against Pope's belly just in case he got any ideas of escape.
'Man, that's realistic,' she said, gazing round in an effort to see the hidden camera.
'That guy's good, too,' said her friend, looking down at Scotsman.
'He's great,' I said, giving Pope a push and starting up the street. I kept my head down as we passed the group of students, who were all staring at the bloodied Scotsman sitting in the middle of the pavement.
I heard the American girl asking her companion if he could see the camera crew, before the Scotsman interrupted by shouting out angrily that there were 'nae fucking cameras!' Then I'd turned the corner and that was the end of that.
'Where are we going?' demanded Pope, trying to put some authority into his voice.
'Somewhere nice and quiet where we can talk. Just keep walking. I'll tell you when to stop. I'm going to let go of you now, but if you try and make a break for it, you'll be telling me what I want to know with your dying breaths.'
I released my grip on his arm and put the gun back in my pocket, as we walked side by side into the narrow streets of Soho, the West End's sleazy heart. It was busier here, thanks to the profusion of bars and restaurants, but we were heading further in towards the peep shows and sex shops. Away from the bright lights.
'I don't know what it is you're after,' he said, looking my way.
I had to step aside to avoid a group of wet but giggling Japanese tourists, so I didn't answer him immediately. I half thought he might make a dash for it, since for a couple of seconds we were separated by two or three yards and several people, but it seemed my threats had scared him enough because he didn't try anything, even going so far as to slow down so I could keep up.
'I think you might have made a mistake,' he continued. 'I'm not really involved in all this.'
I smiled at him. 'I don't think I have. Now, who did you organize Billy West's murder on behalf of?'
'I didn't have anything to do with it, I promise. All I did was make some calls to Thomas Darke on behalf of another client of mine.'
'Who?'
'You know I can't tell you that.'
'All right, have it your own way.' I took him by the arm again and steered him across the road.
He continued to protest his innocence and I told him to save his breath.
Up ahead there was a narrow pedestrian walkway that led through to Rupert Street. We turned into it and I felt Pope stiffen. It was darker here and there were fewer people about. We walked past the entrance to one of Soho's infamous clip joints, where unsuspecting male punters were lured in on the pretext of having some sort of relationship with a pretty, semi-naked girl, only to find that this relationship was very much of the platonic kind and the obligatory drink was going to cost him the best part of a week's salary. The girl at the door of this one had the body of an East German shotputter and a face to match, and would have had difficulty enticing a sex-mad adolescent OD-ing on Viagra into her establishment, but she gamely tried anyway, and even winked at Pope.
Just past the clip joint was a small porn cinema offering 'XXX' films, a rarity in these parts now with the proliferation of DVDs and the Internet. 'In here,' I told Pope, bringing him to a halt and opening the door. 'After you.'
He stepped reluctantly into a shoebox-sized foyer that smelt of damp. I squeezed in after him, managing to find enough space to stand in. A small, weaselly-looking bloke in a threadbare cardigan who'd probably been here since the place opened in the Sixties sat behind a chipped wooden counter a couple of feet away. He stared at us blankly from behind glasses that were far too big for his face.
'Go on then, Leslie,' I said, 'pay the man.'
Pope sighed, then asked how much he wanted.
The bloke told him it was twenty-four quid for two and Pope sighed again, more loudly this time. 'That seems an awful lot,' he complained.
'It seems very reasonable to me,' I said. 'Give him the money.'
Reluctantly, he pulled a bulging black wallet from the pocket of his Savile Row suit and removed two crisp, clean twenties from the end of the half-inch-thick wad. He had to force himself to give them over, and he kept his hand there while the change was counted out and handed back with an equal lack of enthusiasm. It was like watching a bad comedy sketch about two ageing tightwads.
Pope was really beginning to annoy me now, and before he could return the change to his wallet, I gave him a push and manoeuvred him through the door that led into the cinema.
We were greeted by the sight of a naked woman on the screen as she serviced three men at the same time amidst a lot of grunting, groaning and muffled wails. The theatre itself was small, with no more than a couple of hundred seats. There were only three other people in there, all middle-aged men by the look of the backs of their heads, and they were spaced well apart. No one turned round as the door clunked shut behind us.
Ignoring the stale smell in the air and the telltale arm movements of the men in front, I guided Pope along a row near the back and shoved him all the way into the far corner, pushing him down in the last seat. I took the seat next to him, returned the.45 to its earlier position against his midriff, and used my other hand to locate the Swiss Army knife. Flicking open the main blade, I jabbed it gently against his crotch.
He looked down and took a sharp intake of breath. I jabbed him again, a little harder this time.
'My God,' he hissed, his voice cracking. 'Be careful. Please.'
I leaned close to him, my mouth inches from his ear. He had a musty, unwashed smell that was only partly disguised by the expensive cologne he was wearing. When I spoke, it was in a whisper. 'Now that I've got your undivided attention, I want you to listen to me very carefully. I'm going to ask you a series of questions and you're going to give me nothing but honest answers, and without any hesitation. If you lie, or pause for more than one second, I'm going to start cutting you with the knife.'
'Please, you're-'
'Do you understand?'
He tried to protest again but I pushed the knife hard against his balls, not enough to break the skin, but not far off it either. He let out a little squeak which was all but drowned out by the ecstatic noises on the screen, and nodded frantically. 'Yes, yes, I understand.'
'Who's the client? The one you hired Billy West for, and the one who got you to organize the hit on him?'
'His name's Nicholas Tyndall. For God's sake, don't tell him it was me who told you. He'd have me skinned.'
'Who is Nicholas Tyndall?'
'He's a gangster, a real thug. I've done work for him before. I-'
'Why did he use you to set up the hit on Malik and Khan?'
'I don't know anything about that…'
I brought the knife up to his face with a rapid movement and jabbed him in the cheek with it, creating a shallow wound half an inch across. He flinched and this time cried out properly, but once again the sound was all but drowned out. A thin line of blood appeared, getting thicker as I watched. I didn't like having to do this, but I couldn't afford to listen to bullshit. I also couldn't afford to keep making threats without being seen to carry them out. I returned the knife to his crotch while he wiped the blood from his cheek and stared at it on his fingers. He looked pale.
'Why did he use you to set up the hit on Malik and Khan?' I repeated, leaning close to his ear again.
'Because he didn't want it carried out by any of his own people, and he wanted it kept as quiet as possible.'
'What's Nicholas Tyndall got to do with Richard Blacklip?'
He tried looking at me blankly, one hand still on his face where I'd cut him, but it didn't work. 'Who?'
'Don't fuck me about,' I snarled, bringing the knife back up to his cheek again and slicing it across three of his fingers.
He shrieked in pain and quickly shoved the fingers into his mouth. I pulled the knife away and out of sight, just as one of the other punters turned round and gave us both a dirty look.
I gave him one back and mine must have been dirtier because he quickly turned away.
'Him,' I said, dropping the knife into my lap and producing the photo of the men at the golf course. I stuck it right in front of his eyes so that he had no choice but to look, using my index finger to point out Blacklip somewhere in the middle.
