52
I made a gentle knock on the door, the kind room service might use; stepped away from the spy hole.
No answer.
A light shone under the door. I heard movement. A bath running.
I knocked again. This time, an answer. Nadja kept the chain on the door.
She wore sunglasses, her hair tied back tightly.
‘Hello, Nadja,’ I said.
‘Why are you here? I have told you all I know.’
I said nothing. Tried to appear calm, I didn’t want to spook her before I got inside.
She moved to close the door, in a second I jammed in my boot, applied a shoulder. The chain snapped, spraying weak links on the floor.
‘What was that? “Come in.” Glad to.’
I walked into the middle of the room, turned to face her. She wore a short white bathrobe, the hotel’s initials stood out above her left breast.
‘I was preparing to bathe.’ The robe fell open to her waist, exposing an expanse of taupe skin.
‘I see that.’ I also saw she was changing tactics.
‘Let me turn off the water.’
As she walked away from me I noticed her legs. Long and shapely, what was once referred to as a finely turned ankle.
‘Help yourself to a drink, Mr Dury,’ she called out from the bathroom.
I didn’t need to be told a second time.
The whisky decanter was unmarked but before I even tasted a drop I had it pegged as Johnnie Walker, Black Label. Call it one of my many skills, I’ve a nose for these things.
When Nadja returned she’d taken the pins out of her hair; it hung wildly on her shoulders.
‘What’s with the shades?’ I asked.
‘I have a little bit of a migraine.’ She sat opposite me, crossed her legs. My eyes fell on a tranche of thigh.
‘Walking into a fist will do that.’
‘What? No, it is a migraine, that is all.’
I threw back my whisky, walked towards her.
‘Stand up,’ I said.
‘No — No, I will not.’
I put down my glass, jerked her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. We stood facing each other, I held her close enough to feel her heart beat.
I removed her glasses. ‘Who was it — Zalinskas?’
She nodded. Slumped into me. ‘He knows… he knows you were here.’
‘He does?’
‘Yes…’ She gripped me so tightly I felt her nails in my back. ‘You must protect me. I have no one else.’
‘Stop with the tears,’ I told her. ‘I’m not buying into the little-girl-lost act.’
Nadja composed herself, stared at me. I put my hand to her face, moved her eye towards the light. ‘I think you’ll live.’
As I let down my hand, her mouth opened. She threw back her head, showed me her neck. Her breasts slid from beneath her robe. Then the robe slid from her shoulders.
She turned, stood with her back to me, arms round my neck, grinding her rear into my crotch. I smelled expensive perfume on her wrists as she clawed at my head with her nails.
‘Nadja,’ I said.
‘No words.’
‘Nadja, stop this.’ I knew I had to pass it up. Every fibre of me yelled, ‘Stop now, Gus! Walk!’ But reason had left me the second her robe hit the floor.
‘Come… follow me.’ She lowered her arms, walked slowly away from me, her long legs crossing each other like she’d taken to a catwalk.
At the bedroom door, she turned, ran her hand up the jamb, and with the other summoned me to follow.
53
I tried to tell myself there wasn’t a man alive could have passed her up. But I was hurting now. I knew I’d jeopardised my position, relinquished the upper hand.
As Nadja ordered room service, I put the Glock out of sight, stuffed it between the mattress and the bed springs. I looked for a way the situation might work to my advantage, but found none. Women like her, in situations like this, hold the aces. Christ, Billy was proof of that.
She came back, said, ‘My, my, you are quite the cowboy.’
I had to laugh. ‘Cowboy?’
‘With the gun in your pocket.’
I touched the rim of the bed, where I’d hidden the Glock.
‘Weren’t you about to have a bath?’
‘You are right. I will take a shower. Would you join me?’
‘Rain check. I’ll wait for the food.’
She climbed over me, lingered on a kiss, then slipped off to the shower.
Dressed, I poured another whisky. Got halfway through my second when room service arrived, closely followed by Nadja.
‘Ah, now we eat,’ she said.
‘Yeah…’
‘Come, sit by me.’
She’d ordered eggs Benedict, not my usual fare of choice.
‘You like it?’
‘It’s very… rich.’
‘That will be the hollandaise, dar-ling.’ She lingered on the dar-ling.
‘That’s not what I meant.’
She laughed. ‘We can have the concierge call out for McDonald’s if you prefer.’
I tried to get the conversation back on a business footing.
‘Nadja, I went to see Zalinskas.’
‘I know.’
‘You do?’
‘How do you think I got this?’ She waved a hand over her eye. ‘He knows about us.’
If Zalinskas thought there was an ‘us’ he was misinformed.
‘ Us?’
‘He… heard you were here.’
‘Yeah, you said.’
She put down her knife and fork. ‘I have lost all appetite.’
‘Nadja, it’s time you laid your cards on the table.’
She stood up, walked over to the window and picked up my cigarettes. ‘Can I take one of these?’
I nodded.
