We took a taxi to Georgetown. It would have conserved funds if we'd taken a bus, but this way meant less exposure to commuters or pedestrians. The driver was Nigerian. The map of the city on the front passenger seat didn't instill much confidence, and he could just about speak English. He used what few words he had to ask me where Georgetown was. It was like a London cabbie not knowing Chelsea. I patiently pointed on the map. By my guess it was about thirty minutes away.
It was spitting with rain, not enough to keep the wipers on but enough to make him give them a flick every minute or so.
Kelly munched on a candy bar and I kept an eye out for other motels. We'd have to move again soon.
We sat in silence for a few minutes until it occurred to me that the driver would expect to hear us talking.
'When I was your age I hadn't been in a taxi,' I said.
'I don't think I went in one until I was about fifteen.'
Kelly looked at me, still chewing on the candy.
'Didn't you like taxis?'
'No, it's just we didn't have much money. My stepfather couldn't find a job.'
She looked puzzled. She looked at me for a long time, then turned her head and looked out the window again.
The traffic was clogging the exit for Key Bridge. Georgetown was just on the other side of the Potomac; it would have been quicker to get out and walk, but it made sense to stay out of sight. By now Kelly's face would have been in the newspapers, maybe even on posters. The police would be putting in a lot of time and effort to find her abductor.
I leaned over the front seat, picked up the map, and directed the driver to the river end of Wisconsin Avenue, the main north-south drag. I remembered Georgetown as almost self-contained, with a genteel and quaint feel to the town houses that had reminded me of San Francisco. The sidewalks were redbrick and uneven, and every car seemed to be a BMW, Volvo, or Mercedes. Every house and store had a prominent sign warning that the property was guarded by a security firm. Try breaking in and you'd have a rapid-response team down on you before you even had time to rip the leads from the back of the VCR.
Wisconsin is a wide street with shops and houses on either side. We found Good Fellas about four blocks up the hill on the right-hand side. As restaurants go it looked like one of the moody, designer-type places: the whole front was black, even down to the smoked-glass windows; the only relief was the gold lettering above the door. It was now nearly lunchtime;
all the staff would have punched in.
We entered through two blackened glass swing doors and were hit by the frosty blast of air-conditioning. We were at one end of a dimly lit hallway that ran the length of the front.
Halfway down was a young receptionist sitting at her desk, looking very upscale and friendly. I was impressed with Pat's taste. The girl smiled as we walked toward her, Kelly's hand in mine.
As we got closer I realized that the smile was a quizzical one. By now she was standing up, and I could see she was dressed very smartly in a white shirt and black pants.
'Excuse me, sir,' she said, 'we don't.. .'
I held up my hand and smiled.
'That's fine, we haven't come for lunch. I'm trying to find a friend of mine called Patrick. He used to come here a lot, maybe six or seven months ago. Does that ring a bell? As far as I know, he was going out with one of your staff. He's an Englishman, speaks like me.'
'I don't know, I've only been here since the beginning of the semester.'
Semester? Of course, we were in Georgetown, the university area; every student was also a waiter or waitress.
'Could you maybe call somebody, because it's really important that I make contact with him.' I winked conspiratorily and said, 'I've brought a friend of his--it's a surprise.'
She looked down and smiled warmly.
'Hi, do you want a mint?' Kelly took a small handful.
I went on, 'Maybe one of the people in the back might know him?'
While she was thinking about it, a couple of guys in suits came in behind us. Kelly was looking up at them, lumps in her cheeks.
'Hi, little lady,' one of them laughed.
'You're a bit young for this, aren't you?'
Kelly shrugged. Not a word.
The receptionist said, 'Excuse me a moment,' and went off to do her hostess bit, opening the door beyond the desk for somebody else to meet the two diners and take them to their table.
She came back and picked up the phone.
'I'll call.'
I looked down and winked at Kelly.
'We've got somebody here with a child, and they're looking for an Englishman called Patrick?' she said, then listened to the response.
She put the phone down.
'Someone'll be here in a minute.'
It rang again almost immediately, and she took a reservation.
Kelly and I just stood there. A minute or two later a waitress appeared from the dining room.
'Hi, follow me.'
Things were looking up. I got hold of Kelly's hand, and we went through the door to the dining room.
People here obviously liked eating in semidarkness, because all the tables were lit only by candles. Looking around, I noticed that all the waitresses seemed to be wearing snug white T-shirts that exposed their midriffs, with tight shorts and sneakers with little ankle socks.
On the right-hand side against the wall was a bar with over head lighting. The two suits were the only two customers. In the middle of the room I noticed a small raised stage, with spotlights above.
I laughed to myself: nice work. Pat!
Ass or no ass. Slack had always been successful with women. At the time of Gibraltar he was single like me, and rented the house next door. For about a year he'd been having what he called a 'relationship,' but we all knew better. They'd met at a Medieval Night fancy dress party; at four o'clock the next morning I was woken by the sound of a vehicle screeching up outside his house, then doors slamming and lots of giggling and laughing. We lived in a small subdivision, the sort of houses they threw up in about five minutes all through the eighties, so I could hear his front door crashing and thought, here we go. Then I heard a bit of music, and the toilet flushing, which is always nice at four in the morning.
Then lots more laughing and giggling, and they were at it. At noon the next day I was in the kitchen washing up when a taxi pulled up, and that was when Queen Elizabeth I and one of her ladies-in-waiting came scuttling out of Pat's front door, hair all over the place, looking incredibly embarrassed as they jumped into the cab hoping no one would see them.
When we grilled him, it turned out he was doing it with a mother and daughter combo. We hadn't let him hear the end of it ever since. Now it looked as though he'd got his own back.
One of the girls waved to Kelly.
'Hi, honey!' Beneath her T-shirt was what looked like a dead heat in a zeppelin race.
Kelly was loving it. I held her hand tight. As we followed the girl, Kelly looked up at me and said, 'What is this place?'
'It's a kind of bar where people go to relax after work.'
'Like TGI Friday's?'
'Sort of.'
We came to another set of double doors and went through into a world of bright light and clatter. The kitchens were on the right, full of noisy chaos; on the left, offices. The walls were dirty white plaster with gouge marks from where they'd been knocked by furniture.
Farther down the corridor we came to another room. Our friend led us in and announced, 'Here he is!'
