Mask of the Verdoy (19 page)

Jack looked to a nearby table where two wealthy-looking punters, each with an escort draped over them, had stopped their conversation to check out the new arrivals.

‘No, that’s alright, Sal,’ he said, raising his voice a little and holding the stare of one of the men. ‘You get yerself one of them cocktails, and we’ll ’ave … we’ll ’ave a bottle of the bubbly.’

Sal leant into him and lowered her voice.

‘I don’t think we need champagne, Jack—it’s two pound a pop!’

‘Two quid?
Fuck me!
 … S’cuse my French … Well, how much is the wine then?’

‘Seven-and-six. We could get a bottle of scotch for thirty-five bob.’

Jack took a deep breath, just managing not to swear again.

‘No—yer alright. Let’s have a bottle of the wine. How much is yer cocktail?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that—the wine’ll be fine.’

‘How much is it?’

‘Three bob.’

‘Then you’re ’aving one of them—I insist. Right, what do we do, go up to the jump to order?’

‘Oh no—it’s all waiter service. But look, I wanna word with Claude anyways, so I’ll go up and place the order.’

Jack began to search in his pocket for the money.

‘Oh, don’t worry about that now, Jack—you pay at the end of the night.’

‘Right, ’course.’

Up at the bar Sally hoisted herself onto a stool and waited for Claude to finish mixing some drinks for one of the waiters.

June—a veteran of Jerry Paladino’s clip joints, and the self-appointed head-girl amongst the escorts—came across and perched herself on the adjacent seat.

‘Thought it was your night off, Sally. And you’ve brought your own company, I see … Looks like someone’s after a promotion. Still, I told Jerry from the start that you were wasted on the ciggies—girl with your looks, should go far … as long as you play by the rules, of course.’

June looked over at Jack sitting awkwardly in his booth. She produced a compact from her clutch bag and began to powder her face.

‘Mind you,’ she continued, ‘I’m not sure you’ll get much out of that one, love. Couple of quid at the most is my bet.’

‘It’s a favour—for Vern.’

‘Oh!
For Vern
 … And does Jerry know?’

‘Expect so, they’re mates, ain’t they?’

‘Right! Of course they are … Well, try to get the old steamer to buy you the Cat’s Kiss, it’s just orange juice with a drop of bitters but we charge him three bob for the privilege and you get sixpence for each one you sell. If he orders a bottle of whisky tell him that you only drink it with ginger ale—that way we can charge him one-and-six for each small bottle. And if it’s gin, the tonic’s a shilling a go. And, of course, if he buys you a box of chocolates say you’ll save them for later; you can sell them back to Jerry afterwards for ten shillings. The flowers are—’

‘Alright, alright—I know what’s o’clock! I’m not still wet behind the ears, you know!’

‘Ooh—sorry, I’m sure. Only, I didn’t know you’d had the intro talk—seeing as you’re only the ciggie girl.’

June put away her compact and fitted a cigarette into a tortoiseshell holder.

‘Listen, kid—you sure you wanna get into this game?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you’re young, pretty … decent pair of pins. You’ve still got options, you know? Doing this line of work … well, it’s not so great for the health. All the late nights, the drinking … not to mention the more grisly details. Somehow you become … oh, I don’t know—
a creature of the night
, let’s say.’ She snapped shut her compact and placed it back in her bag. ‘You know, I can’t remember the last time I felt the sun on my face.’

By now Claude had finished with the drinks order and sidled up to their end of the bar.

‘What ze matter, June?’ he said. ‘You scared of a little competition, eh?’

June ignored the barman and opened her bag again, retrieving her lipstick.

‘All I’m saying is—make sure this is what you want. In my experience you’ve got about as long as it takes to work your way through one of
these
to decide.’ She twisted out the lipstick and began to apply it to her thin lips. ‘If you’re still doing it by the time you need a new lippy … you’ll be in for life. And believe me—that’s no kind of life.’

With that she grabbed a book of matches from the bar and sauntered off to greet a couple of punters who had just staggered in.

‘So,’ said Claude, wiping down the bar top. ‘What’ll it be?’

‘A Cat’s Kiss and a bottle of wine please, Claude.’

‘
Graves
?’

‘If you say so—is that seven-and-six a bottle?’

Claude shrugged.

‘To zem, yes—to us it’s one-and-nine.’

‘That’s the one then.’

Claude indicated to where Jack was sitting in the booth.

‘This is the man Vern wanted here?’

‘Yeah, that’s him, Jack Portas—the MP’s old man.’

‘
D’accord
—we have something special for our friend, then.’

Claude busied himself getting the drinks ready. Sally watched him as he opened the bottle of wine and then produced a small, fluted blue glass bottle from the pocket of his apron.

‘Hey! Hang on a minute! What’s that?’

‘Shush!’ said the barman, leaning over the bar to whisper. ‘It is ze sleep stuff, ze “death drop”—butyl chloride. In half an hour he dreams like a baby,
non
?’

‘No!’

‘Yes—it’s what Vern wanted.’

‘Really?’

‘
Vraiment
! Ask Jerry.’

‘Is it poison? Will it hurt him?’

‘
Non
, just a little drop—
comme ça
! And in a little while …’ Claude put his hands up to his face and mimed sleeping. ‘But, you have him upstairs by then—
oui
?’ He poured the wine onto the knock-out drops in the bottom of the glass. ‘Just make sure you know which is his—yes?’

Claude clicked his fingers and one of the waiters took up the tray with the drinks on it and followed Sally back to the booth.

Jack took up the glass of wine and clinked it against Sally’s cocktail.

‘Here we are then—bottoms up!’

He took a long drink and smacked his lips.

‘Well, it ain’t stout—that’s for sure. Bit of an acquired taste I suppose, but when in Rome, eh? What you got then?’

‘It’s a Cat’s Kiss—very nice.’

Sally gave a nervous look at the glass in Jack’s hand.

‘Maybe you should sip it to start with, Jack; you know—if you’re not used to it.’

‘Rubbish! I seen them froggy sailors drinking it out of half-pint glasses down at the docks; don’t do them any harm. Besides, us old stevedores have all got hollow legs.’

Jack finished off the first glass of wine and poured himself another.

Just then the band stopped playing and an individual in a Panama hat and a red blazer took to the stage.

‘Who’s this berk then?’ said Jack, a little too loudly. ‘Look at all his rings—done up like a pox doctor’s clerk!’

‘Shush! That’s Jerry—he’s the owner. Listen now—I think he’s about to introduce one of the acts.’

Paladino held his hands up and the audience chatter fell to a low murmur.

‘Now, you lucky people! We come to our first act of the night. All the way from the darkest jungles of South America …’

‘Do they ’ave jungles in South America?’

‘
Shush
, Jack!’

Sally grabbed the old stevedore’s hand on the table, noticing that his eyes were starting to look a little unfocussed.

‘An act of rare beauty and dexterity! I give you—
The Amazing Luisa and Ricardo!
’

There was a ripple of half-hearted applause as the band struck up a swing version of “You Do Something to Me”. The stage went black, the house lights dimmed and there—in the centre of a blue spotlight—was the lissom Luisa, a Brazilian contortionist in the skimpiest of costumes. Balancing on a bar stool Luisa struck a few impressive poses and then placed her hand inside a hessian sack and produced—to a salvo of gasps—
Ricardo
, a seven-foot-long boa constrictor, which she immediately wrapped around her neck.

Jack gazed at the stage for a while, transfixed by the sight of Luisa’s toned body and the undulations of the snake.

‘Gawd! However does she do that?’ said Sally, as the performer arched her back at an impossible angle, straddling her own head whilst the boa pushed its way through the middle. ‘Blimey! That costume’s a bit brief, ain’t it? Don’t leave too much to the imagination … Don’t think you should be looking too closely, Jack.
Jack?
 … You alright?’

Jack smiled at her and clumsily poured himself another glass of wine.

‘It’ssss aaaa ssssnake, Sal!
A fucking sssnake!
’

The girl filling in for Sally appeared at the booth with her cigarette tray.

‘Hello, sir. Any smokes? How about a nice box of chocolates for the young lady?’ She gave Sally a wink.

‘I think we’re alright for the moment,’ said Sally, looking at Jack, whose head had slumped down onto his chest.

Then Jack snapped back into consciousness.

‘Rubbish! You ’ave a box of chocolates—go on! That big one there, love. How much?’

‘They’re a guinea a box.’

‘A guinea? They’re three bob down our corner shop.’

‘Well, sir,’ said the cigarette girl, beginning to walk away. ‘If you don’t think the lady’s worth it …’

‘Come ’ere! Did I say that? Did I? I didn’t say that!’

Jack fished about in his pocket and threw a ten shilling note and a handful of coins on the table.

‘There you go—give the lady the chocolates.’

‘Thank you, sir!’ said the girl, handing Sally the box and scooping the money up from the table.

‘Cheers!’ said Jack, downing his wine in one and refilling the glass.

‘Take it easy, Jack. You don’t wanna be ill.’

‘Rubbish! Ssstuff’s like water to me … Waiter! Another tomcat’s whatchamacallit over ’ere! … Let’s ’ave a dance, Sal, shall we? Come on—you and me.’

‘But the act’s still on, Jack. Wait until it’s over.’

‘Come on, gel!’

‘Jack—
leave off!
’

Jack grabbed Sally’s hand and struggled to his feet. He took a couple of steps towards the dance floor but immediately stumbled into the table in front of him, scattering the bottles and glasses. The girls screeched and jumped up to avoid getting wine on their dresses.

‘Bloody fool!’ cried one of the gents, dabbing at his crouch with a napkin.

‘Whassat?’ said Jack, trying to square up to him. The house lights went up and as he stood there swaying the purple-red glow seemed to emanate from somewhere inside his skull, pulsing in time to his heartbeat.

Shaking his head he stumbled onto the dance floor and gazed at his feet, becoming lost in the labyrinthine swirl of the linoleum, desperately trying to catch hold of a focus point to anchor to. As the
room began to spin around him Jack was vaguely aware that the music had stopped and that the crowd were laughing at something. He looked to the stage where thick coils of snake were wrapping around the young girl’s neck, twisting and turning, getting tighter and tighter … he closed his eyes and felt the powerful rope of muscles around his own throat, squeezing down, choking the life from him …

As Jack collapsed in a heap on the floor Jerry Paladino leapt onto the stage and ushered the contortionist off.

‘Ladies and gentlemen—let’s hear it for
Luisa and Ricardo!
’

He turned to the band leader. ‘
Play something, you berk!
’ he hissed.

As The All Stars rustled up a vigorous rendition of “The Sheik of Araby”, Paladino placed his forefinger and thumb into his mouth and gave a short whistle; within seconds Big Jonno was at his side. The club owner nodded to the inert figure sprawled on the dance floor.

‘Get rid of him before he spills his guts.’

‘But boss, ain’t this the mug that Slater’s putting the oliver on?’

‘Listen Jonno, who pays your wages—that wide-boy Slater or yours truly?’

‘You, boss.’

‘Damn right! Now, get it sorted,
pronterino
! Or you’ll be back sucking clowns off for a living.’ He pointed to the unconscious Portas. ‘There’s ways of doing these things … and that ain’t it!’

A few minutes later Jonno was tramping up the steps with the unconscious old man slumped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Sally followed on with Jack’s hat, trying to get a glimpse of his eyes, worrying that Claude’s knock-out drops might have done some permanent damage.

Out on the street Jonno hoisted Jack off his shoulder and propped him up against the railings.

‘He needs to settle up, Sal—what did he have?’

‘Two Cat’s Kisses and a bottle of the seven-and-six. He’s paid for the chocs already.’

‘Right-you-are—about fourteen bob then.’

The doorman rifled through Jack’s pockets and began to count out the money.

‘Then he needs to cover the breakages … let’s call it a quid, all-in.’

He pocketed the pound and gave the rest to Sally.

‘There you go, treat yerself … Now, what do you want doing with him? I could dump him down the alleyway out back; or—if you’re feeling charitable—Smudge has just dropped a fare off—he’s parked over there, having a cuppa.’

Sally crouched down next to Jack and placed a hand to his cheek, reassured a little when he let out a light groan.

‘I wanna make sure he gets home, Jonno. Could you help me get him into Smudge’s cab?’

‘Sure, if that’s what you want. Though, you know, it don’t pay to be too soft-hearted in this game, Sal.’

Jonno summoned the cab over and laid Jack out on the back seat.

The cabbie appeared on the pavement and quickly checked out his new passenger.

‘Here, hold yer ’orses! He don’t look too clever to me. I don’t want him croaking on me, causing me grief.’

‘Don’t sweat it Smudge, he’s just been on the hops is all.’

‘I’m not as green as I am cabbage-looking you know, Jonno. It’s all very well you lot putting out your rubbish like this, but I’m the one that gets lumbered if I’m stopped by the bogeys.’

‘Alright, alright!’ said Jonno, turning to Sally and opening her hand to take out a ten shilling note. ‘There you go, that should cover any hassle.’

Smudge regarded the money and sniffed.