Fragile Minds Page 0,82

as instructed. A small redhead was up on the mirrored stage, upside down on the pole most of the time, giving her dead-pan all to Lady Gaga’s Poker Face; other half-naked girls were dotted around the place, talking to the punters, laughing, simpering, taking money, dancing at tables or leading groups of men away to the side booths.

I glimpsed Larry at the side of the stage, beckoning the sweating redhead as she finished her set; the music changed and the next girl arrived on stage, scowling provocatively at the audience who whooped. The redhead slipped her skimpy black dress back over her head and followed Larry. It looked like he was reprimanding her for something. She seemed truculent at first, and then she changed tack; she started laughing, stroking his chest, looking up at him like a little girl and batting her lashes. But for all the coquetry and the flirting, she was holding herself too rigidly. She’s scared of him, I thought.

After about five minutes he let her go, and she disappeared into the club, which was slowly filling up. A large stag party arrived and took over a couple of tables in front of me; they were in their late twenties and thoroughly over-excited. ‘I’d hit it,’ I heard one of them proclaim with relish, pointing at the nearest girl, a pneumatic blonde with breasts so high and round they were like bread rolls. ‘I’d fucking hit it hard.’

‘We all would.’ The rest guffawed loudly, ordering champagne and beer. ‘Let’s have it, boys.’

‘Andrei says you want a job.’ Larry was suddenly beside me, wiping his forehead on his jacket sleeve. He snapped his fingers irritably at the pretty black waitress. ‘Get me a soda.’

He didn’t offer me anything.

‘Not really a job—’ I began, but he was staring at me now.

‘Did we meet before?’ he asked, his tiny eyes narrowing.

‘No,’ I lied, smiling my best smile.

‘If you don’t want a job, honey, what the fuck do you want? I’m a busy man.’

‘I just wanted to ask you a few questions. It’s about my friend, Tessa—’

‘Never heard of her,’ he said too quickly, grabbing the Coke from the waitress and draining it in one. Then he slammed the glass on the bar. ‘Listen, darling,’ he was millimetres from my face now and spitting. I shut my eyes. ‘One thing I hate is journalists. I fucking hate journalists – even more than I hate feminist fucking do-gooders with their moustaches and their hairy twats.’

‘I’m not a journalist. I swear.’

He glared at me, and then he grabbed my face.

‘Ow!’ I protested.

His warm, fat fingers sank into my jaw-bone. ‘I don’t believe you.’

The tiny redhead arrived back now, neatly side-stepping the stag party who were getting more raucous by the minute. She had freshened up, changed into a see-through silver dress, reapplied her magenta lipstick, and she was waiting just behind him, drumming her nails anxiously on the bar.

‘I’m not. I just – my friend died, and I—’

‘Listen, lady.’ He was hurting me. I caught the redhead’s eye; she looked away. ‘I don’t care who you are. I don’t know your dead friend Tessa and I suggest you fuck off. Right now.’ He was angry; he pulled me off the stool so I tripped and fell against him, my wrist still in his vice-like grip.

‘Ow!’ I complained again. ‘You’re hurting me.’

‘Get the fuck out of my club now.’ He pushed me back against the bar. He was about to blow, I could sense it. ‘I’m sick of you lot snooping around.’

‘Larry,’ the redhead spoke now, she had a rasping little voice, a broad cockney accent. ‘I’m sure she don’t mean no harm.’

‘Who the fuck,’ Larry wheeled round, his impressive bulk hard to turn, ‘who the fuck asked you, Paige, baby?’

She shrugged and dropped her gaze, but not before she had caught my eye and flicked her gaze urgently towards the stairs.

‘The boss is waiting,’ he spat at her. She strolled over to a table in the corner where a plain man in shirtsleeves sat behind an open laptop, head down in concentration. He was wearing a flat cap and drinking Perrier. He wasn’t watching us, but I had the feeling he had taken in every action, every word. Paige stood in front of him, obscuring his face from me as Larry started to propel me towards the exit. When I looked back, Paige and the ‘boss’ had both vanished. Andrei was at Larry’s side now; he practically lifted me from the ground, carrying