Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1) Page 9

  The band played away on the stage and couples swayed energetically on the small dance floor, barely visible through the palls of cigarette smoke that hung lazily in the gloom. Nick’s Corpse Reviver Number Two arrived and, relaxed, he let his foot start to tap to the rhythm of the music as he sipped.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Nick looked up sharply and what he saw made him inhale sharply. Lucia leant casually with one hand atop the back of the spare chair, her shimmering gold gown matching the leaf of the room and clinging to the contours of her body like a sin. Her teeth sparkled against her olive skin as she smiled, the gloss of her lips glinting in the candle light. Before Nick could answer, she slid seamlessly into the seat and he felt the mood of his night implode.

  She leaned forward and lit a cigarette from the candle, pushing her hair back as she sat upright, squinting through the smoke. “My, you’re quiet.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Same as you. Enjoying myself. Didn’t figure you for a Savoy man, though, I have to admit.”

  “And I didn’t figure you for a Savoy girl. What are you really doing here?”

  “A girl can’t enjoy herself? Nick, you’re too old fashioned, but I can see what Clara sees in you.” She tilted her head slightly as she looked at him, the traces of a smile playing around those full lips.

  Nick could feel the tension pouring back into his body. He eyed her across the table. She was a stunner, he had to admit, but why was he even allowing himself to think that. He took a slug of his drink. “You want to tell me why you’re really here?” he tried again.

  “I like the music. Do you want to dance?”

  “We danced already.”

  “Hmm, and I enjoyed it. Still I guess you’re right. Imagine if Clara popped down and found you flinging me around the dance floor again.”

  “Just imagine,” Nick said flatly.

  “Well” – Lucia leant forward and clasped Nick’s drink, taking a sip to his surprise – “that’s nice. To business. I’ve been checking you out, Mr Valentine. I must say, I’m impressed. You were quite active during the war.”

  “Maybe. Lots of men were active in the war. What of it?”

  “Oh, of course, Nick, but most of them were in the trenches, just like you started out the war, but most of them didn’t end up as the anonymous whisper of death in dark city streets miles from any fronts.”

  Nick felt his jaw clench. Underneath the table he flexed his hand. “You’re well informed.”

  “Not really. I found out quite a bit, but a lot of nothing really. For instance, what was the incident that saw you sent back from the front to be redeployed as an assassin? I couldn’t find anything about that.”

  Nick felt the knot in his stomach – part panic, part loathing. He shrugged.

  “I wonder, something so terrible, no one would even write it up, yet such a deed as to signpost to someone that you had skills that could be better used elsewhere.” She took another sip of Nick’s drink. “This is lovely. What is it?”

  “A Corpse Reviver.” Nick said from between clenched teeth.

  Lucia looked at him for a moment then threw back her head and laughed. “How apt. How you.”

  “It seems you have me at a disadvantage. Perhaps I should be doing some homework of my own?”

  “You’re doing enough.” Her tone changed and she leaned forward. “Leave it, Nick.”

  “Leave what?” he asked innocently.

  Lucia gave a snort. “Sure. Okay. I’m trying to help. I know more about this than you do and you’re being played.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes.”

  “And why should I believe you?”

  “Why should you not? Who else do you believe, Nick? No one’s being honest with you.”

  “Goes with the territory I suppose.”

  “Yes it does, but Nick, this won’t end well for you, please, find a way out of this and walk away.”

  “Why are you so keen for me to do that?”

  Lucia stubbed out her cigarette and regarded him for a few moments. “Two reasons, Nick: one, you’re spoiling my patch and complicating things for me; two, you and I aren’t so different. I don’t want to see you hurt more than you need to be.”

  “I’m touched, but what makes you think I’ll get hurt?”

  Lucia looked away, biting at her bottom lip. She looked back at Nick. “People aren’t always what they seem,” she said eventually. Her eyes searched his but whatever flicker of recognition she was looking for, she didn’t find and she looked away again. “You should get going. Won’t Clara be waiting for you?” Suddenly Lucia looked vulnerable as well as beautiful.

  “I guess so. Where are you going?” Nick asked, somewhat thrown by her sudden openness.

  She shrugged and threw him a sad smile. “Somewhere. Anywhere. Go on. Go and enjoy tonight and whatever Clara’s got planned for you.” She stood abruptly and stepped away from the table, before pausing and turning slowly back.

  Nick leaned his chair back and watched her. Her face was that beautiful mask again, the fragility gone. She stepped and bent over him, the breath from her lips hot against his ear. Her warm floral scent filled his senses.

  “I guess I’ll be seeing you around. Think about what I said, please,” she breathed.

  “I will.” He had to resist slipping an arm around her shimmering gown as she leaned even closer.

  “Enjoy tonight. Try not to think of me.” Her lips brushed his cheek and she was gone, the olive of her skin framed by the shimmering V of the backless dress as she swayed away across the dance floor.

  Nick sat back on his chair and silently cursed.

  CHAPTER 9

  Nick awoke to find Clara gone. He wasn’t surprised. He could tell that she’d know he was preoccupied. She didn’t comment on it. She didn’t have to. Her disappointment was obvious. Something else to make up for. He cursed Lucia, cursed himself, cursed Carruthers, then got out of bed and finished the last of the warm champagne sitting in the tepid water of the ice bucket. The warm fizz ran down his throat, the water from the bottle dripping on his bare chest. He stared reflectively out the window at the grey cloud-filled skies and the sheets of rain moving up the Thames. It was time to get away from this city, this life. Clara was something worth holding on to and she was drifting away from him. He had to pull them back together and take them away.

  Sighing he dropped the bottle back into the bucket with a splash and padded through to the bathroom, where he turned the shower on scalding hot, standing under it until he’d turned bright red and worked up a sweat, then turning the water freezing cold. Shivering he stepped out and he towelled himself dry. He looked around the room. All of Clara’s things were gone and he cursed again. She was meant to stay here to be safe; now he had to worry about that, too. Though, how safe she would have been here was open to debate. Lucia had found him last night, after all.

  He started to dress and as he opened the wardrobe to retrieve his shirt, he smiled. Scrawled on the mirror inside the door in lipstick was,Thank You. X. He stared at it for a while with a slight smile that faded as he wondered whether it was actually possible to portray sarcasm with lipstick.

  After a breakfast of strong black coffee and lightly smoked kippers, Nick almost felt like a new man. He decided to walk back up through Covent Garden and Soho. The rain was little more than light drizzle and the lack of an umbrella didn’t bother him. Dodging the trams on the Strand, he crossed it, winding his way through the market, across Seven Dials and into the bottom end of Soho on Old Compton Street. Threading his way north, he paused at Bar Italia, considering a coffee, but was about to press on towards The Dog and Duck when a black sedan trundled noisily up to the curb beside him. The back door swung open and a battered face peered out.

  “Get in!”

  Nick hesitated, but while the man’s suit was struggling to contain his bulging frame, Nick recognised him. This probably wouldn’t be good, but there was nothing to be gained
from trying to run away. Shrugging he stepped in through the door and took a seat on the shiny leather banquette seat in the back, next to an older man elegantly dressed in a chalk-stripe three-piece, complete with red carnation in the buttonhole.

  “Nick, it’s been a while,” said the older man. The bruiser settled on the backward-facing seat opposite them, having slammed the door shut so loudly the older man winced.

  “That it has, Mr Richardson. Things have been kind of quiet.”

  “Have they, Nick? That’s not what I hear.”

  “No?”

  The man smiled. “Come, Nick, Teddy Adamson. He’s most upset you know.”

  “I’m sure. That was a private matter, though.”

  Richardson held up a hand. “Take it easy. Adamson’s not under my protection. He’s just been moaning a lot. Word gets around fast you know. If I were you I’d give him a wide berth for a while. He’s got it in for you.”

  “Has he now?”

  “Indeed. My advice comes for free, Nick. On the matter of Teddy that is. I have another problem.” He frowned slightly and turned to look at Nick with pale grey eyes. “I had an associate doing a nice line in publications whom unfortunately has become deceased.” His eyes were locked on Nick’s. Nick held his gaze, despite the hostile glare of the gorilla opposite.

  “That’s … unfortunate.” Nick replied.

  “Yes. Unfortunate and costly. I’m not happy, Nick, for a number of reasons.”

  “Anything I can help out with?” Nick volunteered.

  Richardson had a finger in nearly everything going on in Soho, from clip joints to drugs to brothels. He wasn’t a man to be crossed lightly.

  “Perhaps,” Richardson sniffed. “I know you went to see the man in question. Shortly afterwards he was dead. I don’t like that kind of thing on my patch. That man was under my protection.”

  “He was alive when I left,” Nick interjected.

  “Was he now?” Richardson looked at Nick with narrowed eyes, while there was a noisy cracking of knuckles opposite. “You know a girl called Ramona?”

  Nick swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Hmm. You see, Nick, she was under my protection, too, and I was rather fond of her. She was found outside your flat wasn’t she?”

  “Yes, I found her.”

  “I see. You found her.” Somehow he made it sound like an accusation. There was silence that stretched on. The car smelt of polished leather and flowers, which was improbable, Nick reflected, given Mr Richardson’s reputation and well-known predilection for violence.

  Nick shifted uneasily, the leather creaking beneath him. “You know Ramona owed Teddy?”

  Richardson smiled a crocodile’s smile. “Nice, Nick, nice. Teddy didn’t kill her.” He wagged a finger in Nick’s face. “You should know better. In fact I’m sure you do.”

  “I’m working some angles on it,” Nick offered.

  “I know you are. I also know there’s a lot more to it. I just don’t know what.”

  Nick opened his mouth to start to speak, but Richardson held up his hand.

  “Nick, I don’t want to know. I don’t care especially, but what I do care about is people that are in business with me, protected by me, getting offed on my manor. It doesn’t look good, doesn’t send the right message. Now, I know you’re looking into this. When you find something out, you let me know and to be clear, all I want to know is who is responsible. Then we’ll decide how to take care of it.”

  Nick nodded, “Sure. Like I said, I’m looking into it, but it’s a bit early to feel anyone’s collar.”

  “Fine. Try to stay alive long enough to find out what I want to know won’t you, Nick?”

  The door swung open again.

  “That’s one thing you can depend on,” Nick said, his mind still trying to work out if it was a veiled threat.

  “Good. I’ll be watching.”

  Nick climbed out and the car door slammed shut as the engine revved, but the car didn’t pull away. The window wound down.

  “Oh, Nick, one more thing.”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s more and worse than the Teddy Adamsons of the world out there. Watch your back.”

  The car accelerated away. Nick watched it disappear up towards Soho Square. He shook his head and trudged towards The Dog and Duck. He needed that drink more than ever.

  CHAPTER 10

  The pub gave Nick time to think. He needed to get things moving. The quicker he could satisfy Carruthers, the quicker he was out of it and the quicker he could take Clara away from all this.

  Nick walked to a phone box and tried Stephen again. No answer. That was strange; Stephen was rarely ever out at his age. He’d become a homebody. He was at a loss. His hand felt foreign keys in his pocket and he smiled. The perfect answer.

  Nick bought a small bottle of Scotch from the off-licence and navigated his way through Fitzroy Square, back down to the end of Conway Street. The street stood empty. There were no lights showing from the ground floor of the corner flat. The Brigadier had chosen well; nice address, central part of town but quiet. Innocuous. Nick slipped the keys from his pocket and cautiously let himself in. The flat was almost as he’d left it last night. Apart from a dark stain on the floor near the foot of the bed. The gramophone and wireless were in pieces on the floor, the bureau lay on its side. There were heavy soiled footprints everywhere, no doubt from Carruthers’ goons. The place was a wreck. Nick idly wondered who’d woken up first and who’d shouted the most and blamed the other.

  It took him about a quarter of an hour to search through the debris of what was left, with no result. Tired, he sat on the floor of the living room and started to think. His mind drifted to Lucia, her lustrous hair, the fragrant smell of her skin, those long legs… He started. The bed. The mattress had been thrown off, the sheets were askew, but the bed was a cast-iron bed frame. Nick remembered the training he’d had, he crossed the room and pulled the head frame off. It came away easily; there nestled at the top of one the legs was a thin strip of negatives. He pulled it out and looked at them in the light. Four shots, of documents. Slipping them into his pocket, he flicked off the lights and left. Time to see the Brigadier and get some answers.

  Nick ducked into the first phone box he found and dialled the operator. She found Brigadier Johnson straight away. Nick waited as the phone rang out. A haughty woman’s voice answered.

  “Johnson residence.”

  “I’d like to speak to Brigadier Johnson please.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible. He is with people at the moment. Would you care to leave a message?”

  “I need to speak to him urgently, government business. Tell him it’s Carruthers, from the other night.”

  “I see,” sniffed the woman, in a tone that suggested she didn’t at all. “I shall pass that on, but as I said, he is busy.”

  Nick heard the phone speaker thunk and footsteps walk away. If that was the wife no wonder Ramona had turned the old boy’s head. There was a long pause during which he had to shovel more coins into the phone, before he heard footsteps coming back.

  “Hello?” boomed a deep voice.

  “Brigadier. It’s Carruthers, from The Blue Rose.”

  “You’ve got a damned nerve…” interrupted Johnson.

  “Listen, I need to see you, very urgently, some–”

  “I’m busy, damn you, man. This can wait until morning.”

  “Wait!” shouted Nick. “Put that phone down and the next call that comes through tells Mrs Johnson all about Ramona.”

  “You dog!” roared the Brigadier.

  “Are you all right, darling?” Nick heard in the distance.

  “Yes, yes,” Johnson replied irritably. “You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed back down the phone.

  “Oh but I would, and you know I would.”

  “What do you want? Are you aiming to blackmail me like those other fellows, eh?”

  “What other fellows?” Nick asked sharply.

  �
�Some foreign-sounding chap, said he knew about Ramona, said my wife would find out if I didn’t cooperate and that he’d be in touch. You in league with him are you, you scoundrel?”

  “No. Listen to me, Johnson…”

  “Brigadier Johnson to you!”

  “Listen to me. You may be in danger. I need to see you urgently. Can you come to the flat you got for Ramona?”

  There was a long silence.

  “Hello?”

  “What do you want?” it was a softer resigned tone that came crackling down the line.

  “I’m not the only one that knows. Please, get here as quickly as you can and then we can try and clear this up.”

  “Give me half an hour.”

  The line went dead.

  Nick had a good view of the street from the phone box, and it was warm. He reached up and unscrewed the light bulb, plunging the box into darkness. Pushing the craving for a cigarette to the back of his mind with a slug of Scotch, he waited. He didn’t want Brigadier Johnson springing any surprises. There was little traffic and not a lot happened for the first twenty minutes then a car pulled up, a dark sedan. Jurgen got out with another stocky, dark-haired man Nick didn’t recognise and the car sped off. Nick swore under his breath. This he hadn’t expected. It couldn’t be a coincidence. The two men paced carefully around the flat, looking for any sign of life then with a final glance round they both drew pistols and Jurgen sprung the door open. After a couple of minutes, both peered out. The heavyset man crossed the road into the square and sat nonchalantly on a bench in the darkness watching the flat. Jurgen slipped back inside. Nick swore again. How had they known? They were obviously getting more desperate for whatever it was they were after. He couldn’t let the Brigadier go in, whether they’d actually harm him, or apply pressure to blackmail him, Nick would have to stop him, but now he had the man on the bench to deal with and worse, Nick had no gun. He made a mental note to retrieve his Mauser from its hiding place in his flat; he didn’t want to be caught out again.