A cop in blue uniform enters the bar. "Would you be Angelo?"The barman pauses in swiping a towel through a glass, brow wrinkling. "That's me, yes. Something I can do for you?""I'm looking for a woman who frequents here. Goes by the name of Mitch."The brow uncreases, his expression flattening. "Mitch? Barely seen her the last few weeks.""When did you last see her?"Angelo pays strict attention to his polishing. "Couldn't say." His cloth works tight circles over the glass.Taking off his sunglasses, the cop props elbows on the bar. "We know that she hangs out here, soliciting."The circles slow. "She never did any soliciting that I saw. I mean, she knew how to pull a guy, but that's different altogether isn't it? Nothing illegal there." The barman bends to his work again, concentrating on some ingrained speck on perfectly polished glass.The cop drums fingers on the bar-top, saying nothing; the kind of silence that sucks out the words. After a minute, the drumming mor
In the privacy of his own apartment, Bech, beer in hand, he cracks off the cap against the edge of the table then, leaning back on the chair, swings his boots up onto the top.A swallow of the beer and then he riffles through the card index, brows rising at some of the names: Taking a card at random, he reads:Alex BergermanAccountant. Interested in stocks. Wife 2 kids boy + girlLikes corsets, big hair. Gets off on dirty talkA pencilled note at the bottom of the card: Ask him about the Planet Levanti merger. Good investment?Flipping the card over, Bech checks the back: a list of a dozen or so dates about a month apart. Each partnered with a money amount.Payments to the whore?He sucks in his cheeks, then digging the filofax from his pocket, checks the most recent date. Then the previous one. He grins.He takes another random card, Daimon CrevierBanker. Unmarried. Nerd: model trains. Talker. Likes flattery and headWith a smile that has nothing to do with
Mitch sits on the cold slab. Eyes red-rimmed, hugging herself, she rocks on the seat.The door clangs open."You..." The officer says no more, simply thumbing out of the door.Out in the office the lawyer, Theo, stands waiting. Dark-suited, briefcase in hand, he regards Mitch without expression. "Miss Kimberley."The duty officer jabs a finger at a sheet. "Sign."Her eyes rise. "What's happening?"Theo says, "You've been bailed, but you and I need a talk. On behalf of Mr Devlin.""Please, I need to talk with Max himself."Curtly, "Mr Devlin does not want to talk to you, Miss Kimberley. He is a very busy man. He accepted your call and assigned me out to assist you. That is the extent of his involvement with you." He sniffs. "I'll not presume to guess why he did that much." He turns, picks up his briefcase."Mr Aldred, please, just call him. I have to speak to him. Please...""Is it to do with this case?""Yes... No... Yes... It's not what it looks like. I don't tak
The club is dark and sleazy, like most of its customers; perhaps denizens would be a better description. Occupied by the lost and those wishing to be so, the unwanted and the unwantable, it caters to those not wanting to be noticed by the passing world, or those the passing world will perhaps see, but then look away from.The bouncer looks askance at the blue uniform, moving from his spot in front of a luridly coloured poster of young women of unlikely proportions and appeal. He stands to block the entrance, then jolts back as he recognizes the face at the top. "Sorry, Corby. Didn't realise it was you for a minute there." "'S fine Pat. Just let me through.""You expected?""Yup.""Should I send ahead?""Nope."Inside, Corby grimaces at the mix of sweat, smoke and stale air. Sweeping a view through a blue haze over the hunched shoulders of solo drinkers, past the gawpers ogling the stripper under the spotlight, he settles on the shadowed nooks at the far end of the bar.
CHARLOTTEWe park up. Some distance away, there is movement in an area I know only too well. A man in a hi-vis jacket and hard hat moves with purpose, setting up a theodolite; one of the modern 'total stations' with EDM and GPS. However the new park is laid out, the exact position of Blessingmoors will never be lost. Even if it were under a retail complex or a sports centre or a car park, it could be found again...... if needed..."What's happening?""They're about to move in with the earthmovers again and finish the demolition process." He scans the area, settling on the portable site office squatting on its trailer amid mud, stacks of black piping, spools of blue piping, pallets and paraphernalia. "I need a word with Sam. I'll not be long." He hands me a file, then waves out over the sea of rocky debris and once-were-roads. "Outline plans for the park. You can entertain yourself lining it up with the reality. I'll come find you."He moves off in search of the site foreman.
Mitch sits by the window, staring out at the world. She tries to read but can't concentrate. She watches daytime TV; quiz and game shows, crap soaps and re-runs. Two minutes later, she can't remember any of what she just watched.She has only the clothes she arrived wearing, so she settles in bed, trying to sleep. After twelve hours she can sleep no more and yet, gritty-eyed, feels as though she never rested at all.No-one calls.How long has it been?Have they forgotten her?At least here, she's safe.Passively, beyond thinking, she waits.Two days later, the phone rings. She gazes dead-eyed at the ceiling for a moment before registering what the sound is.She reaches from the depths of the bed. "Hello?""Mitch, it's Theo. Max is sending a taxi to bring you to our offices. Be at the front door in twenty minutes."*****The receptionist is much friendlier than the first time she visited the offices. "Mr Devlin is expecting you, Miss Kimberley. Go straight in. Tea
RICHARDMichael's bar of choice turns out to be more of a club, humming with activity. A singer croons from the stage; soft jazz which can barely be heard over the vibe of the crowd. A glitter ball spills multi-coloured light across a dance floor and here and there, a strobe splatters occasional black light. The two women take stools at the bar, whilst Michael, James and I find a table in a quieter corner.Girl time...Charlotte, so far as I usually see, normally drinks wine, but Michael has bought cocktails for both her and Elizabeth. The technicolour extravaganzas arrive draped with umbrellas, fruit, butterflies on sticks and a sparkler fizzing out of the top. The women watch them arrive and both burst into helpless laughter. Then, heads close, they start talking."How is she now?" I nod towards James' and Michael's communal wife."Getting over it, I think," says James. "Without a doubt, it shocked her, learning that Klempner is her father."Michael grunts agreement.
The phone rings and he picks it up... "Hello?" ... then jolts as he hears the voice."Davey? Is that you?""Shelley? Yes, it's me." He pauses, looks over his shoulder then around the doorway into the lounge. "Shelley, Stephen's not here right now, but I'll have to talk quietly. How are you? Why are you calling? After all this time, why are you calling now?""Davey..." Her voice trembles. "I was wondering if... Would it be possible for me to come home?""Home?" He holds the receiver as though accusing it of lying. "You want to come home? Shelley, has something happened? Are you alright?""Yes, something's happened, and... no, I'm not alright. Do you think I could come? Would that be... possible?""Permanently you mean? To leave the City?"Clumping sounds in the background; Stephen coming down the stairs. "Who is it?""Ah... no-one."Stephen looks at him askance. "No-one? What's that supposed to mean?"David takes a breath. "It's Shelley.""Shelley?" Stephen looks u