Kiss & Die - Lee Weeks [105]
He turned back to the bar and finished his drink then he took a taxi across town. He turned his phone off. Mia was trying to reach him. He didn’t want to be found. He had a lot to think about.
He walked into the Blue Velvet lounge, just before midnight. It was a place he hadn’t visited in a long time. It had once been a trendy nightclub on the edge of town, now a hostess bar with pole dancers and dwarves serving drinks, dark corners, and private booths. Enigma was playing: haunting erotic music.
He sat watching the stripper. She wore a long blond wig and a shiny red bikini. She squatted in front of him and her thighs opened as she held on to the pole and leant back, crotch in his direction. He smelt the aroma of cheap perfume and stale sex and as he held his drink on his chest he felt the ice-cold glass penetrate into his heart. He looked across at the other punters in this lowlife club, a Triad hangout. It was a place that the bosses like CK kept a tab open for their officers’ entertainment. Ice was laid out in white lines on one of the tables at the side of the room. A noisy group of 49s were out of control at the far end of the bar and grabbing at the dancers, drinking each other unconscious with shots.
Mann was aware that someone had come to stand next to him–too close to be anything but a friend or an enemy. He turned. It was Lilly.
‘You buying drinks, Mr Rich Policeman?’ The pole dancer left for pastures new.
‘Finished your homework, Lilly?’
‘I don’t need to learn anything else, Mr Policeman. I could even teach you a few things. You look like you need a friend. You want to buy me a drink and I’ll tell you all about it?’
Chapter 83
Shrimp came out of the lift and walked through the lounge bar. The place was rowdy and full. The evening was in full swing, the atmosphere loud as the drink took the voice levels up and the inhibitions down. He spotted at least one of his colleagues, sat on a lounge chair reading a guide book. The large television screen at the end of the lounge had changed from showing sports to catwalk models. Shrimp walked on through to the bar. The place had a liberal sprinkling of sex workers, small groups of guffawing businessmen and then the lone peanut eaters at the bar. He spotted another colleague looking suitably melancholy on a stool at the far end.
Shrimp found a space in the middle of the bar. He could see the girls in the band from there. No Michelle, she was still being held by the cops, just Cindy and Sandy, their repertoire severely cut down from not having Michelle. He looked about to see if there was anyone else he recognized. No, he was pretty sure no one would know him. He had chosen just the right look to blend in: open-necked shirt, high-waisted jeans, wire-rimmed glasses. His hair was parted differently, roughed up a little but not quite stylish. His wedding ring was large and loud.
He looked at the few lone girls sat at the tables around the bar. He made eye contact with one of them. She got up and walked away. For a moment he thought it was Lilly with a caramel-coloured long wig and short skirt. She disappeared somewhere behind him. His eyes settled on another. They played the game: look up, look down. Shrimp fiddled with his fake wedding band. He made sure he kept up the staring. He had to look desperate. He pretended to check his phone and then placed it on the bar. He ordered a Coke from the barman with the gelled hair. He put Shrimp’s drink on the beer mat and scribbled the amount on his tab.
‘Thanks for your help, buddy. You’re doin’ a great job.’
Shrimp looked up to see a girl watching him from one of the side tables. She had thick black hair. In the subdued lighting it was hard to see her face. He smiled. She smiled back. He looked away and looked back to make sure the signals were loud and clear. She was still looking his way. She’d kept her eyes focused on him. She was pretty, thought Shrimp, she was keen. He slid from the stool and