The Sugared Game - K.J. Charles Page 0,19
to invest in any get-rich-quick schemes.”
“It’s nothing like that. Or racing tips, or anything else of the sort. It may be you and this chap can help each other out.”
“What do you mean?”
“He can explain better than I can. He’s in a spot of bother, and you might be able to do each other a good turn.”
“I don’t see how, and I’m not promising anything,” Beaumont said grudgingly, but he agreed to come round at five. Will gave him the address, and immediately phoned Kim, who actually answered for once, with an aggressive rap of “Secretan.”
“It’s Will.”
“Oh, hello,” Kim said, audibly adjusting his voice to warmth.
“I’ve got that meeting with Beaumont for you. Today at five, my place.”
“Thank you. What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. I didn’t know what lie you had in mind.”
“You could tell him I need his professional advice, and bask in a warm glow of honesty.”
“You tell him, so I can watch you choke on your own tongue as you attempt to spit out something like truth.”
Kim laughed, a warm, infectious sound despite the crackly line. “Harsh, Will, harsh. I’ll be with you, shall we say half an hour before? Call me if he arrives before then, and unlock the back door if you would.”
“You don’t ask much,” Will muttered. “And I never—” He stopped. Kim had already hung up.
The afternoon dragged, as would any period sandwiched between time with Phoebe and Kim. He sold a few books, wrote a few letters, dealt with a few orders to go by post, and otherwise occupied himself until he heard faint sounds from the back room at around half past four. Will ignored them until he’d got rid of his sole customer, then strolled through to find his erratic sort-of partner lounging on the camp bed with a book.
“You’re here, are you?” he said in lieu of greeting.
Kim gave him an up and down look. He seemed a bit worn in daylight, Will thought, with a touch of tension around his eyes and mouth. “Good afternoon to you too. Any chance of a cup of tea?”
Will tugged his forelock. “At once, m’lord.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Tired?”
“A bit.” Kim gave a sudden yawn. “I was prowling the streets around the High-Low in the small hours, keeping an eye out for opportunities, which were not vouchsafed to me. The place is surprisingly secure for a quite ordinary night-club, especially one with such a cavalier attitude to the licensing laws. One usually expects an easy and discreet route out, and the High-Low has both a back door into the yard area behind, and a fire escape coming down from what I assume is Skyrme’s office, yet both seem very firmly locked even when it’s open.”
“You sound like an expert. Been in many night-club raids?”
“Three,” Kim said resignedly. “All Phoebe’s fault. She used to make me take her to the most appalling places; I got quite used to ending up in the cells for the night and the dock in the morning, getting the fish-eye from a magistrate. But all of them were fly-by-night operations, while the High-Low is on a different scale. It’s worth noting that Mrs. Skyrme has plenty of experience of raids. She’s run three night-clubs, as well as a couple of bridge-clubs with high stakes. The first two night-clubs were closed down by the police within months. The High-Low, by contrast, has been open for three years, and is succeeding triumphantly. It has never been raided, and judging by the lack of easy back ways out, it doesn’t look like they expect to be.”
“I wonder what she did differently this time.”
“Took better advice on which policemen to pay off, I expect. Is that the door?”
“It might be Beaumont. I’ll tell him you’re here.”
Kim nodded. Will went back into the main room, and saw his old lieutenant looking around.
“Hello, there,” Will said. “Thanks for coming.”
Beaumont gave him a perfunctory smile. “Look here, I’m not awfully sure what it is you want.”
“Best if my pal explains. I asked him to come here.” Will went to lock the door and put up the Closed sign.
Beaumont looked uneasily around. “I don’t think...”
“He’s got a problem that’s linked to the High-Low. I’m wondering if there’s anything you can tell us that will help us deal with it.”
“Deal how?” Beaumont demanded. “What are you up to?”
“That very much depends what you can tell us.” That was Kim’s voice. Beaumont jumped a foot. Will looked round to see him leaning against a bookcase. “Beaumont, yes?” He swung forward,