The Birthday Girl (30 page)

The Arab was staring again. She could feel his eyes boring into her chest and she glared back at him. He averted his gaze. When he looked back she was still glaring at him, her face set tight. She felt nothing but contempt for the man, and she stared at him until he looked away again. This time he moved the mirror so that he couldn't see her face. Mersiha smiled. The driver had backed down. So would Sabatino. And if he didn't - well, then she'd do whatever she had to in order to protect her father.

The cab driver dropped her outside die bus terminal. She thought of asking him to wait but decided against it. He was more likely to remember her if she did, and anyway she didn't like the look of him.

A group of black teenagers were standing outside the entrance and diey whisded as she walked by. One of them shouted something about her legs but she couldn't make out what it was. She found the left-luggage lockers and chose one in the middle to store her sports bag, slipping the key into her handbag after locking the door. The handbag was heavy but there was no indication from the outside that it contained a gun. She pulled the skirt down over her thighs and walked back outside. This time one of the teenagers blocked her way, his hands on his hips. 'Where you going, girl?' he asked. He was wearing baggy jeans with the crotch hanging down almost to his knees, a back-to-front football jersey under a leather jacket, and huge Reeboks. Despite the funny-looking clothes and his baby face, Mersiha was scared. His eyes were unfocused and he seemed to have trouble standing upright. She tried to walk around him but he moved in front of her again. 'You deaf, bitch? I said where are you going?'

His friends laughed. They circled around her, like hyenas around a wounded gazelle. Mersiha put her hand on her bag.

Someone laughed behind her. 'Bitch thinks we're gonna steal her purse.'

The teenager in front of her grinned. 'Bitch might be right.'

She moved to the side but a hand gripped her arm, the nails biting into her flesh. 'Don't,' she said. The teenagers laughed at her discomfort. They moved in closer, laughing and swearing. Mersiha undid the clasp of her bag and slid her hand inside. Her fingers tightened around the butt of the gun. 'Don't,' she repeated, her voice harder this time. One of the teenagers howled like a wolf, his head thrown back and his mouth wide open, showing several gold teeth. 'Don't touch me,' she said, her voice hardening. A hand touched her back and she whirled around, eyes blazing. 'No one touches me,' she hissed. 'No one.'

'Bitch has balls,' said one of the teenagers.

'Let's see, shall we?' said another, laughing.

'Touch me and you're dead,' Mersiha whispered.

The teenagers stood back, eyes wide in mock terror. One of them started trembling as if he were having an epileptic fit. 'Look, I'm shaking,' he said. The others burst into laughter. Another hand touched her, this time brushing her bare shoulder.

'I warned you,' she shouted, starting to draw the gun from the bag.

'Leave the girl be,' said a deep masculine voice from behind her. The teenagers stopped laughing. Mersiha turned to look at the newcomer. He was an elderly black man, a cleaner by the look at it, an old baseball cap on his greying hair and a dishevelled mop in his hand.

'This ain't your business, man,' said one of the teenagers, the youngest of the group but with the build of a basketball player, tall and lanky with huge hands which he flexed as he confronted the cleaner.

'This is my business, son,' the old man said. 'It's all our business. The girl has a right to walk undisturbed through the city. You can see that, can't you? You wouldn't want your sister interfered with, would you?'

'She ain't no sister,' said the guy in the leather jacket. His friends laughed and jeered, but the cleaner wasn't perturbed.

'She could be somebody's sister,' the old man said, pushing the baseball cap to the back of his head. Mersiha saw a thick 248 STEPHEN LEATHER black scar cutting across his forehead, an old, ugly wound that had healed badly. 'You gotta treat people the way you wanna be treated, the way you'd want your own family treated. Now leave her be.'

The teenagers looked at the old man, and at the mop he was holding. They could have taken it from him easily, they were younger and stronger, but Mersiha could see that they were unwilling to confront him. There was something about his bearing that inspired respect.

'Go on now, girl,' he said quietly. 'Go on your way.'

Mersiha mouthed 'thank you' and walked away as quickly as the high heels would carry her. She took her hand off the gun and wiped her mouth nervously. Despite the cold night air, she was sweating.

There was a line waiting outside The Firehouse and she joined it. One of the doormen, an imposing black guy in a tuxedo, spotted her and motioned that she could go in. 'Pretty girls don't have to wait,' he said, opening the door for her. 'And you don't have to pay 'cos it's Ladies' Night.'

Mersiha smiled her thanks. She walked down a red-painted corridor, feeling like a morsel of food sliding down the gullet of some strange animal. Another doorman in an identical tuxedo opened a second door for her. Loud, pulsing music billowed out, along with warm, smoky air that smelled of sweat and cheap perfume.

The Firehouse was just that - a former fire station that had been turned into a nightclub. Red was the dominant theme, and many of the original fittings had been left in place, including a line of six poles stretching up to holes in the ceiling. Midway up the poles were man-size gilded cages in which young girls in bikinis writhed and gyrated in time to the music. The dance floor was packed and customers were standing three-deep at the bar. The crowd was mainly white, young, and stoned. Mersiha had never smoked marijuana but she'd been at several parties where it had been handed around, so she recognised the sickly-sweet smell. A man in his early twenties with slicked-back hair and a shiny suit came over to her. 'Hiya. I'm Simon,' he said, flashing her a film-star smile.

'Yeah. Hiya. I'm looking for someone.' At the far end of the building she saw stairs. Two men in tuxedos stood at the foot, their arms folded across their chests. Sentries.

'Well, look no further. You've found someone.'

Mersiha stepped to the side. 'Sorry. Not tonight,' she said.

'Pity,' Simon said as she walked away.

The two sentries looked down at Mersiha with hard faces. 'Ladies' room is down there,' said one, nodding towards the bar.

'Is Mr Sabatino upstairs?' she asked.

The smaller of the two men put his head on one side like a budgie studying its reflection in a mirror. 'Is he expecting you?'

'Sure,' Mersiha said, her heart racing.

'What's your name?'

'Allison,' she said, then cursed herself. She'd said the first name that had occurred to her. She hadn't meant to use the name of her friend. That was a mistake.

'Well, Allison, Mr Sabatino didn't tell us that he was expecting anyone.' He looked her up and down, taking in the short dress and the long legs. 'You're his type, though.'

'That's for sure,' his colleague said. 'I'll take her up.'

Mersiha followed him up the stairs to the offices. The man was huge, almost as wide as he was tall, and the tuxedo was stretched tight across his shoulders. 'Wait here,' he said over his shoulder, and knocked on one of the doors. It opened and he exchanged words with someone inside. The door opened further and the man in the tuxedo waved Mersiha over. 'You lied to me, girl. But he'll see you anyway.' His smile suggested that he knew something she didn't, and Mersiha shivered.

Sabatino was sitting behind a large desk next to a bank of television monitors that showed what was going on downstairs. His gaze wandered down her body, lingering over her breasts and thighs. Mersiha felt like a show dog being weighed up for first or second place. Another man stood slightly behind Sabatino, his back to a window, chewing on a cigar. He could have been one of the men she'd seen in Sabatino's car, good-looking but with mean eyes.

'So, what can I do you for ... Allison?' Sabatino asked.

Mersiha tried to make herself look as vacant as possible, figuring that Sabatino wouldn't be attracted to anyone with more than a handful of brain cells. Vacant but sexy. It seemed to be working because Sabatino leaned forward to get a better look. 'It's sort of... er ... personal, Mr Sabatino. Could I sort of see you in, you know, private?' To Mersiha's ears it sounded as if she was overdoing it, but Sabatino didn't seem to realise that it was only an act. Then again, he didn't look too bright himself. Mersiha pouted and thrust her breasts out. 'If that's, er, okay with you.'

Sabatino swivelled around in his chair and grinned at the man behind him. 'It's okay, Vincenti,' he said. 'I can handle this.'

The man nodded curtly and walked by Mersiha to the door. She heard him open and close it. The floor was vibrating through her feet, and even with the door closed Mersiha could hear the pounding music down below. If she did fire the gun, she doubted that anyone would hear it in the nightclub.

Sabatino stood up and sidled his large bulk around the desk. He walked up to Mersiha and stroked her hair. He seemed even bigger close up, dwarfing her with his presence. He was wearing a pungent aftershave that smelled of lemons. 'Pretty little thing, aren't you?' he mused.

His hand touched her cheek and she fought the urge to flinch. Instead she smiled as invitingly as possible. 'We won't be disturbed, will we?' she asked.

Sabatino frowned. Then his eyes widened. 'Did my brother send you?' he asked. Mersiha hadn't a clue what he was talking about but she nodded nonetheless. Sabatino giggled, and the sound was almost girlish. He went over to the door and locked it, then stood with his back to it, barely able to contain his excitement. 'Bzuchar knows just how I like them,' he said under his breath. He stood watching her for several seconds, like a butcher weighing up a piece of meat before making the first cut. 'Take off your dress,' he said eventually.

'What?' Mersiha said.

'You heard me. Take off your dress.' *

Mersiha was so surprised that she took an involuntary step backwards. 'No,' she said.

'Just do as you're told. I wanna see what you've got.' He pushed himself away from the door and started to advance towards her, rubbing his sweating hands together. Mersiha reached into her handbag and pulled out the gun. Sabatino stopped dead at the sight of the weapon. 'What the fuck's going on?' he spat.

'Just stay where you are,' she ordered. She held the gun in both hands, the barrel centred on Sabatino's groin.

'What is this? A fucking hit?'

'I want you to leave Tony Freeman alone,' she said.

'What?'

'Tony Freeman. CRW. I want you to leave his company alone. If you don't, I'll kill you.'

Deep lines creased Sabatino's forehead. He looked at the gun. Then he looked at Mersiha. 'You've got to be joking.'

'No, Mr Sabatino. I'm serious. If you don't promise to leave the company alone, I'll kill you.'

Sabatino squinted at her face as if he were looking into the sun. 'How old are you?' he asked.

'Old enough to pull the trigger. Now, will you do as I say? Or shall I put a bullet in your leg?'

Sabatino took a step forward. 'You're not going to shoot anything with the safety on,' he said.

Mersiha tightened her trigger finger without dropping her gaze. 'I'm not stupid, Mr Sabatino. I know the safety is off. If you want me to check, I'd be quite happy to test it on you.' She began to increase the pressure.

'No!' Sabatino said. 'Don't!'

Mersiha sneered at the man. He'd tried to fool her, and now he was frightened. He was a typical bully: vicious and overbearing when he thought he was in control, snivelling when faced with a stronger adversary.

'Who are you?' he asked, sweat visible on his forehead.

'I'm the person who's telling you to keep away from CRW. And I'll be the person who'll put a bullet in you if you don't do as I say.'

'You don't look like the sort of girl who's capable of killing.' 'Oh, I've killed before, Mr Sabatino. Believe me, I've killed.'

'I'm sure you have ... what did you say your name was? Allison?' He put his hands in his pockets.

'My name's not important. And take your hands out of your pockets. Keep them where I can see them.'

Sabatino smiled agreeably. 'Whatever you want,' he said. His hands reappeared. 'Just keep calm, don't ...' His right hand moved in a blur, upwards and out, and a handful of small change flew through the air. Mersiha reacted instinctively, ducking out of the way, trying to protect her face from the flying pennies and quarters. Sabatino moved quickly despite his size, and he reached her in three quick steps. He grabbed the gun and twisted it out of her grasp. Mersiha tried to back away but Sabatino slapped her, knocking her sideways. The blow spun her around and she fell against the desk.

Sabatino studied the gun in his hand. 'You were right,' he said. 'The safety was off.' He released the clip and held it in his left hand. 'Bullets, too. You weren't bluffing.'

He tossed the gun and clip on to the sofa and went over to her. She tried to wriggle away but Sabatino grabbed her by the throat. He laughed as she went for his eyes with clawed fingers and swayed back, easily avoiding her. He spun her around so that her back was towards him, then hit her between the shoulder-blades so that she slumped over the desk. 'Let's see what you look like without the dress,' he hissed, and pulled down the zip.

Mersiha tried to slip to the side but Sabatino rammed a knee between her legs, trapping her. 'No, you're not going anywhere,' he said, pulling her hair roughly. He kissed her on the neck and she felt his rough tongue rasp against her skin. She pushed back with her hips, trying to force him away, but the movement only made him even more excited. She felt him grow hard. 'That's it,' he whispered. 'Fight me. Fight me all the way. There's nothing you can do, little girl. I'm gonna fuck you like you've never been fucked before, men I'm gonna take you on a picnic' He groped around her body and seized her breasts, squeezing them so hard that she yelped. Mersiha frantically looked around for something, anything, to use as a weapon. There was a diary on the desk, a lamp, a stapler, a wooden box containing THE BIRTHDAY GIRL 253 correspondence, a brass letter-opener shaped like an aeroplane propeller.