girls danced on as if alone, swirling the burkahs, though now I suspected these were of thinner material than standard. They floated above the girls’ ankles, revealing painted toenails beneath black mesh and anklets of silver that clinked and trembled with each step.
Bill glanced at his watch, then suddenly, as if the girls sensed the audience’s attention was wavering, they reached out, each grabbing the other’s dark garment by the hips. There was a slight pause, a hesitation of Velcro and the dancers’ legs were revealed, smooth and stockinged, diamanté garters competing with their eyes in the sparkle stakes.
The men roared. Bill took a drag of his cigarette and turned away from the dance floor.
‘Not quite what I expected.’
I nodded towards the group of policemen.
‘They seem to be enjoying it well enough.’
‘That’s the main thing.’
In the mirror above his head the girls twirled some more, their veiled faces and covered bodies incongruous against the flesh of their exposed thighs shimmying above the dark stocking tops.
Bill seemed to have lost interest.
‘You were better than I expected.’
‘Cheers, but you weren’t seeing me at my best.’
‘Even better then.’
Out on the dance floor Shaz had torn Jacque’s top off to reveal a black brassiere, beaded fringes all a-twinkle. Jacque did a shimmy to the audience that made her bosoms shiver, then turned to her friend and returned the favour. Shaz’s bra was identical but silver-white. Their act was tacky, but it worked.
I said, ‘It’s tacky but it works.’
Bill made a face, ‘I guess you could call it tacky, but I thought you had something, with the right girl you might get somewhere.’ He looked back at the dancers. Jacque had wet her finger and placed it on Shaz’s thigh. She drew it back quickly as if scalded. ‘Let’s face it, you’d get nowhere lumbered with that fat tart.’
‘She was OK.’
‘She looks all right now, but those pale blondes wash out pretty quick.’ The girls were playing with the front fastenings of their bras now, teasing the crowd. Jacque leaned into the ringside table and let a burly man unclip hers. Her breasts fell forward and she rubbed them teasingly across his baldpate. ‘I watched you boosting those guys’ watches. You’ve got nimble digits there. Ever get you in trouble?’
‘Once or twice, as a kid.’
‘No convictions though?’
‘I learned to make it work for me.’
‘All the same, you were taking a chance with these coppers.’
‘You think so?’
‘No, not really, but you know what they can be like, there’s some touchy buggers amongst them.’
‘You get an instinct for them in my game.’
Bill took a sip of his drink.
‘I suppose you do. It’s amazing how you know things.’
‘It’s just a trick Bill.’
‘I realise that… but all the same. You were spot on every time. Maybe there’s more to the trick than you think.’
It had happened before, people mistaking dexterity and good observation for something else, but I hadn’t expected it from Bill. He passed me a cigar. We both lit up and sat silent in the smoke-scented gloom of the booth. Bill’s body was relaxed, his smile easy. A careless observer might have thought us old friends having a casual conversation. I mirrored his calm pose and waited for him to get to the point.
Sam skirted the dance floor, keeping clear of the boisterous bevy of men and inserted himself into the booth beside Bill. He nodded towards The Divines.
‘Very Tales of the Unexpected.’
Bill turned towards him.
‘A bit arty for me.’
Sam raised his eyebrows in mock exasperation.
‘There’s a surprise.’ His face grew serious. ‘Have you asked him yet?’
Bill paused like a man trying to make up his mind. I half expected Sam to cajole him, but there was a silence between the three of us almost as loud as the beat of the music and the laughter of the policemen. At last Bill sighed and put his cigar in the ashtray.
‘There’s something I’d like to know.’
He played with his glass, not taking a sip from it, just looking into the brown liquid as if the answer might lie amongst the bubbles. Curiosity and the dangerous faint hope of an easy score kept me in my seat.
‘Go on.’
‘I’d like to know what Inspector Montgomery had on my dad.’
The sentence hung in the air, a bridge between Bill’s world and mine. A bridge I wasn’t sure I wanted to cross.
Eventually I said, ‘So why don’t you ask him?’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’
‘Sorry to hear it.’ I reached for my jacket. ‘I’m in the entertainment game. Complicated isn’t my scene.’
‘Hasty.’
Bill raised his index finger and I found myself hesitating.
Sam said, ‘At least hear him out. If you don’t like what he says then no hard feelings.’
My half-finished drink sat on the table before me; the cigar Bill had given me still stretching tendrils of smoke into the air. I sighed.
‘OK, go ahead.’
Bill’s smile was dry.
‘Policemen and businessmen: it’s no secret that sometimes one hand washes the other.’
‘Yet somehow no one gets clean.’
He shrugged.
‘It’s ancient history now. My dad and Inspector Montgomery had an arrangement, as I said, Monty helped my dad out at a very difficult time; he owed him and old loyalties die hard.’
‘So?’
‘My dad died three months ago.’
‘I’m sorry for your troubles.’
Bill took a sip of his drink.
‘He was only sixty-eight. It was unexpected.’
‘Natural causes?’
‘You’re
