The Bullet Trick (3 page)

'As long as it’s short of thirty minutes.'

Bill smiled.

'We don’t want people getting impatient.'

I’d expected the door girl to bring up the wine, but when the knock came it brought a familiar face.

'Sam?'

'The one and only.' Sam Rosenswest smiled. He slid himself and a tray holding two glasses, a corkscrew and a bottle of white wine into the room. 'How you doing?'

'Great.' I got to my feet and slapped him on the back. 'Good to see you, man.'

'Hey!' Sam raised the tray in the air, like a ship’s waiter serving through a squall. 'Watch the merchandise.'

I pushed the lamp on the small bedside table to one side and Sam settled the tray in the gap. 'So how are you?'

Sam started to work the corkscrew into the bottle’s cork and grinned.

'Never better.'

'Nice threads.'

He glanced at his suit.

'Yeah well,' Sam pulled the cork from the bottle and poured us each a glass. 'When in Rome.' He handed me my drink. 'How about you, William? Still a slave to the gee-gees?'

'You know me, always the animal lover.'

He shook his head.

'I’m not sure following form quite qualifies you as St Francis. Won’t keep you warm at night neither. You want to quit all that and get yourself hooked up with a nice bird.'

'That’s good advice coming from you.'

Sam grinned.

'You know what I mean. How’s old Fagin? You seen him lately?'

'He set me up with tonight.'

'Aha.' He sat down on the single bed opposite me and took a sip of his drink. 'That’s where you’re wrong. You’ve got old Sam-I-Am to thank for this particular box of tricks.'

'Yeah?' I tried to look grateful. 'Rich didn’t say anything.'

'Well he wouldn’t would he? Wants to make sure of his 10 per cent, greedy sod.'

'Cheers, Sam.' I raised my glass in a toast, then put it to my lips and took a sip. Its cheap sourness cut through the chill. 'Thanks.'

'No worries, you and me go way back.'

'And…?'

Sam laughed.

'You may not be a whizz with girls and horses…'

'You can add dogs to that.'

'Ah, William.' Sam shook his head, looking like a priest caught between sorrow at the sin and the satisfaction of being able to squeeze a few more ‘Our Fathers’ from the sinner. 'Despite all your weaknesses, when it comes down to it, there’s no flies on you. OK there might be a bit more to tonight than meets the eye. But you just sit tight and it’ll all come out cushty.'

Sam was a young comic who had also been under Rich’s tough love care. We’d spent a long summer season together until he’d decided he could do better under new management. I’d not seen him for a year, maybe longer. In that time he’d grown leaner, but in a sleek way. He chinked my glass and knocked back the last of his wine.

'I’d better shift myself. Bill’s got a jealous streak. He’s already suspicious about why I suggested you.'

'You mean you and him…?'

'Yeah,' Sam’s face lit up. 'You wouldn’t think it to look at him would you?'

'No, you wouldn’t.'

'Yep, he’s a mean queen-killing machine. For me to so much as look at a bloke is to condemn him to a cement overcoat.'

'Maybe you should open the door then, let him see there’s nothing to worry about.'

Sam laughed.

'Your face, William. Don’t worry. I’m just having you on. Now he’s seen you he won’t be worried.'

'What do you mean?'

Sam got to his feet and moved to the door.

'That’s what I love about you William, always able to laugh at yourself. I’ll catch you after the show eh? Bill likes me to stay in the wings when he’s got business on, but we’ll grab a drink, the three of us, when you’ve done your set.' He gave me a last grin and I thought I could see a new, tougher Sam beneath the comic I’d known. It was hard to imagine this new shiny version bothering to parry some of the heckling I’d seen the old Sam spar with. He said, 'Don’t let me down. I gave you a big build.' Then shut the door gently behind him.

I sat for a moment, after Sam’s footsteps had faded down the stairs, wondering what I had got myself into. Then I took the bottle by the neck, slipped into the hallway and tapped at the door of the girls’ dressing room. A female voice said, 'Oh, for fuck’s sake!'

There was the sound of another woman laughing then the Asian girl opened the door. I held up the bottle of wine.

'I thought you might fancy a wee drink.'

Shaz leaned in the doorway, her left hip jutting towards me, right arm swinging the door slowly against her body.

'We’ve got our own thanks.'

Through the slim gap I could see the blonde sitting at the dressing-table, intent on her reflection. Both girls were wrapped in long cotton dressing gowns, their makeup bright and showgirl thick. The door started to close on Shaz’s smile. I slid a foot into the room, and her smile died. She said in a calm voice, 'Jacque, will you phone down to the bar and tell them we’ve got a wanker up here?'

Jacque looked up from the dressing-table. I held a hand up in surrender, but kept my foot where it was.

'No, look, don’t, I’ve got a proposition for you.'

Jacque’s voice was weary.

'In case you haven’t noticed we’ve got all the work we need right now, love.'

'That’s right,' the other girl was calm but there was an edge to her voice that had been absent before. 'We’re going to have our hands full.'

'It’ll be an easy score for one of you.'

'There’s no such thing, mate.'

'Oh, ask him what he wants Shaz.'

I looked beyond the gatekeeper at the girl in the mirror.

'Purely business.'

She kept her gaze on her reflection; concentrating on pencilling a beauty spot on her left cheekbone, level with the corner of her eye. She frowned at the pressure of the pencil against her skin.

'Nothing up your sleeve?'

I smiled and pulled back my cuffs.

'See for yourself.'

She gave her reflection one last look, then put down the pencil and swivelled round in her seat. Her face looked sharper than the image in the mirror, or perhaps she was getting tired of our conversation.

'Just ask him in, Shaz.'

Shaz bit her lip.

'As long as he understands whatever he wants it’ll cost. We’re not here for charity.'

'I think he knows that.'

'Of course I do.'

The tall girl leaned back, leaving me a narrow space. I slid by, ignoring the warmth of her body beneath the fabric of her robe.

If I hadn’t known that we were all hired for one night only I might have thought that the girls had inhabited their dressing-room for weeks. The flex of a set of hair tongs snaked through bottles of makeup, a slick of foundation pooled on the scarred dressing-table. An almost empty bottle of white wine and two glasses sat amongst the debris. Their discarded outdoor clothes lay bundled on the bed. A white envelope stuffed with notes jutted from the pocket of a sports bag. It looked like they were on a better rate than me, but then they were the main act while I was just an in-joke.

Shaz closed the door then leaned against a paint-chipped radiator on the far wall, keeping her eyes on me. I made a brushing gesture to my nose and after a moment’s hesitation she glanced in the mirror and dusted away the frosting of white powder that lingered round her nostrils, breathing in sharp, as if trying to inhale any stray grains that had caught in the air.

'You know that’s the Old Bill down there?'

She resumed her position, her expression blank. 'What’s it to do with you?'

'As little as possible.'

The other girl glanced at me through the mirror, stroking a fluffy pink makeup brush against her cheekbone.

'The Old Bill sent young Bill up with it.'

The tall girl flashed her a sharp look and I wondered if they really were sisters.

I smiled.

'Very nice.'

Jacque turned back to the mirror, wetting her finger and smoothing an imagined ruffle in her eyebrow.

'Hadn’t you better tell us what it is you want?'

I opened my arms like an old-time ringmaster and said, 'Which one of you lovely ladies would like to be my assistant?'

Jacque laughed. Shaz shook her head then reached over and took the bottle from me, tilting it to her lips.

'You must be mad.' She passed it to Jacque, who tipped a measure into her glass. 'Bill would go crazy if we came down early. It’d spoil the big surprise.'

'Is he your manager then?'

The word ‘manager’ came out wrong and both girls shot me a frown. Jacque’s voice was flinty.

'We manage ourselves.'

'I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I’m in a bit of a bind. The trick I want to do relies on the help of a lovely lady and the audience seems to consist entirely of ugly coppers, so there’s no point in asking for a volunteer.'

The blonde girl aimed a weary look at me.

'You rely on a pair of tits to stop the punters noticing if you make a balls-up?'

'Not quite how I would have put it…'

'But, yes?'

'Glamour’s an element of the show, yes.'

'Ask chubby downstairs, I bet she’ll do it for fifty.'

Shaz laughed.

'She’d do it for twenty.'

Shaz giggled again when I asked if they were related and put her arm around the blonde girl, posing as if they were about to have a portrait painted.

'You might not have noticed, but we look a bit different from each other. Ebony and ivory together, sometimes in harmony.'

She ruffled the blonde girl’s curls and I thought maybe I understood what they were to each other.

'Hey, multiethnic Britain, no reason why you couldn’t be related.'

'Only through drink.'

Jacque slapped Shaz’s hand lightly and set to repairing her hair. I gave the room a last glance, taking in the scattered clothes and makeup, the rumpled bed with its tired candlewick and said, 'If you ladies want to make a quick escape I’d recommend you pack up your gear and leave it at the door.'

Shaz had started painting her nails the same flame red as her lipstick. She looked up at me.