Torn down.
Torn.
That single word reverberated about the interior of her skull. She put the word to good use and tore up the note before sprinkling the offending flakes of paper on the floor.
Thompson broke the silence. “Savannah, look, no one's going to do anything to you. You're under the roof of my house, my protection, okay?”
She looked up and a tear fell in suicide from the gallows of her eyes.
Thompson came out from behind his desk. “Who wrote the note?”
Her eyes found the carpet and began dissecting the weave as she decided to open the wound all the way, make it gape, make it bleed, there was nothing else for it.
“A man called, Noolan.”
“You see him about the place?”
“No.” She was certain of that. Noolan's face was one that she would never forget. Even the name made her remember the stink of his breath and the noise of his ragged pant as he climaxed.
“So, someone else must have dropped it off for him. Can you think of anyone that's been about tonight that seemed odd, or anything?”
Immediately she thought of the man that hadn't smiled and had just wanted to have a look at her ass. “There was one bloke.”
“Who?”
“My last punter acted a little shifty.”
Thompson took her over to the bank of live camera footage. “Which booth were you in?”
“Eight.”
Thompson punched a couple of buttons and started re-winding. “Him?”
“Yeah.”
Harry sat in the confines of the hired car, watching the people entering and exiting the club. After seeing the birthmark on the lap-dancer's behind he'd seen all he needed to. She'd said her name was Savannah; Harry knew her real name, Alice Henley. He thumbed through the contacts on his phone. He couldn't manage a greeting, the voice of the other end got in first. “Hey, glad you called, got some great news on the Shale's case.” Billy's familiar voice bled through the speaker.
Harry kept his eyes on the club's entrance. “What?”
“It's not a snuff movie, just some cheap effects with the throat cutting, she's alive and well and about to get some more cock in another film.”
“That's good, I think.” It was good that the girl wasn't in some shallow grave or roadside ditch.
“How're you getting on?” asked Billy.
“I've found Alice Henley.”
“You sure it's her?”
“Birthmark just where her mother had said she'd have one.” The only photograph he had of Alice was over ten years old and it shared nothing in common with the woman who called herself Alice Cotton-slash-Savannah.
“Nice. So what're you gonna do now?”
“I passed over a note for her.” Harry knew that it wasn't the most tactful way to let her know that something sinister from her past was hunting her down, at least with a note she could read it and it could sink in, then if she wanted his help she could call his number, or if she wanted to see him then he'd be sat in his car outside the club until closing.
“And if the note doesn't find its way to her, or she ignores it, then what?”
“If she ignores it, that's her call, she's not a kid any more, but if it looks like the note never made it to her then I'll just have to do a face-to-face.”
“Keep me up to date.”
“Yeah, will do.” He watched a couple of the doormen talking, one of them pointed towards him. “Look, I've gotta go, looks like the note made it to her, there's some interest in me.” Harry didn't wait for a reply; he ended the call and started to roll down the window as one of the doormen started across the road towards his car.
“You the one that left the note for, Savannah?” He looked the atypical hard bouncer, all shoulders and neck, with a shaved head puckered with scars.
Harry nodded.
“She wants a word with you.”
Now that was what Harry wanted to hear. He got out of the car, locked it up and followed the bouncer back across the road. They jumped the queue and Harry found himself back in amongst the noise and the bodies. He followed where the bouncer led. Out through a door, down a corridor and into a large storage room.
There wasn't much in the room apart from himself, three hefty-sized men and a small rattish man with slick-lips and no sign of Alice. Harry chided himself; he should have seen this coming. The wet-mouthed man pointed to a wooden chair in the centre of the room. “Sit.” His voice sounded an octave too high to belong to someone who should be heeded without question.
“Where's, Alice?” Harry felt a hand on his back, which shifted to a shove, forcing him deeper into the room and closer to the chair. Harry turned around slowly. The menace that had pushed him was wearing a well practised dark scowl, it probably worked on some pissed up little runt that got a bit handsy with the dancers but it did nothing to make Harry's legs go shaky. Harry was just kissing the six-foot-one mark and there wasn't much in the way of bulk about his body, most referred to his build as spindly, others regarded him as rangy and raw-boned topped off with a wiry strength. He decided for the moment to take the path of least resistance and sat down to give the ratty-man his full and undivided attention.
The ratty-man asked. “Why'd you write the note?”
“You must have read it, pretty much self-explanatory.” That remark earned him a cuff to the back of his head. Harry spun in his chair to see one of the goons looking pleased with himself. Ratty-man spoke again, drawing Harry's attention back. “So, you're not even trying to deny it, talk about being only half the hat.”
Harry shook his head. He'd had dealings with paper gangsters before. They'd own a club, or two, and have hired hoodlums to get the dirty deeds done and then play king of the castle. “All I want to know is where Alice is.”
Ratty-man let free a much-faked laugh. “What, so you can, and I quote, 'chop you up like the filthy cunt that you are, no one leaves the Foundation of the Kingdom's rise.' Doesn't exactly read like a love letter now does it?”
Harry blinked; pretty sure he hadn't written anything even remotely resembling that. “I didn't write that.”
“You just said you did not a moment ago.”
“I wrote a note, but that wasn't it.”
Ratty-man shrugged. “Doesn't matter a fuck. I don't like my girls threatened or harmed. And when someone comes along who wishes to do either, then I like to send a message out to any other misfits who might have the same kind of daft ideas.”
Harry didn't want to hear any more diatribe, he hadn't the luxury of time, not after hearing what had been in the other note for Alice. “Whatever, just tell me where Alice is, I don't have the time to sit here explaining.” Harry made to stand up but found a set on hands on his shoulders forcing him back down. Playtime was over, now it was time to do some schooling. He hadn't expected to be beaten in getting to Miss Henley first. It had been a massive job just tracking her down to where she worked; there'd been layer and layer of false identities along the way to thwart all who might attempt to track her down. Harry had been doing the job too long, knew all the tricks that folks used to stay a ghost and had managed to catch up, nothing was going to make him come second. Harry reached up and grabbed the hands that held him in place. He thrust those hands outwards with a quick and unexpected release of strength. The owner of those hands found himself quickly off balance and his head came face first to meet with the top of Harry's head. There was a crunch as the bridge of the man's nose concertinaed and Harry felt a rush of warm blood flood around and about the hairs on his head. Harry released the hands, stood, grabbing the chair as he did and swung it upside the nearest bouncer's skull. The bouncer pulled a few funny faces before the lights in his eyes went out and he crumpled to the floor. Without missing a beat Harry closed up the space between himself and the final bundle of biceps, knee'd him square in the balls, grabbed the man by his ears as he started to double over, helped him on his way south and collided his knee into the bloke’s face. Harry pushed the fellow over, but it wasn't necessary as the man was completely oblivious to which way was even up. Harry spun to confront Ratty-man who was the only one not unconscious or holding an injury. “I'm asking just once, where is she?”