The Bullet Trick (24 page)

She held my gaze.

'Sometimes not so much fun, no.' She smiled. 'We were friends. I mean it well.' She glanced back at the table where Sylvie was deep in conversation with Dix. 'You know how it is in this business, friendships change with shows, and Sylvie… well, she has loyalties that make it difficult for anyone to stay her friend for long.'

I nodded, encouraging her to go on, while wondering if the poison had been personal or professional. Zelda lifted a small bag from the seat beside her. A gentleman would probably have eased her descent from the high stool, but I hesitated and she slid off elegantly without my help, her skirt shifting up her slim thighs to reveal that she was still naked beneath. Now that she was standing Zelda was taller than me, but I still held her eyes in mine.

'So Sylvie quit?'

Zelda glanced away from me.

'She quit, yes.'

The glance told me some of what I wanted to know. Whatever reason Sylvie had left, it hadn’t been voluntary.

'I don’t suppose you care to go into details?'

Zelda looked at something beyond my left shoulder. I turned and found Dix at my elbow. He smiled, said something soft to Zelda in German then turned to me.

'Another drink?'

'Sure.'

He looked at the dancer and she shook her head.

'I must go.'

I took the stein Dix slid towards me and thanked him, mentally cursing his timing. The sailorgirl was buying a pack of cigarettes from behind the bar. I leaned in towards her.

'Perhaps you’ll come and see my act?'

'Perhaps.'

'I’ll drop by with a couple of tickets.'

'OK.' Zelda’s smile was cool and detached and told me not to bother. Maybe the disappointment showed on my face because she leant over and gave me a kiss on the cheek and whispered, 'Be careful, William.'

Her perfume smelt sweet beneath the faint tang of performance sweat.

'Hey,' I grinned. 'Of course I will. After all I’m a stranger in a strange town.'

This time there was no responding smile. She glanced towards Dix as he made his way back to the table with the drinks and said in a low tone, 'Then perhaps you shouldn’t make life stranger still by mixing with strange people.'

I watched as her slim form swished away from me. The bouncer opened the door, she gave me a last smile then turned away, lifting her skirt, giving me a quick naughty flash of her naked rear, then the door swung to and she was gone. I finished my pint at the bar, ordered another round and went to rejoin Sylvie and Dix.

Dix had set up a fresh jug of wine for Sylvie, but his own glass was empty. I placed a beer in front of him and he shook his head.

'It’s sad, but I have to go.'

'Dix is a busy, busy man. He has cards to deal and deals to shuffle.'

Sylvie’s words were slurred, but she was holding her own against the drink.

Her mention of deals and shuffles made me think about the casino at Alexanderplatz that Dix had mentioned on our first meeting. But I hadn’t placed a bet since I’d arrived in Berlin and was hoping to keep it that way. Anyway, even if I had fancied a flutter I wouldn’t want to do it in Dix’s company, even before his talk of rich perverts who could make our fortunes.

Up on stage the bouncer had donned a red-sequinned waistcoat and bow tie. He smiled shyly then somewhere a karaoke machine started up and he launched into ‘Those Were the Days, My Friend’. He moved his body with the music, jerking against the beat like a blind piano player belting out a Motown number. Tension constricted his voice, making the words come out high and off-key. He should forget the strong-arm stuff. If there was ever any aggro all he needed to do was sing at the troublemakers.

Dix pulled on an expensive-looking coat just as the bouncer swooped into an alarming pitch change. I nodded towards the stage.

'You picked a good time to get going.'

Dix shrugged.

'It’s necessary.'

He laid his hand for a second on Sylvie’s sleek head, and then raised it in general farewell. There was something saintly in the sparseness of the gestures that irritated me.

I gave him a glib, 'See you, then.'

And he leaned in for a final word.

'Remember what I said, we should talk, we could make money together.'

Dix stroked Sylvie’s hair again but she turned away, as if his decision to leave had already removed his presence and any need for goodbyes. She grinned at me without a last glance towards Dix as he walked out of the door.

'Poor Sebastian, he surely loves to sing.'

The bouncer was belting out the chorus now.

zose were ze dayze, my friend,
I thought zyd neffer end

His German accent was so thick I wondered if he’d learnt the words phonetically. But whatever skill his performance lacked, it had sincerity. A small tear coursed its way down a cheek layered over with powder and rouge. Sebastian’s brimming eyes were spiked with mascara, his mouth painted cherry-red. He looked like a corrupted oversized Pinocchio, cast out into the world and destined never to be reunited with Gepetto. A mad puppet set up on stage to remind us that all of our gods are dead.

Sylvie’s voice held an indulgent superiority.

'I like Sebastian, even if he is a violent, tuneless, poor excuse for a bouncer.'

Her voice was growing loud again. Sebastian’s eyes flicked towards us. I wondered if he could hear what she was saying above the music, but he kept singing, throwing his body into his same spastic dance. He slid off his suit jacket and I realised that his shirt was just a front secured by thin straps crisscrossing over his back and around his waist. Sebastian was on the da-da-da-da-da-das now. He unfastened the straps and let the bib shirt go flying towards the bar. His chest was hairless, his nipples unnaturally red or rouged with the same jammy gloss that coated his lips.

'Bring back the dancing girls.'

Sylvie shook her head.

'You ain’t seen nothing yet.'

Across the room a heavyset man excused himself from his companions and started to make his way awkwardly across the room.

'I’ve seen enough — look, folk are leaving.'

Sylvie kept her gaze on Sebastian and put her hand on my elbow. I glanced towards the door, wondering if there was a general exodus, and saw the large man veering in our direction, rolling like a sailor who’d lost his sea legs. Sylvie’s eyes were still fixed on the stage.

'Wait for the money shot.'

'Do I have to?' Sebastian leant forward, grabbing his trousers by the waistline, then there was a ripping sound, the Velcro seams gave and he was standing before us in a pair of pink and black lacy panties, suspenders and stockings. 'It’s a fucking freak show.'

'Don’t worry, William. No fucking involved.'

Sylvie’s laugh halted abruptly. I felt a pressure at my back. The fat man’s hands were resting against my chair as he leaned in towards Sylvie.

'Hey Suze.' His breath stank of beer, smoke, strong spices and belly rot. 'Long time eh?'

Sylvie looked up at him, her eyes panicked but her voice free of all recognition.

'You’re mistaken.'

The man smiled apologetically at me, drink making his grin lopsided, his other hand resting on Sylvie’s chair now. He smoothed it across her back, gracing me with a wink.

'Maybe you could spare her for a while. Fifteen minutes,' the grin flashed again. 'Probably less.'

'She’s told you pal, you’ve got her mixed up with someone else.'

The fat man raised his hands.

'Hey, no mistake, I never forget a face,' he smiled, 'or a mouth, or a cute ass, or a…'

I got to my feet, pushing his hand from the back of my chair. Up on stage Sebastian raised his arms ready to conduct the audience in the chorus, grinning against the sadness of it all, swaying stiffly like a human metronome.

'The lady’s told you, she’s not interested.'

'Hey — if she tells me to go I’ll go.' The fat man’s grin was moist, his broad face smooth and pink like a slab of boiled ham. 'There’s enough to go round, first or second, I don’t care, you take your pick.' He laughed. 'You take your prick, then take your pick.'

Sylvie said, 'When was the last time you saw your prick, you fat fuck?', just as I shoved the heel of my hand into the centre of his barrel chest. It wasn’t a hard push, but the man was drunk. He staggered backwards, jarring against the table behind us, spilling drinks in a smash of ice and glass undercut by the sudden protests of the drinkers. It looked like he was going to hit the ground, but the fat man’s rolling gait had taught him his centre of gravity and he regained his balance, pitching like a skittle that refuses to go down. The grin was back now, broader than before. Up on stage Sebastian faltered. The man shrugged his shoulders, palms raised upwards to show there was no problem. I righted my fallen chair and he turned back to me, his voice hurt.

'Why fight about a whore? She’s anyone’s for the asking.'

'Not yours.'

He shrugged.

'Enjoy her. She’s a good fuck, for a whore.'

Sylvie sloshed her wine in his face. The fat man shook his head like a Labrador shaking itself free of water after a swim. He put his face close to Sylvie’s and spoke in English for my benefit. 'You best watch out, Sweetheart, word is your boyfriend’s in debt to the wrong men, and my guess is it’s you who’ll have to pay.'

He put a hand on her breast and squeezed.

When I thought about it later I wasn’t sure whether my anger was sparked by the squeeze or because the man had referred to Dix as Sylvie’s boyfriend. But at that moment there were no coherent thoughts in my head, just the blinding red of rage.

I hit him a punch that connected with his jaw and a bolt of pain shot up through my knuckles. The room boomed as Sebastian dropped the mike. I grabbed my injured right hand in my left and the fat man made to get me in a hug. Sylvie started throwing glasses. One skated across the stage. Its rumbling progress was picked up by Sebastian’s abandoned mike and blasted across the room. The second flew towards the fat man. He ducked, but too slowly to avoid a glancing blow; beer splashed into his eyes and his big hands flew towards them. Sebastian clambered from the stage. Everything seemed to slow except Sylvie. She kept on moving, grabbing her bag and coat, pushing me towards the door.

'Forget it!'

We staggered towards the exit, no one making any move to stop us, except for Sebastian, who was off the stage now, his progress hampered by the patrons. I looked behind me and saw him leap a table, more threatening than a man in women’s underwear should be.

We clattered up the basement steps and out into the street. I followed Sylvie blindly, chasing the sound of her heels until at last I realised there was no one behind us and stopped, leaning forward, hands on knees, taking deep gasps of the night air, wondering if I would ever breathe normally again. Sylvie heard the echo of my footsteps fail. She turned and laughed, then resumed her siren flight, her heels ringing against the pavement. I took a deep draught of air and ran on, realising I was no longer fleeing Sebastian. Sylvie darted away from the main drag, down a darkened alleyway and I followed, caught in the chase.