The first thing that hit Imani was the heat. After the cold and the rain of the night outside, she felt like she was steam-drying.
The music was deafening. The bar was rammed. Men crowded all around her, trying to hold conversations over the noise, buy drinks. Apart from her, there were no women in the place. The smell of aftershave, all mixtures, blends and price ranges, along with the alcohol, was pummelling her senses. That and the acrid chemical tang of something else that she couldn’t immediately place. Poppers.
She noticed Khan had got inside the door and frozen. He stood, eyes wide, as if this was somehow his first adult experience. She felt a momentary pang of sympathy for him. But only momentary. It soon went.
‘Let’s go to the bar,’ she shouted, and made her way there. He followed her. ‘And let me do the talking.’
She was aware of eyes on her the whole time. Not a pleasant scrutiny. As the only woman in the place she would have expected that. But if she had been identified as a copper, that was doubly the case.
She reached the bar. Asked for Brendan. A short, stocky, middle-aged bald man came over to her.
‘I’m Brendan,’ he said. ‘And what can I do to aid our boys and girls in blue?’ His Irish accent was soft, tempered by years of living in Birmingham.
‘Am I that obvious?’ she said.
He nodded. ‘’Fraid so.’
He wasn’t unfriendly, just wary. Imani didn’t want to say or do anything to antagonise him. She wanted him on side. ‘I got your name from Mike Pierce, the community officer.’
Brendan gave a smile at that.
‘He said you’re the one to talk to.’
‘Did he now. What about?’
She produced one of the photocopied sheets. Told him what it was about. Brendan took it from her, studied it. ‘Doesn’t ring any bells,’ he said. ‘Something like that…’
‘Exactly. Let me leave it with you. In case it jogs your memory. There’s a phone number on there. We really appreciate this.’
‘No problem.’ He smiled again. ‘I love a man in uniform.’ He looked over at Khan. Smiled even wider.
‘We’ll be off, then,’ said Imani and turned, ushering Khan out of the door.
The cold and the rain seemed welcome after the heat of the bar.
Khan turned to her. ‘Did you see that? Hear what he said? Fucking hell… fucking hell…’
Imani didn’t reply.
‘And while we were in there, all the time you were talking, they were eyeing me up. All of them.’
‘Lucky you.’
His expression became murderous. ‘What? What? Lucky you?’
‘Yeah,’ she said, trying to make light of it. ‘I wish I had that amount of blokes ogling me.’
He looked as if he was about to explode. Calmed himself down. But not without effort. ‘It’s not right. Not natural, what they do.’
Imani wondered whether to give him a lecture on gender and tolerance. Decided against it. ‘I think you need some LGBT awareness training. I’m sure there’s a course you can go on.’
He stared at her.
‘Come on,’ she said, walking off towards the next bar.
He followed along behind her, reluctant.
This one was a much camper affair than the first. A drag queen was up on a small stage, lip-synching to show tunes. The audience were whooping along, cheering when she showed a well-turned thigh in her split skirt, laughing as she camped up the lyrics with a Les Dawson-like rearrangement of her false breasts.
Imani realised Khan was mesmerised.
‘Good legs,’ she said.
He didn’t reply.
‘Did you know,’ she said, leaning in close to him, ‘that when you see a pair of legs on a packet of tights or stockings, or on a billboard ad, it’s probably a man?’
He turned. ‘What?’
She pointed to the drag queen on the stage. ‘He’s got good legs. TVs can make quite a bit modelling. Think on that the next time you see a picture.’
They drew a blank, left a couple of flyers, left.
Outside, the rain was easing up slightly. Mike Pierce came towards them. ‘Any luck?’
Imani shook her head. ‘We’ll keep trying, though. Where would you suggest next?’
He looked up and down the street. ‘Couple more bars, few restaurants and clubs, but we could do those for you if it’s just the flyers. If it’s actual eyeball-to-eyeball you’re looking for, chancing your arm, making an ident, then…’ He shrugged. ‘It’s up to you.’
‘What about in there?’ Imani pointed to an unremarkable storefront. It could have been a grocery shop if not for the blacked-out windows and the sign above: HUSTLER CINEMA XXX.
Pierce smiled. ‘Good luck. Be a bit of an eye-opener.’
‘How d’you mean?’ asked Khan. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere else but there.
‘Let’s just say the clientele don’t go there to watch the films. Or they may do but that’s usually secondary.’
‘Oh,’ said Imani.
‘However,’ said Pierce, ‘it’s a sleazy little pit. You never know.’
Imani looked at Khan. He had gone beyond anger now. He just wanted to get it over and done with. ‘Come on then. We’ll make this the last call of the night.’ She looked at Pierce. ‘Then we might sit in your van and just watch, if that’s OK with you.’
Pierce smiled. ‘Fine by me.’
Imani, with Khan trailing behind, entered the cinema.