Streetwise (10 page)

Ava waited, wondering what was going to happen next. She watched as the punters rolled up for the midday session. Most of them arrived in black cabs in groups of five or six, young City lads, suited and booted, and sporting flash gold watches on their wrists. They laughed as they tumbled out of the cabs. So much for an economic recession. These boys were clearly making enough to not think twice about squandering their dosh on lunchtime bottles of champagne, naked flesh and sexual thrills.

Solomon Vale guarded the entrance to the club, having a quiet word with the rowdier clients, waving in the regulars. Nobody argued with Solomon. The size of him was enough to deter even the boldest of men. He must have felt her looking because he glanced over, gave her a half smile and raised his hand. It was the first time since she’d started the job that he had actually acknowledged her. Did this mean she was now officially on the firm? She smiled back and gave him a wave.

Five minutes passed by, and then ten. There was still no sign of Chris. She watched as a girl in her early twenties, wearing a lot of slap, tottered towards the club in a pair of high heels. Ava’s thoughts turned to what was going on inside. When it came to lap dancing, she was on the fence. She had heard all the arguments, for and against, but her own feelings on the subject remained ambiguous. Were the women the ones in charge, exploiting the men’s sexual desires and making good money simply for stripping off their clothes? Or did the whole process objectify women, reducing them to sexual commodities where they were lusted after, leched over, but never genuinely cared about? It was all about sex: sex and money. There was, perhaps, a soul-destroying emptiness to the whole exchange.

Ava was mulling this over when Chris strode out of the club again. She could see from the thunderous look on his face that the time he’d spent inside hadn’t done anything to moderate his temper. He got into the Merc and slammed the door.

‘Wilder’s,’ he said.

She could smell the whisky fumes coming off him, strong and pungent. ‘What?’

‘The cocktail bar,’ he said impatiently. ‘Wilder’s. On the high street.’

‘I know where it is.’

‘So why are we still sitting here? I’ve had enough of that bastard. He ain’t going to get away with it. Not this time, not this bloody time.’

Ava hesitated. ‘Er… do you think that’s a good idea?’

Chris Street glared at her. ‘Are you my goddamn driver or not?’

‘Yes, but I was just thinking that —’

‘I don’t care, okay? I don’t care what you were thinking. Just get this fuckin’ thing started and take me where I want to go.’

Ava scowled back at him, resenting his attitude and his tone. She didn’t know what to do for the best. It was, of course, her job to drive him wherever he wanted, but he’d been drinking and was clearly itching for a fight. If he attacked Guy Wilder – and that, she presumed, was his intention – then he was likely to end up in the slammer on a GBH charge. Or maybe something even worse. And while there was probably nothing she could do to prevent it, she was reluctant to actually help him in the enterprise.

‘Ah, for God’s sake,’ he spluttered, getting out of the car again. He marched around to her door and pulled it open. ‘Get out. I’ll drive.’

‘You can’t,’ she said. ‘You haven’t got a licence.’

‘What are you gonna do, arrest me?’

‘Not me,’ she replied, ‘but you said yourself that the law have been hanging around. How long do you reckon it will take for them to pick you up?’

‘I’ll take my chances. Come on, get out.’

But Ava didn’t move. ‘And you’ve been drinking. You want to lose your licence for good?’

Chris slapped his hand down on the roof of the car. He wasn’t used to people disobeying him. He made the rules and others followed them. ‘Out! Now!’

Ava shook her head. She had the feeling that he would have physically tried to drag her out had they not been in a public place.

Solomon Vale, seeing the disturbance, jogged over to join them. ‘Everything okay, boss?’

‘No, it’s not fuckin’ okay. My so-called driver has decided that she’s going to pick and bloody well choose where I can go and where I can’t.’

‘I didn’t say that,’ Ava objected. She looked at Solomon, willing him to help. ‘I only suggested that now might not be the best time to be paying Guy Wilder a visit.’

Solomon’s eyebrows shifted up a notch. ‘Wilder, huh?’

If Ava had been expecting some support, she was quickly disillusioned.

Solomon frowned at her and then looked at Chris. ‘You want me to get cover for the door? Give me five minutes and I can drive you there.’

Ava stared at the big man. Now it was getting even worse. If the two of them were to turn up at the bar, egging each other on, it would probably end in carnage. God, what was the matter with these guys? Why couldn’t they use their brains instead of their fists? There had to be a smarter way of getting back at Guy Wilder than beating him to a pulp. Well, there was only one thing for it. She made a decision, shifted forward and switched on the ignition.

‘What are you doing?’ Chris asked. He grabbed hold of the car door as if she was about to drive away.

‘You want to go to Wilder’s,’ she said. ‘I’ll take you to Wilder’s.’

Chris hesitated for a second as if it might be some kind of trick, but then he walked around the Mercedes and got in beside her. ‘About bloody time,’ he grumbled.

Ava reached out and closed her own door. It was better, she’d decided, that she took him to the bar rather than Solomon. At least she’d have a chance to try and talk him down along the way. Failing that, she could always attempt to stop things from getting out of hand once they got there. How exactly she could achieve this she hadn’t quite figured out yet. She’d just have to play it by ear.

She manoeuvred the car out of the parking space, paused to let a black cab go past, and then went on through the gateway. In her rear-view mirror she could see Solomon Vale standing with his hands on his hips. He had the disappointed look of a man who had just let the opportunity of a good scrap slip through his fingers.

Chris lit up another cigarette and wound down the window. The cold air rushed in. As he smoked, he threw her a series of small irritated glances, but didn’t say anything.

‘You going to fire me for this?’ she asked.

‘Want to give me a good reason why I shouldn’t?’

Ava was quick to reply. ‘Well, I’d consider myself fortunate to have a driver who cared about whether I ended up in the slammer or not. I mean, is he really worth it? Is she?’

‘Is that any of your business?’

‘Yes, I think so. If you’re banged up, I don’t have a job.’

‘Maybe you don’t have one anyway.’

Ava gave a shrug. ‘You won’t find anyone better.’

‘You reckon so?’

‘I know so.’

He let out a brittle laugh. ‘You’ve got a high opinion of yourself.’

‘Someone has to,’ she said, hoping to lighten the atmosphere with a bit of easy banter. ‘My popularity is at an all-time low.’

But Chris Street just shook his head, refusing to relinquish his ever-darkening mood. As they drove through Shoreditch, he smoked fast and furiously, lifting the cigarette to his lips and exhaling the smoke in long angry streams. He glanced at the speedometer. ‘Any chance of putting your foot down? At this rate it’ll be midnight before we get there.’

‘It’s icy,’ she said. ‘You want us to have an accident?’

‘If you’re such a good driver, that ain’t going to happen.’

Ava didn’t rise to the bait, and didn’t increase her speed. She had no desire to get to Wilder’s any sooner than she had to. ‘So what’s the plan?’

‘Plan?’

‘For when you get there. What are you going to do?’

‘Jesus,’ he hissed. ‘What is it with you? I pay you to drive, not to ask bloody stupid questions.’

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I get it. Just shut my mouth and get on with it, huh?’

‘If you think you can manage it.’

Ava frowned, her hands tightening a little on the wheel. So much for calming him down; she appeared to be doing the very opposite. It was best, she decided, to leave well alone. With no other bright ideas springing to mind, she might have to rely on a miraculous intervention from above. God moved in mysterious ways, apparently, although he probably had better things to do than interfere in Chris Street’s macho arguments.

It was another quarter of an hour, fifteen minutes spent in total silence, before they drew up outside the bar. Chris opened the door and shot out before she’d even stopped the car properly. She wasn’t supposed to park here – there were double yellow lines – but she only had two choices: either she moved the Merc around the corner or she risked a ticket. She looked quickly up and down the street, couldn’t spot a traffic warden and so decided to take a chance. Anything could happen in the time it took her to find a legal parking space.

Ava ran around the car and followed him inside. What was she intending to do? She hadn’t got a clue. As the door closed behind her, she scanned the room and saw that it was busy. The place was doing a brisk lunchtime trade. Chris was already at the far end. He was checking out the tables, moving stealthily between the customers like a hunter stalking his prey. The black guy, the one she had seen with Wilder at Beast, was watching him from behind the bar.

Eventually, when it became obvious that Guy Wilder wasn’t there, Chris went over to the counter. ‘Where is he? Where is the bastard?’

‘Not here,’ said the black man, who obviously didn’t have to think twice to know who he was talking about.

‘I can see he’s not fuckin’ here, Noah,’ said Chris, raising his voice. ‘Where the fuck is he?’

‘No idea.’

‘And I don’t suppose you’ve any idea when he’s coming back either?’

Noah gave a shrug. ‘Sorry.’

By now most of the customers had their heads turned in the direction of the bar. There was a thin mutter of disapproval – the atmosphere had abruptly changed – but no one was prepared to risk Chris Street’s wrath by making any objections clear enough to be heard.

Ava kept her distance. She watched as Chris’s fingers curled into fists, his hands bouncing off his thighs. He displayed all the frustration of a man who, having whipped himself into a fury, now found himself with no one to vent it on. She felt a wave of relief flow over her. Perhaps God hadn’t been too busy after all.

Chris looked to his left, towards an oak door that had a sign saying
Private
. ‘Is he up there? Is that where the scumbag’s hiding?’

‘No one’s hiding nowhere, man. He’s out, right?’ Noah waved a hand in the direction of the window. ‘You see his motor?’

Chris glanced towards the row of cars parked on the opposite side of the street to the Mercedes. ‘Don’t mean he ain’t here.’

Noah gave a weary shake of his head. ‘Don’t mean he is either.’

Ava saw Chris look towards the pine door again. He went over and rattled the handle, but the door was locked. His eyes narrowed, and for one awful moment she thought he was going to try and break it down, but then he stepped back. ‘You tell him,’ he said, glaring at Noah and pointing a finger, ‘this ain’t over. Tell him I’ll be back.’

I’ll be back
?
thought Ava. Not the most original line she’d ever heard, but what did that matter so long as it meant he was about to leave. As he turned away from Noah, she retreated into the street and got into the car.

Chris joined her shortly after, his face still full of rage. ‘Home,’ he ordered. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’ Even while he was fastening his seat belt, he was glowering over at the bar.

She didn’t need telling twice. Before Guy Wilder could put in an ill-timed appearance, she set off for Walpole Close. She was expecting Chris to ask why she’d followed him inside, but he didn’t. Perhaps he was saving the lecture for later. Or perhaps it was no more than he’d expected. Either way, it was one more nail in the coffin of her job.

She passed quickly through the lights at a junction, eager now to put as much distance as possible between Chris and the cocktail bar. The confrontation might have been postponed, but it hadn’t been cancelled. At some point he was going to have it out with Wilder. She had only travelled fifty yards when she noticed the flashing blue light in the rear-view mirror.

‘What now?’ she murmured.

Chris whirled around. ‘Shit! Don’t stop!’

‘What?’

‘Don’t stop. Put your foot down! Get the fuck out of here!’

‘What?’ she repeated, stunned by the order. The patrol car was right on her tail now, the driver making it clear that he wanted her to pull over. ‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’ Ava looked across at Chris. Had he gone stark staring mad? His face had turned pale and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. ‘What’s going on?’

‘This is what’s going on.’ He opened his overcoat a fraction to reveal the butt of a gun sticking out of his inside pocket.

Ava pulled in her breath. ‘Christ! What the… why the…’ But there wasn’t time for an interrogation. Had he actually been planning on
killing
Guy Wilder? She realised now what the stop-off at Belles had been for; he’d been after more than a few stiff drinks. What should she do? If she took off, the Merc could easily outrun the patrol car, but only if the roads were clear. And she’d be landing herself in a heap of trouble with the law. How was she going to explain why she hadn’t stopped? All these thoughts ran through her head in one mad rush as she gradually slowed the car.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ he snarled.

‘If we take off and they catch us, they’ll know you have something to hide. Did anyone see the gun at the bar? Did Noah see it?’

Chris shook his head. ‘Nah, nobody. They couldn’t.’

She hoped he was right. It was possible that Noah or one of the customers had called 999, but it seemed unlikely that the cops would have responded so quickly. Perhaps this was about something else entirely. If they took Chris down Cowan Road police station, he’d be searched and the gun would be found. There was only one thing to do. ‘Give it to me,’ she said. ‘Put it in my lap.’