The Tale of the Wolf (The Kenino Wolf Series) (10 page)

It was about half one in the morning and Leon had just finished a rendition of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I will survive’. Clichéd I know but Leon likes it and he does do an excellent rendition. Four other drag queens got up on stage and started doing something. Not sure what it was, they were pretty inaudible. As they got on the stage a man with a skinhead and ill-fitting suit — as in too much muscle, too little fabric — sat down in front of the three of us. Looking across at each of us but addressing me, he said:

‘
Where is Nikos?’ His accent was Russian.

He was a hard looking guy. Military type; shaved head and big neck.

‘
No idea what you’re talking about, mate. Think you’ve got the wrong guy.’

‘
Stand up very slowly,’ the Russian stated, opening his jacket to reveal a holstered pistol.

‘
What ...? Look, I think you’ve made some mistake. I don’t know what the hell you are going on about. ’ The Russian smiled as he saw our faces clock the pistol.

‘
Get up very slowly and there won’t be any trouble,’ he commanded calmly.

He turned round to signal to three other blokes in ill-fitting suits (same reason.) They strode towards us.

As he turned back round to face us Boom-Boom let loose; two solid connections to the guy’s head. I heard his jaw and his nose crack. His face crumpled like tissue paper under the weight of the onslaught. I saw his eyes roll in his head and then the lights went out. He was out cold, slumped across the table. Boom-Boom was living up to his name.

His three companions, who were approaching, on seeing their friend get smacked, ripped open their jackets and pulled out a veritable arsenal of hardware: two uzis and another pistol. Boom-Boom reached at the unconscious Russian and tore his pistol from its holster.

Seeing what was coming, I grabbed for the tranq gun in my pocket and whipped it out. I let loose a shot and got one of the Russians between the eyes. He went cross-eyed and slumped on to the floor. The remaining two let loose a volley of shots. The screams echoed round the club as people dived for cover. It was mayhem.

Muzzi flipped the table, tipping the Russian on to the floor and we dived behind it. I reloaded the tranq gun, the other two Russians starting spraying the place indiscriminately. I saw Colin tumble behind the bar, as did someone dressed as a Roman. The club was being blown to smithereens.

I put another dart in the tranq gun and lined up another shot, but Muzzi jogged me, trying to avoid the Uzi fire which was splintering the table and I shot Barry White in the arse. Boom-Boom let off a few more rounds from the pistol and winged one of the Russians. We were still cowering behind the table. How long the table was going to last we had no idea. It was already shredded.

‘
I’M OUT OF BULLETS,’ Boom-Boom bellowed at me.

‘
WHAT?’ I bellowed back, trying to shove another dart in the tranq gun, which was being made even more difficult because Muzzi was shaking next to me.

I saw the four drag queens sneak behind the Russian near the column and leap on him like a pack of bouffant’d wolves. They pummelled him into the ground, his gun skewed across the floor, whereupon one of the queens crunched a four-inch stiletto into his crotch.

Boom-Boom was still shouting. ‘I’VE GOT NO BULLETS.’

‘
HOLD ON. I’LL GO TO THE SHOP AND GET YOU SOME MORE.’ I shouted back sarcastically.

The winged Russian crawled across the stage and let loose another volley. One of the queens got it in the leg, the other in the hair … all three feet of it. They dived for cover. The bloke who they’d been turning into a eunuch hobbled on to his feet and over to his friend.

The one that Boom-Boom had punched initially was crawling over to the one I’d tranq’d. He screamed something in Russian and the ‘castrato’ one came over to help Crumple Face grab Sleeping Beauty.

The fourth one was still shooting. He wasn’t aiming at anything. He just wanted to get out. Crumple face and Castrato dragged the sleeping one through the door, followed closely behind by the other, who, in a final flourish, blew the glitter ball from the ceiling.

Boom-Boom waited a few moments and then sneaked a look out after them. They’d gone out the fire exit and disappeared down the road, much to his and everyone’s relief.

People started to rise to their feet, sneaking out slowly from the various hiding places they’d found. It had all happened so quickly. One minute we were enjoying a party the next we were in the battle for Stalingrad.

‘
Leon?’ Kelly walked into the centre of the dance floor.

‘
Kelly,’ screamed Leon. ‘Are you okay? Are you hit?’ he checked her for wounds.

‘
The baby’s coming, Leon.’

‘
What? Now?’

‘
YES, NOW! Go get the stuff.’

‘
Okay, I’ll get it.’ Leon ran to the front of the club.

‘
Leon, we live upstairs,’ she shouted at him.

‘
Yes, Kelly. Sorry, Kelly,’ Leon spluttered, forgetting in the mayhem where he actually lived. Luckily for everyone else Kelly hadn’t. With a baby rushing on and unbearable pain gripping her every fibre, she still had the composure to take charge.

‘
Winston.’

‘
Yes, Kelly,’ he replied militaristically, picking bits of glass out of his fake afro.

‘
Call ambulances for these people. When you’ve finished, lock up. Tabatha will help you, won’t you Tabs?’

‘
Yes, Kelly,’ she replied equally militaristically

‘
Wolfy.’

‘
Yes, Kelly,’ I replied, returning my gaze from Tabatha who’d I’d been checking out to make sure she was okay.

‘
Call me a taxi.’ I had an almost uncontrollable urge to say ‘You’re a taxi’, but I resisted and, like the other good soldiers to our supreme commander answered, ‘Yes, Kelly.’

I dashed into the street.

‘
Taxi!’ I wailed as one went hurtling past me; it was empty as well, the bastard. I was panicking. I couldn’t wait for another free one so I dashed into the oncoming path of an approaching one. The driver was swearing like a fish wife as he screeched to a halt a foot and a half away from me.

I didn’t take any notice and just told him that there was a pregnant woman who needed getting to the hospital and he was taking her. I pulled open the back door and jumped in. Two Japanese tourists were sitting in the back.

‘
Over there!’ I shouted pointing to Leon and Kelly who were now outside the club with Boom-Boom and Muzzi. The taxi driver screeched to a halt next to them.

Kelly climbed into the back next to the tourists.

‘
Not in the back.’ I yelled at Leon as he tried to climb in with her.

‘
What?’

‘
You’ve got six feet of fucking hair. You and it can’t both fit in.’

‘
But I can’t take it off. It’s pinned.’

‘
Sit in the front and stick your head out the window.’

Leon jumped in the front and I jumped into the back and we sped off down the road. To say this was an odd looking taxi was quite possibly an understatement.

We had ‘Superfly’, a pregnant woman, two Japanese tourists, snapping incessantly with their cameras — they had no idea what was going on but thought the whole lot worth recording for posterity — a drag queen with a three-foot blonde wig shoved out a window, and a taxi driver who must have thought he’d entered the Twilight Zone.

‘
Hold on, I know a short cut.’ The taxi driver shouted, cutting through a back alley and jumping a set of lights. We raced through Soho.

‘
We’ll be there in a bit. Hold on.’ The taxi driver was fretting.

‘
Don’t worry! My baby is not being born in a cab,’ Kelly replied through gritted teeth.

‘
We’re almost there.’ He returned.

We took a hard left on to Westminster Bridge. The taxi’s tyres squealed as we took the bend at full blast and swung into the hospital with more screeching of tyres.

The taxi skidded to a stop and Leon and I jumped out. Leon screamed in pain; his hair had caught in the door and he almost scalped himself trying to dash away. Freeing himself, the pair of us burst in.

‘
She’s having a baby,’ we wailed simultaneously. Two orderlies came running up to Leon looking utterly bewildered.

‘
Not him! She’s outside!’ Looking relieved, they grabbed a trolley and we all rushed back out. The tourists had got out of the taxi along with Kelly. They were still taking pictures, which, in fairness, wouldn’t you? Kelly got on to the gurney and we all sped back in.

The doctors and the nurses took over from then on, only pausing briefly to find out who was the father. Leon wanted to go into the delivery room, to be there at the birth, but the doctor said his hair was unhygienic and they didn’t have a cap big enough to fit it.

Kelly was in labour for three hours, during which time I paid the taxi driver, whose name was Nathan. He was a bit of an old softy, and stayed the entire time, as did the tourists, Senji and Keizo. They were an extremely nice couple who spoke excellent English and pledged to make lots of copies of the photos for Kelly and Leon.

Over the course of the labour, the wounded and the curious from the club
turned up in abundance; some under their own steam, others in ambulances. All those that had been injured survived, including Colin, who had a graze to his shoulder; a flesh wound really, barely a scratch.

Kelly was wheeled out into the waiting room her little boy clasped tenderly in her arms. She and Leon glowed with joy.

It was a joyous moment for all of us; we’d almost lost our lives and seen a new one born. Although I don’t think the other patients were too happy. One person who’d been under sedation, screamed wildly about being dead when she saw Elvis; it was only Colin but the woman was blasted and didn’t know any better.

The drag queens broke into a rendition of ‘Baby Love’, which actually sounded quite good for a change. I was going to stay and enjoy the happiness, but the police had turned up. Gunshot wounds tend to bring them out of hiding, so I thought it best to beat a hasty retreat, although not before telling Leon I’d sort out the stock that was damaged. While Muzzi, pledged to fix up the bar.

Leaving Muzzi and Boom-Boom to explain what had happened to the police — which probably didn’t take that long as none of us had any idea — I trundled off into the night. If Bosley wanted me, he’d have to come and get me. There was no way I was going to be found at the scene of another situation.

It was only when I reached home that I realised the Russians were looking for Longy. I can be a bit slow sometimes and it had taken me a while to remember that his real name was Nikos. I now had more questions than answers. What did the Russians want with Longy? And what was that Tom Jones action figure about? I only hoped Patrice Laussant would be able to shed some light on it all.

Saturday 3:00 p.m.

Patrice Laussant had a small antiques shop in Dawes Road near Fulham. The outside was weather beaten and the windows were dirty. I turned up there later than I intended. I’d wanted to get there earlier but I’d overslept; after the previous night’s adventures I needed the rest.

I pushed open the door to the shop. A bell rang as I entered. It was packed to the rafters with mostly furniture. The gear was better than second-hand but not quite antique; High quality bric-a-brac was probably a fair description. A cup of tea was sitting on the counter. It had gone cold. Nobody had responded to my entrance, so I shouted out.

‘
Hello?’ No response.

‘
Hello?’ I tried again. I ventured over to the beaded curtain and stuck my head through into an office. A single desk, a chair, filing cabinet and calendar with a circled date; today. Papers were scattered all over the floor and a dead man lay slumped on the desk, together with a tipped-over glass, a bottle of whisky and an empty pill bottle.