Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [66]
I yawned and stretched. Time to get changed into something club-ready. Bok would be here soon.
As I wriggled into stockings and tight black dress, a wall of tiredness hit me. I was running on only a couple of hours’ sleep, and Joanna’s lemon chicken was sucking up all the available blood in my stomach. I went to the fridge and spied a carton of fresh orange juice.
Damn, I was going to miss Cass when she left.
Chapter 22
THE GALLERY NIGHTCLUB WAS situated just off the main strip of Northbridge in a little side street not far from Ed’s modelling agency and an Indian restaurant we both loved. While Bok negotiated the busy streets and found the alley that ran behind the club, I wondered how Ed’s nose was and if I’d ever hear from him again. I should check up that nothing was broken.
Maybe in a day or two, when he might consider speaking to me.
‘Birds got your tongue?’ asked Bok as he pulled into a spot that read ‘The Gallery – Staff Only’. We’d changed the old saying about cats a few years ago when JoBob first brought Brains and Hoo home.
‘Just thinking about Ed,’ I said.
‘You really know how to show a fellow a good time, my girl.’
I pulled a sad face. ‘Come on – let’s go find the Fat Frog.’
Bok trailed me into the club. He liked to hang back and see what was happening from a distance before he got involved. I, on the other hand, hated taking things slowly and would rather plunge in; which I did as soon as I reached the posse of bouncers and door staff.
‘Tara Sharp. I have an appointment with Mr Vatroque.’ I waved back at Bok. ‘This is my colleague Martin Longbok.’
One of the door staff let out a fan-girl squeal. ‘Martin Longbok. Wow! In our club?’
She proceeded to tell the bouncers how famous Bok was, and how having him in the club would be totally rad, especially if he mentioned them in his magazine. Before I knew it, we were sitting in a private lounge above the dance floor, sipping drinks from cocktail glasses while we waited for the Fat Frog. Unfortunately, mine was non-alcoholic. I was working, and Bok and I had already agreed that I would drive us home in his car.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were famous?’ I said.
Bok gave me a wink. ‘Not famous. Just terribly cool. There’s a difference.’
‘Whatever. Next you’ll have groupies.’
‘Already do.’ He slipped his iPhone out of his pocket, thumbed through some pages, then handed it to me, grinning. His Facebook ‘Like’ site had 3175 members.
‘Shut the fuck up!’
He shrugged. ‘The magazine has a page too. You should get one going for your business.’
I shook my head. ‘It’s not the kind of work you want to advertise. Clients don’t want anyone to know they’re using me. Word of mouth is better.’
‘Speaking of clients, how did the brothel visit go?’
I rolled my eyes and handed him back his phone. ‘Guess who I saw there?’
‘Ummm . . . I give up.’
‘Whitey.’
Bok wrinkled his nose. ‘Dirty little toad. No wonder June is off her rocker.’
‘That’s what I thought at first. Turns out he was working undercover.’
Bok’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What?’
‘Creep’s been made detective.’
‘Kidding? Right?’
I sighed. ‘Nope. One of the employees was shot right outside the front door. I’m also looking into it for the owner.’
‘Shot. Like, in cold blood?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I haven’t seen anything in the papers.’
‘I know. Strange that.’
The door opened and a round ball of a man whose arms and legs seemed to sprout at odd angles around his abdomen entered. The Fat Frog!
‘Mr Longbok. What a pleasure to have you in our club. Can I get you a fresh drink?’ His accent was slightly European, though it could have been a complete fake. I wasn’t boned up on foreign intonations.
Bok gave an appreciative nod. ‘Thank you . . . err . . . ?’
‘Vatroque. Claude Vatroque.’
I stood up. ‘I’m Tara Sharp, a colleague of Hoshi Hara’s. I believe you were expecting me?’ I said, seeing that I was in danger of being totally ignored.
The Fat Frog danced on the balls of his feet. ‘Oh, of course. Come this way, Ms Sharp. Mr Longbok, I’ll send a hostess in to take care of you.’
I raised