paper on the corner, and in the wing mirrors of the cab I saw him fold it and wave to someone behind him. A minute later a car settled behind us, not too close, but not so far away as to lose us.
“Anything wrong, Danny?”
“What could be? Just watching your loyal subjects out there. Wave to them, princess. They expect it.”
She laughed and took my hand and I wished to god that my mind was playing tricks. But I knew better. There had been watchers on us for two weeks now.
Correction: not us; her. I never saw them when I was alone. They were tailing her. A team of four. They were good, but I was better. I tried to put it out of my mind. I didn’t want to spoil the evening. And for a while it worked.
I was prepared to be turned away at the door, but old Hutcheson’s blackmail had worked; that and the five guineas a head. They checked us off a list at the door and we passed through into what must have been an old ballroom. Now it was aglow, with chandeliers sparkling in resonance with the diamonds on the women’s throats. Short-skirted cigarette girls wound their way through the crowds at the tables, dispensing free cigars and cigarettes. Waiters offered a constantly refilled tray of cocktails and champagne. Our entrance fee began to seem less exorbitant; it covered everything except the chips on the tables.
My initial sense of being out of my depth soon left me, and it wasn’t just the booze. A closer look at the gamblers, and some eavesdropping, made me realise what a motley group this was. The men were all in tuxes, but some wore them easier than others. The accents strayed from Chelsea to Stepney. And there was a coarseness and a flashiness to some that suggested that the money they were throwing around hadn’t necessarily been the result of twenty generations of careful husbanding of the family heirlooms. Mind, even the best families started out through some act of skulduggery. On which subject; one or two of the faces were familiar from dodgier venues I’d dragged Eve to. Villains rubbing shoulders with stockbrokers. Gambling: the great leveller.
We could have left within half an hour having got what I thought we came for:
Eve had all the material she needed to describe the workings of the flashiest illegal gambling den in town. But she seemed in no hurry to leave. She bought some chips and I lost them at baccarat. She didn’t mind; the paper was paying.
We strolled about watching others at play, but I could see she was looking around, looking for someone.
It was nearly midnight, way past my bedtime. I didn’t begrudge Eve her night of glory, but she ignored my warnings of pumpkins and abandoned glass slippers.
Just as the clock struck the hour, there was an eddy at the door. A party of three entered: two hulking outriders shielding a smaller character in a white dinner jacket. A big cigar was clamped in his jaw. The trio walked straight across the floor parting the crowd like a spoon through porridge. They disappeared through a door on the far wall. I caught a glimpse of a room, softly lit, with a card table and expectant croupier. A private room within a private club. This was for high rollers. Eve had seen him too. Her eyes were alight and she gripped my arm hard enough to leave a bruise. This was what she’d been waiting for. Or whom.
Next thing, she’s walking away from me, fast, following the man in white. I charged after her, but got involved in a quickstep with a waiter and a cocktail tray. By the time I was on the move again, Eve had reached the door and was sweet-talking the six-foot thug in a too-tight tux who stood guard. She must have been convincing for he leaned down and opened the door. She slipped through and for a long few seconds she was inside. I stopped my headlong rush and sauntered casually towards the door, lighting a cigarette as I went.
I was within ten yards when the door shot open and Eve was bundled out by a muscleman with her hand rammed up her back. Her face was contorted. They were closely followed by the man in the white tuxedo. The thug at the door grabbed her other arm and pulled. She was stretched between them, two heavy paws on each slim wrist. They looked like they were going to make a wish. I closed the gap in a heart beat.
The SOE taught me how to disable an opponent. It’s easy, one-on-one, in the dark, coming up behind with a knife in your hand. This time there were two of them, facing me in the full glare of the chandeliers. Fortunately Eve was making enough of a fuss to distract them. But the odds were still worse than on any of the card tables around me. This was no time for Queensbury Rules or the variations thereon at Les’s boxing academy.
I went for the one on the right. He was standing feet well apart and legs straight to take the strain of holding Eve. I ran directly at him, got within three feet, pivoted on my left leg, drew my right up towards me and lashed out low and hard. My heel drove into his knee cap and I felt it give. Knees don’t normally bend backwards. The big guy squealed and fell like a tree hit by an axe.
I followed through on my pivot to end up facing the second goon. He’d dropped Eve’s arm and moved into a crouch. His right arm was already digging inside his jacket. I didn’t think he was reaching for his fags.
I kept my momentum going. His head was now level with mine and I took one big step forward and lunged. The human skull is a helmet coated in skin and hair. It does a great job of protecting the brain, as my own scars can testify. The strongest area is where the forehead rises to the hair line and slopes back. The most vulnerable point is the nose. It juts out, bone and gristle, just asking for trouble. It’s why the Normans and their ilk had a flap of steel hanging down from their helmets. This bloke wasn’t wearing one.
My forehead hit his nose with the power of a mallet. I felt it burst and explode, and he went down with blood erupting from his face. Adrenalin made the whole action take place in slow motion. I bent over, slipped my hand inside his bloodied jacket. and pulled out a smart little Beretta M1935. Semi-automatic.
Fires.32 ACP ammo from an 8 cartridge magazine. Has the stopping power of an old lady’s handbag beyond twenty feet, but it’s easy to conceal and deadly up close. We captured thousands from the Eyties and Jerry.
I stepped back panting, surveying the havoc and only now hearing the first screams of women behind me. Why do women do that? Though not all women; Eve was staring at me as if she was curious what I’d do next. She was rubbing her wrists thoughtfully.
The bloke with the knee problem was writhing around, clutching his leg and cursing. I hoped he didn’t have an England trial the next day. The other one had pulled himself back against the wall and was trying to staunch the bleeding with a red-soaked hankie. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. I held the gun steady in two hands but aimed at the floor. Didn’t want to cause serious injury.
The man in the white tux was looking like he’d explode. More goons were running towards us from the front door. I moved to put my back to the wall, dragging Eve with me and tucking her behind me. I lifted the Beretta up and aimed it steadily at white jacket’s head, looking straight into his mad eyes. He was plump and sleek with grey streaks contrasting perfectly with slicked-back dark hair. There was sweat on his brow. His mouth was snarling like a wolf eying a pet rabbit that had miraculously strayed into its den at dinner time.
Keeping my eyes and gun on him I turned my head to the crowd and called out, “Touch me and he’s dead!”
The rush towards me stopped. I glanced round. It was like a firing squad. Five of them. They must have bought a job lot of Berettas. I could see the gears of their peanut brains grinding round. They’d been trained in a limited range of actions. They were trying to decide whether their boss was in worse trouble if they shot me or if they didn’t. Their preference was to shoot me anyway, then beat my corpse to a pulp.
“Easy, boys. Easy,” I shouted. “Fight’s over. These blokes were manhandling my girl. I don’t like that. But it’s over. OK? We’re going to leave here quietly.
No one else gets hurt.” I turned back to white jacket. “OK?”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of them step forward, the one from the door. He flexed his shoulders and I could see his trigger finger going white. I straightened my gun arm so that the barrel was two feet from his boss’s head.
White jacket’s eyes widened. He got the message.
“Enough, Len! Put the bloody gun down!” White jacket sounded for all the world like the man who ran the Italian chip shop in the Gallowgate. “All of you!”
Eve took her chance. She stepped out from behind me and took my arm, my free arm, not the gun arm. Her accent was pure upper class. “Oh, darling, there’s been a terrible mistake,” she gushed in her ritziest tones. “I thought I was going to the loo. Silly me! These men were having a private game of cards or something and I must have broken their concentration.”
It was such an outrageous speech that I nearly laughed out loud. No one else seemed to think it was funny, especially not the two groaning heavies on the floor. I looked round at the ring of muscle that surrounded us. I could see doubt appear on some faces. They were having to think so much I feared their brains would seize. But they lowered their guns.
