’t leave I’ll have to call the police.”

  “Call them,” Paul said irritably, brushing him off.

  The doorman pulled out his radio.

  Lena shook her head.

  “Don’t do this, Lena. Don’t throw it all away.”

  The radio crackled. The doorman mumbled into it. “We have a customer refusing to leave…”

  Paul looked from the doorman to Lena. He held up his hands to her. “Please, Lena.”

  “… causing a disturbance, showing aggressive behaviour.” The radio crackled again.

  “Wait.” Lena put her hand on the security man’s arm.

  A few minutes later, a grey-haired, middle-aged businessman in a neat-fitting tailored suit strode along the empty corridor and with a waft of expensive cologne entered the hotel bar. He circled twice, looked at his watch, then stopped at the bar in confusion. His eyes fell on a glass of champagne, a single red rose. His mouth pulled in an ugly grimace. Expecting the beautiful female he’d been promised, it seemed instead that all he would be met with that night was disappointment and an empty chair.

  It took
a while, but Lena managed to convince the security man to cancel his call. She assured him that the argument was over, that they would adjourn peaceably to her room and cause no more trouble. He let them off with a warning. After he left, they went up the wide, carpeted staircase to her room.

  When they’d closed the door behind them, she turned to him and said, “Where would we go?”

  He decided to tell her straight. “I don’t know. Somewhere far.”

  She walked to the window and peered through the net curtain onto the street. Paul rested on the corner of the bed. Now there was the slimmest of chances, he didn’t want to push too much and scare her off.

  “For how long?”

  “Just until we know it’s safe to come back. I don’t know how long, Lena.”

  “What will we do? How will we live?”

  Paul shifted along the bed. “I have fifty grand in my flat, under my bed. Money I haven’t stashed in the bank. Half of that we can take with us, the other half I need to leave for Jack. It should be enough to help us get set up. It’s not much, but it’s a start. I can get to the bank tomorrow, get a little more.”

  “And what about Manny? Would he look for us?” Her eyes flickered with fear.

  Paul slowly got off the bed and leaned against the window beside her. “I think he would.”

  “Our lives would be in danger?”

  “If we stay here, we have no life. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, I promise.”

  He ran his hand absently up and down her arm. She looked back out the window, a lost expression on her face, the sweet scent of her hair filling the air. He watched her shoulders sink, the last of her resistance draining.

  “A quiet life away from Glasgow, Lena,” he entreated. “Away from Manny, away from all the madness. I don’t know what life I can offer. But we’ll survive as long as we’re together. We have to believe it will work out. We have to believe in this chance of happiness.”

  Lena didn’t answer him, just continued staring through the net curtain. They stayed there, not talking, and for a second he thought all was lost. Then he saw her brow furrow and realised she was looking for something, or someone, in the street. He wasn’t even sure she’d been listening.