Sharp Turn - Marianne Delacourt [67]
Bok gave a cool nod. ‘Thank you.’
Vatroque took me downstairs and showed me the complete layout of the club. The internal fixtures were pretty new, and the DJ was housed in a booth, which, Vatroque explained, moved on a gantry back and forth across the top of the crowd all night. Right now, while the club was still pretty quiet, it was sitting at home base near a set of stairs.
‘We believe the same group is causing trouble each week,’ Vatroque said, ‘but our staff cannot locate them exactly. By midnight, the floor is chock-a-full.’
‘Chock-a-block,’ I corrected. Maybe he really was European. ‘What’s up there?’ I pointed to the area we’d just come from, but further along.
‘We ’ave three private rooms; the one Mr Longbok is using, and two others. They will be of no consequence in your appraisal.’
He was so firm about it that I immediately knew I had to get a look inside them. The fact that Vatroque was one of Lena Vine’s – or Kate’s – clients was zinging across my radar. ‘So the troublemakers are just down here?’
‘Oui.’
He led me to the bar and introduced me to the manager. ‘The staff will endeavour to help you throughout the night. But feel free to join your friend Mr Longbok at any time should you wish to take a short break.’
His meaning was clear. Keep your behind down here with the ugly masses.
‘Would you mind telling Martin that I’ll be busy for a while?’ I asked.
‘Of course. Now, please excuse me. I have things to attend to.’
I spent the next hour wandering around the club and checking the layout: where the toilets were, fire exits, all the various nooks and crannies. The bar ran along one side of the dance floor and underneath the gallery where the private rooms were; a very simple design. Someone had taken a big square warehouse and built in a narrow gallery and some tracks to suspend the DJ’s booth.
By the time I’d had a good look around, the place was starting to fill. I hadn’t been clubbing in a while and this place was a little younger than my taste. Still, the people-watching was fine indeed. For the next hour or so, I kept myself awake by hanging near the edge of the dance floor and practising reading auras. I hadn’t done any cluster readings before; that was Hoshi’s specialty. He could walk into any room and pick up the mood and sense the direction proceedings were going to take. Right now I could only see energy and harmony, but it was still early.
By midnight, things were starting to take off and my feet were killing me. I’d worn boots, but the heels on them were starting to hurt my legs. I could have done with a shot or two of tequila as a pick-me-up. Pity I couldn’t drink on the job.
The thought of a drink prompted me upstairs to check on Bok. I hoped he wasn’t too bored.
The bouncer at the soundproofed doors leading into the gallery looked like he wanted to frisk me, but I stared him down and dropped Vatroque’s name. He let me in and I walked past the other private rooms to where I’d left Bok. I found my BFF in a cosy arrangement with not one but two hostesses, a plate of smelly cheeses and a dozen empty Corona bottles.
‘Tara, forgot you were here.’ He waved drunkenly at me. ‘Thish is . . .’ He slurred two names that sounded like Fish and Chips, then knocked over the table of empties trying to offer me a beer.
I shook my head and eyed the bimbos. ‘Can one of you get him a jug of water? I’ll be back soon to take him home.’
So much for Bok and me having a strategy session to manage my problems!
On the way back down to the dance floor, I tried the door to one of the other private rooms. It was open, empty and dark. The next one was open as well, but lit. I peeped in and saw another bunch of elegant couches, low tables and shelves of liquor. There were three people inside, all bent over a glass-topped bar sniffing lines of cocaine. Vatroque was one of them; Viaspa was another; but the third nearly knocked me flat. Antonia Tozzi . . . what the hell? I held my breath and waited.
Viaspa was the first to speak. He patted a small knapsack on the bench next to him