torso. His head was large and wide, forehead massive and low, overhanging his eyes which were close together, small, deepset and black. His arms looked very muscular. Henry had to admire anyone who had the courage to step in with him, even when he was uninjured and in a playful mood. He suspected the keeper had been lucky to escape with his life today.
The gorilla’s coat was matted with blood in a swathe which ran from his left shoulder, right the way across his chest to his stomach. He had lost a good deal of blood.
The wound was still bleeding profusely. Henry could see a sliver of jagged white bone sticking out between the gorilla’s fingers. It was an injury which needed treatment quickly.
Suddenly the gorilla stopped rocking and became still and silent. His eyes flickered up and saw Henry looking through the glass. For a second their eyes locked in a kind of primeval gaze. Then the gorilla’s lips drew back into a fearsome snarl, revealing a powerful set of teeth which were capable of ripping a man to shreds. A deep bark of annoyance, followed by an angry roar, boomed from the gorilla’s throat, making Henry’s stomach somersault. The animal then flung himself across the enclosure towards Henry, battering the glass with his raging fists.
Henry drew back instinctively. He knew he was safe with that thick glass between him and the beast, but he could have sworn the glass bowed when the animal pounded almost 340 kgs of sheer muscle against it.
The air rushed out of Henry’s lungs in a gasp. He was speechless for a moment. Eventually and rather inadequately, he said ‘Wow.’ He could feel his heart pounding, could taste the quick rush of adrenal in which had gushed into his body. He closed his mouth, pulled himself together and smiled shamefacedly at Draycott. ‘Some beast.’
The attack on the glass had been brief. Boris had now slunk back to the comfort of his corner. He sat down and began to shiver uncontrollably, shock setting in.
‘ Where the hell’s that vet?’ Draycott begged to know.
The statement taken from the girl at the turnstile was not really worth the paper it was written on. She had not noted any numbers, and all the statement contained was a vague description of two cars which the men had boarded, their colour and a very partial registered number which she’d dredged from memory. Evidentially pretty crap.
Henry handed it back to the PC who had taken it.
There was little else for him to do at the zoo. The only real way forward would be if the wounded man turned up in a casualty department, or dead somewhere.
But, bearing in mind the nature of the incident — a hit that went awry, or so it seemed — even if he did turn up at a hospital there would be little hope of him talking. Henry favoured the latter possibility anyway: he’d more than likely turn up in a ditch somewhere having bled to death. That way there would definitely be no chance of him speaking to the cops.
Henry’s stomach panged with hunger.
It was 2.30 p.m. and apart from some toast that morning, he’d eaten nothing all day. He walked to the zoo cafeteria, ordered a sandwich and a coffee and sat down to eat before returning to the mortuary to catch the tail- end of the post mortem.
As he sipped the brew he had difficulty in focusing his mind on anything other than the look which had passed between himself and the gorilla before it charged him. He knew he was probably overplaying the significance, but hell, it had been just like looking into the eyes of another human being. There had been intelligence and knowledge. Henry shook his head and felt very sorry for such a creature having to live in captivity. He hoped Boris would pull through.
The last thing he wanted was to be investigating the murder of a gorilla.
‘ You look serious.’
Standing next to Rider at the bar was Isa. He hadn’t heard her arrive. She was staying in a guest-house opposite the club. He had been deep into the club’s books, trying to make some elusive figures balance. A struggle. He pushed the calculator to one side.
‘ Life is serious,’ he said, forcing a false smile which then metamorphosised into a real one. Isa always had the capacity to cheer him up.
‘ I could make it more fun for you, John,’ she said and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
‘ No doubt you could, hon,’ he conceded, ‘but afterwards it’d still all be there.’
‘ Must be bad.’ She laid a hand on the back of his head. He could smell her lady-scent through her clothes. It made him slightly woozy for a moment. He pulled her towards him and hugged her gently, then released her. She stepped away.
Rider missed the look of longing in her eyes. They had always been good friends, other than for one night when a little flirtation went too far and they ended up making love. But it had proved to be a one-off, much to Isa’s frustration, because she had been hopelessly in love with Rider for longer than she cared to mention. He seemed to continually miss the signs and she didn’t have the guts to tell him. Because above everything else — at least from his perspective — they had been and were once again, business partners. ‘I think I saw Ron Conroy being driven in his Merc. Am I right?’
Rider nodded.
‘ He’s the reason you look like you’ve seen your arse, isn’t he?’
‘ Yeah, but let me worry about him. My problem. No need for you to get involved.’ He slid off the bar stool before she could say anything and stood up. ‘So, what do you think about this place now you’ve had a good look around, got the feel of it?’
‘ When you look beyond the shit and the sticky carpet and try to imagine it how you describe, not bad, not bad at all.’ She nodded appraisingly. Her mouth turned down at the corners as she considered. ‘Loads of potential, but it needs so much money spending on it, John. Even if you were going to run it as a straight disco it would need gutting. Those ceilings look like they’re about to come down. And I don’t have too much money to invest, not at the moment.’
‘ I do. Don’t worry about that aspect of it. I’m not asking you for anything other than your expertise and I’ll pay you well for that. But what d’you think about the plan — the north’s first lap-dance joint? Right here in Blackpool, the tackiest place in the world?’
‘ Seems a good idea and in the right town.’
‘ Good. Your job will be to provide the dancers and manage them.’
‘ Not a problem,’ she said. Isa Hart ran a respectable escort agency in Manchester, specialising in escorts for the’ Busy, discerning professional’, whatever the sex. A profitable business in itself, it also provided a sound front for many other less respectable activities including the provision of exotic dancers for the Middle East, strippers for high-class men’s clubs and one-off functions, gay dancers and, of course, where Isa had started all those years ago — running call girls.
She had known Rider for many years. They had jointly run several ventures in the strip-joint and call-girl territory, but these businesses had crumbled when Rider hit the bottle and the coke.
They both gazed down the bar, across the vast dance floor and beyond to the raised seating area which was the restaurant. Rider’s plan was to get rid of the dance floor, and build a huge circular bar on which the girls would dance to pounding rock music and relieve the customers of their money.
He could see it all. Brash. Glitzy. Rude — very rude. Yet well run, tightly policed by his staff, fun and completely in keeping with Blackpool’s image. The clientele would not be able to touch the girls and there would be no hint of prostitution. They would simply dance provocatively, virtually naked, in front of and almost in the laps of customers. Money would be handed to them and they could be ‘bought’ for individual dancing.
To Rider it was a beautiful image, which was one of the reasons he didn’t want to sell the place to Conroy.
He had a goal now, an aim in life, and he wanted to achieve it.
And he had plans for the rest of the building too. There were another two storeys above which used to be offices for the casino and although the floors were generally rotten and dangerous, he planned to bring them up to scratch and open a restaurant and pub on the first floor and convert the second into new offices.
‘ The planning application goes in next week. We’ll see what reaction it gets. Should be favourable.’
‘ You mean you’ve greased some palms?’
