|
|
I seemed to have avoided the attentions of the Club management and I thought I'd like to keep it that way. Those sharply be-suited enforcers looked much less alert today, anyway: flirting with the waitresses and gossiping amongst themselves. I finished my cigarette and stood up casually, ignoring the beer bottle now warming on the table. Avoiding any flamboyant movement or any hint of sneaking - a sure-fire way of attracting unwanted attention - I strolled off as if I didn't have a care in the world. No-one noticed me as I slipped out of the front door. This isn't magic, just psychology; no-one really sees an anonymous body moving in an entirely ordinary way. I reached the street door and stopped to take in the air and reach in my pocket for another cigarette. "You move real nice, buddy," a voice said next to me. I spun around. I didn't recognise the Goblin, but I did recognise the cut of the suit. I guess he had just stepped out of the shadows next to the door. He was as tall as me, but skinnier, rangy-looking. "What's that, Bud?" I said as casually as I could manage. "Huh," he snorted, "The name’s Drummond. Don't think no-one's noticed you coming here. You should count yourself lucky the Boss said we should leave you alone. For now." I stared at him levelly. I said nothing. "Suit yourself," he said, "I've said my piece. See you around, or maybe not." He turned and disappeared inside the club, the door being held open by one of the bouncers. He moved quietly, carefully; he could have been the professional tail last time I left the joint. Time to watch my back again. Twenty minutes later I was standing outside the apartment building corresponding to the address that Clathy had given me. It was typical of old-fashioned Goblin construction. Rather than a free-standing block, this edifice was constructed from irregular holes cut out of the sides of the cavern, with the interior space enlarged by projections of arched ceilings and supporting walls constructed from squared-off pieces of the material excavated from the openings. There were windows at the front - tiny openings glazed with cheap glass and protected with iron bars and gratings - and doors of heavy dark wood that opened directly onto open walkways reached from a shared stairwell. Low-rent stuff; a huge constrast from the elegant sandstone buildings in Vale's neighbourhood. I made my way up five flights of stairs and along the landing. Most humans would have been unnerved by the unprotected drop only a few feet to my left, but Goblins are naturally sure-footed and are not afraid of heights. Number 514 was distinguishable from its neighbours only by the carefully painted numerals on the door. There was no doorbell, so I knocked loudly: rat-a-tat-tat. The door was thrown open almost immediately as if she was expecting someone then partially closed again when she saw who it was. It was Clunie, looking red-eyed and dressed in a long silk dressing-gown - another present from one of her special friends, I supposed. "What do you want?" she said without preamble. "I want to talk to you about Vale," I replied, gently, "Can I come in?" She nodded wordlessly and held the door wider. I slipped inside, entering a room that clearly did duty as kitchen and living-room. The walls were covered with pictures, posed photographs of Clunie with a variety of wealthy-looking gentlemen, taken in flashy night-spots and high-end restaurants - even a couple of places which looked suspiciously like they were on the surface. The room was scrupulously clean and tidy except for a pile of crumpled paper handkerchiefs. She had been crying. I couldn't imagine anyone faking that quantity of tears; she must really have been genuinely fond of Vale, which was touchingly naive given that she clearly had other gentlemen callers who lavished their gifts and attention on her. She sat down heavily in one of the two lushly upholstered armchairs - obviously expensive but too big for the room - and tugged a clean tissue out of a box that stood on a low coffee table. She sniffed into it. I sat in the other chair, across the table. I took off my hat and held it in my lap, then leaned forward. "I'm sorry about Vale," I said gently, "I hardly knew him, just a client." She nodded sniffed again, then dabbed at her eyes. "He seemed a decent enough bloke to me, though," I lied. She just stared at me, her hands clutching the damp tissue still in her lap. "How long have you known Vale?" "Hmmm, three, maybe four months," she answered, "Merton kept coming to the Club. At first I thought he was interested in one of the other waitresses, but soon I felt his eyes following me everywhere." She sounded so pleased to be the centre of even this little attention. I wondered what it was in her upbringing that made her so desperate for attention, even from old lechers like Vale. "So I got to know him better," she continued, "He was so kind, so gentle." She sobbed again, dabbing her nose with the tissue. "And he used to come here, too?" I pressed. "Yes, sometimes, in the mornings, before the Club opened," she replied, "He preferred to meet me at the Club whenever we could. He didn't want to be seen coming here." I nodded sagely. "Did he ever give you anything? I mean, something of his he wanted you to keep for him, safely?" She thought about that one. I could practically hear the clockwork ticking in her head. "Ye-es, he did," she said finally, "Just yesterday." She opened a closet full of expensive-looking clothes and enough shoes to equip a number of distinctly female octopuses. More gifts from her callers. She reached inside with one arm, casually. Then she stopped and forced her head and shoulders between the hanging coats and dresses, pushing them around increasingly urgently, searching. She yanked her head back out. "It's gone!" she shrieked, clasping her hands to her face, "The briefcase! It's disappeared." I stood up, took a look in the closet myself. Nothing there, except perhaps a faint smell of perfume on the clothes, not Clunie's, a scent I thought I recognised. "Any idea who's taken it?" I demanded. She shook her head frantically. But I had my suspicions.
|
Part 15