Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1) (17 page)

              “Gentlemen, good evening,” Nick smiled. His left hand reached out for the wallet but Jurgen slammed his hand down on it. Nick turned slightly so the barrel of the Luger pounded directly at the seated man. “I won’t miss from here and it’ll make a hell of a mess. Ah ah!” he cautioned as Gunther made to move again.

              Jurgen made a show of relaxing back slightly in his chair, his eyes hooded, but his body remained tense. “Nick, how nice to see you. I trust you’re not going to do anything stupid to ruin our evening, or your life?”

              “I’m sorry, but it’s nothing personal. Someone wants these back.” He lifted the wallet from under Jurgen’s stiff hand and clumsily tucked it under his free arm.

              “Nick, don’t be silly. There’s no way off this boat. We’re both armed and the captain has been handsomely paid to take us to our rendezvous. It’s over. Let us slip away and you can sit and enjoy a drink.”

              “’Fraid not. Call it professional pride, or call it self-preservation, but I have to get these documents back.”

              “Nick, you won’t get off this boat, I promise you that. Even if you did, then what?” Jurgen spread his hands. “It is a matter of principle; I would have to come after you.”

              “Principles are such tricky things. Look at the mess it’s got us into,” replied Nick, backing away from the table carefully, the gun still held up at an angle. As he moved back, both men strained upright in their seat, Gunther already reaching into his inside pocket.

“Don’t!” Nick warned. “I won’t hesitate to shoot, you know that. Why don’t you enjoy the evening and then head home? You know you’re a wanted man back in London anyway.”

              To Nick’s surprise, Jurgen gave a laugh. “Am I? Am I indeed?” He shook his head. “Poor Nick. You really don’t know do you.” He stood slowly, a smile on his face as Nick backed away through the tables trying to look inconspicuous. “You’ve been played my friend, played like a fool. Wanted? Sure, go ask Carruthers, go ask him who’s wanted.” He laughed again. Nick kept backing away. Jurgen hadn’t moved forward. Gunther was looking at his companion for some kind of command. Nick kept moving.

“Nick, do you really know who your friends are?” boomed Jurgen.

              Suddenly a dancing couple crossed the space between Nick and the two men, oblivious to the stand off. Nick saw the two Germans leap up, so he turned and ran for the door, hearing the shouts of indignation and crash of glasses go up behind him. He was up the steps in two bounds, cannoning off an old man he sent flying. Nick stumbled, nearly dropping the wallet. He crashed into the guard rail and whirled. A shout went up and ahead of him he saw two sailors charge towards him. Behind him he could hear the two Germans pounding up the stairs.

              “Shit!” Nick exclaimed and hurled himself over the rail.

              The shock of the freezing cold water exploded the air from his lungs. He hit the water hard. He couldn’t see the water properly from the boat and he hit it awkwardly, winding himself. Just as his brain was overcoming the shock of his body being suddenly immersed in icy water, he registered that he was sinking. Nick had let go of the Luger as he’d hit the surface, but somehow kept hold of the attaché folder. He could feel the currents and chop of the water pulling him this way and that as he sank slowly down. Nick kicked desperately for the surface, his lungs burning. The weight of his suit was pulling him back and it seemed to take an age to break the surface of the water. He gasped again as he hit the fresh air and gulped in a single lungful before his head was covered by the chop of the waves and he started to sink. Kicking frantically, Nick struggled back to the surface and started to wriggle out of his jacket. The boat was already some way ahead of him, a glimmering beacon of light moving fast away from him in the darkness. Suddenly the river seemed very big. He could barely see the banks on either side and the water was as inky black as the night. He could just make out faces crowded at the stern rail as he got the jacket off. He turned and started to kick out for the north shore as he saw the boat slow and begin to angle into a turn.

              They’d come back to look for him of course; it was man overboard. They probably didn’t even know who. He had to get to shore before they found him, or before he drowned. He clumsily started swimming. Nick was a good swimmer; it was being on the water he disliked, not being in it, but doing the crawl while holding the folder was ponderous. He seemed to be making no headway against the swirling waters of the Thames, but it was difficult to tell; he could barely see the shoreline. Suddenly he became aware of something else, something in the water closing on him. There was a tug on his leg and his head went under. Someone clawed at him, grabbed at his shoulder, pushed him downwards. Nick’s eyes were wide open under the water but he could see nothing in the murk, just feel the bulk pushing down on him. Nick kicked fruitlessly with his legs; his breath was starting to go. Then the pressure released slightly. He felt a hand tearing at the folder.              Nick stopped panicking, grabbed the man and pulled himself up along his body, his free hand searching, clawing until he found the man’s face. Nick broke the surface just as his hand found Gunther’s eyes. The two men were face-to-face for a split instant, terror in both their countenances as they battled in the icy waters. Nick was momentarily faster, his fingers dug deep into Gunther’s eye. The man screamed, letting go of Nick and grabbing at Nick’s arms. In an instant Nick took advantage, pushing Gunther’s head down. Struggling to keep his own head above water, Nick kept up the pressure as the man thrashed beneath him. He kept that downward force up for a long time after the struggling ceased. Nick let go. The lifeless body bobbed facedown beside him.

Away, downstream, the boat ahead completed its turn. Nick could see the phosphors bow wake as it stemmed back upriver. He still had the folder and wearily kicked for the shore.

CHAPTER 18

Nick made firm ground and hauled himself onto the small stretch of muddy beach. Out in the night, the boat had slowed, passengers lined the rail, pallid faces scanning the water as lights from the boat criss-crossed the turbulent brown sludge of the river. Nick began to shiver. He stood up and paced along the riverbank walls until he found a metal ladder fixed in the towering bank. He painfully hauled his way up it, pausing to retch up some of the foul water he’d swallowed in his struggle. He didn’t even want to think about what might be lurking in it.

Reaching the top, he dragged himself over the small wall and lay exhausted on the pavement. Above him the clouds scudded past giving the briefest glimpsed of the stars above them, his body started to shiver uncontrollably now and he reluctantly pulled himself to his feet. He looked at the leather folder in his hand. He hoped it was worth it.

              Shaking uncontrollably, Nick managed to flag a passing taxi. The man tried to refuse to take him when he realised Nick was sopping wet, but Nick refused to get out and waved a sodden bank note. He had the taxi drop him off just around the corner from his flat and squelched the remainder of the way though the dark, quiet streets on foot. He knew his home would be being watched, but he was beyond caring. He needed dry clothes, a gun and a drink, not necessarily in that order. Sure enough, there was the all-too-familiar car parked up the street with a man sitting at the wheel. Nick trudged up the middle of the road, weaving slightly to appear like a drunk. As he drew level with the car, he suddenly lunged at the door. The man turned his head in shock just in time to connect with Nick’s fist. It had been a peach of a punch, right on the point of the jaw; the guy was going to be out for a while. Nick reached in and took the key from the ignition as he laid the man out. Now he wouldn’t get any unexpected visitors, at least for a short while.

              Nick shook his head when he saw the flat; it had been turned upside down. He scarcely cared who’d done it, but at least his drinks cabinet was still intact. Teeth chattering, he slipped out of his shirt and poured a large Scotch that slipped down in one. As its warmth hit him he felt better already. He stepped out of the rest of his clothes, poured another drink and set the bath running. Returning to the drinks cabinet, he lifted the lid to reveal a sunken area for the bottles. He pulled them out and lifted the wooden floor piece. Nestled there in a hidden recess was the small snub shape of the Mauser. Nick pulled it out, checked the magazine and put it on the chair. He hoped he wouldn’t need it, but the way things were going he was pretty sure he would.

As the bath topped up, he retrieved from various hiding places a brass knuckleduster and a small, thin, bladed stiletto knife and laid them all on the chair. He was still shivering. Deciding he couldn’t wait for the bath to fill all the way up, he jumped in and submerged himself under the water, which to his disgust turned a murky brown as the river grime came off him. Emptying the bath, he splashed more water over himself until he felt fully clean.

              It took him only minutes to dry himself and get dressed. He shaved and splashed on some cologne. Smoothing his hair back with pomade, he sat down in the lounge and lit a cigarette. He wondered how long he had here. Not too much longer. He opened the folder and shook it out. Everything inside was damp, so it hadn’t been that waterproof. Sure enough, two sets of negatives fell out, together with a sheaf of prints. The water hadn’t done them much good at all. He toyed with the idea of burning the lot then and there, but thought better of it. Carruthers wanted them, Carruthers was going to get them. He was the type of guy who would never believe that Nick had just burned them.

Slipping on his jacket, Nick stuffed the photos into the inside pocket together with the two sets of negatives. He slipped the small pile of weapons into different pockets then crossed to the telephone. Picking up the receiver, he dialled a number.

              “Yes?” came a sleepy voice.

              “I’ve got what you wanted. All of it.”

              “Nick?” The voice sounded more awake.

              “Yep. I’ve got the lot, damned near died doing it, too. We meet now, you tell me where Stephen is, or better still, bring him, I hand these over, we’re done. Deal?”

              There was a long silence.

              “Carruthers? Deal?”

              Carruthers cleared his throat. “Deal. Where are you?”

              “Never mind. How quickly can you get Stephen?”

              “Quickly.”

              “Good. Pick him up and meet me at the Phoenix Club on Charing Cross Road in fifteen minutes.”

Carruthers started to protest but Nick cut him off.

“Phoenix in fifteen minutes. You come with Stephen but otherwise alone. I’ll tell the doorman to look out for you. He won’t let anyone else in. If he’s made to then I’ll get tipped off and I’ll be gone, along with those photos. Understood?”

              “Understood.”

              “Carruthers. No tricks. This is it.”

              “Sure, Nick.”

The line went dead.

              Minutes later, Nick was back out in the cold night, cigarette stuck between his lips. He made a mental note that he would have to swing by The Blue Rose at some point to retrieve his hat and coat. It was getting too chilly to wander round without them. He crossed Oxford Street and ambled down through Soho Square. He was just nearing the alleyway that cut through onto Charing Cross Road at the Pillars of Hercules when he heard running footsteps behind him. He turned, but too late. There was an almighty thwack on his head, a flash of light and everything went dark.

“He’s coming round.”

Nick winced at the sound of the gruff voice. He blinked and winced. His head throbbed. He really had to stop getting clocked like this. His mouth was dry with the familiar feeling of nausea. He didn’t have to try to move his hand to know that they were tied behind him. He was sitting on a chair in what looked like an office. His blurred vision was clearing enough to make out a dim green lamp on a desk. He winced and blinked hard to try to clear his vision. He could make out the bulk of someone behind the desk.

              “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.