‘He’s somewhere around,’ said Paulette. ‘Finlay’s always around.’
Funny, thought Rebus, that they hadn’t bumped into him on their tour.
‘What’s the place like then, John?’ Watson asked.
‘Impressive,’ Rebus answered, accepting Paulette’s smile like praise from a teacher to a doting pupil. ‘Very impressive. It’s much bigger than you’d think. Wait till you see upstairs.’
‘And there’s the extension, too,’ said Watson.
‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten.’ Rebus turned to Paulette.
‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘We’re building out from the back of the premises.’
‘Building?’ said Watson. ‘I thought it was a fait accompli?’
‘Oh no.’ She smiled again. ‘Finlay is very particular. The flooring wasn’t quite right, so he had the workmen rip it all up and start again. Now we’re waiting on some marble arriving from Italy.’
‘That must be costing a few bob,’ Watson said, nodding to himself.
Rebus wondered about the extension. Towards the back of the ground floor, past toilets, cloakroom, offices, walk-in cupboards, there must be another door, ostensibly the door to the back garden. But now the door to the extension, perhaps.
‘Another drink, John?’ Watson was already on his feet, pointing at Rebus’s empty glass.
‘Gin and fresh orange, please,’ he said, handing over the glass.
‘And for you, Paulette?’
‘No, really.’ She was rising from the chair. ‘Work to do. Now that you’ve seen a bit of the club, I’d better get back to door duties. If you want to play upstairs, the office can supply chips. A few of the games accept cash, but not the most interesting ones.’
Another smile, and she was gone in a flurry of silk and a glimpse of black nylon. Watson saw Rebus watching her leave.
‘At ease, Inspector,’ he said, laughing to himself as he headed for the bar where the barman explained that if he wanted drinks, he only had to signal, and an order would be taken at the gentlemen’s table and brought to them directly. Watson slumped back into his chair again.
‘This is the life, eh, John?’
‘Yes, sir. What’s happening back at base?’
‘You mean the little sodomite who made the complaint? He’s buggered off. Disappeared. Gave us a false address, the works.’
‘So I’m off the butcher’s hook?’
‘Just about.’ Rebus was about to remonstrate. ‘Give it a few more days, John, that’s all I’m asking. Time for it to die a natural death.’
‘You mean people are talking?’
‘A few of the lads have had a laugh about it. I don’t suppose you can blame them. In a day or so, there’ll be something else for them to joke about, and it’ll all be forgotten.’
Ian Rankin - Rebus 02 - Hide An
‘There’s nothing to forget!’
‘I know, I know. It’s all some plot to keep you out of action, and this mysterious Mr Hyde’s behind it all.’
Rebus stared at Watson, his lips clamped shut. He could yell, could scream and shout. He breathed hard instead, and snatched at the drink when the waiter placed the tray
on the table. He’d taken two gulps before the waiter informed him that he was drinking the other gentleman’s orange juice. His own gin and orange was the one still on the tray. Rebus reddened as Watson, laughing again, placed a five-pound note on the tray. The waiter coughed in embarrassment.
‘Your drinks come to six pounds fifty, sir,’ he told Watson.
‘Ye gods!’ Watson searched in his pocket for some change, found a crumpled pound note and some coins, and placed them on the tray.
‘Thank you, sir.’ The waiter lifted the tray and turned away before Watson had the chance to ask about any change that might be owing. He looked at Rebus, who was smiling now.
‘Well,’ Watson said, ‘I mean, six pounds fifty! That would feed some families for a week.’
‘This is the life,’ Rebus said, throwing the Superintendent’s words back at him.
‘Yes, well said, John. I was in danger of forgetting there can be more to life than personal comfort. Tell me, which church do you attend?’
‘Well, well. Come to take us all in, have you?’ Both men turned at this new voice. It was Tommy McCall. Rebus checked his watch. Eight thirty. Tommy looked as though he’d been to a few pubs en route to the club. He sat down heavily in what had been Paulette’s chair.
‘What’re you drinking?’ He snapped his fingers, and the waiter, a frown on his face, came slowly towards the table.
‘Sirs?’
Tommy McCall looked up at him. ‘Hello, Simon. Same again for the constabulary, and I’ll have the usual.’
Rebus watched the waiter as McCall’s words sank in. That’s right, son, Rebus thought to himself, we’re the
