The driver shook me awake. I gave him both £20 notes and crawled out without asking for change. A night bus leapt on me from nowhere, hissing – I jumped aside, more awake – and it leapt off, lynx-like, its yellow route number – N109 – branded into my eyes.
I blinked it away as I walked to the Rockway. The bar had none of the usual smokers outside – instead, a steroidal man in a suit stood alone before the door.
‘Not tonight lad.’ He shook his head as I tried to walk past him.
‘Who are you? I come here all time.’
‘Not anymore lad.’
‘I’m friends with Pat,’ I said.
I resisted the urge to vomit again.
‘Who’s that?’ he asked.
‘Pat owns the bar.’
‘Not anymore lad.’
‘What? Who owns it now? What about Dawn?’
‘You know Dawn?’
‘Dawn is my mother.’
His genial antagonism rose into malice. ‘You’re Leander?’ he asked. ‘Come with me.’
He pulled me in by the collar. The Rockway was more popular than usual, though none of the faces along its bar or in its booths was familiar. This clientele was rowdier than the regulars I’d known for the last two years – and yet everyone here acted as though they themselves were regulars, shouting and laughing with the ease of long acquaintance. Perhaps they were transplants from another social world. The bouncer escorted me towards the back room – which had formerly been empty, and now had a curtain across it and a second bouncer outside. I could feel the holster of a gun under his suit jacket. My bouncer grinned at his colleague as he drew back the curtain.
A party of thirty or so middle-aged men and younger women was spread across three tables. They were dressed in white tie. The men were smoking cigars, the women cigarettes. The tables were loaded with tumblers of whisky and flutes of champagne and other more expensive multi-coloured alcohols that the Rockway had never stocked before.
At the table closest to me there was an empty chair, with a stack of £50 notes in front of it – and the woman in the next chair was examining a tiny antique revolver with fascination, or envy – perhaps these were both gifts for the absent guest. Most of the women were high and miserable and scared. One girl had red marks around her wrist – like she’d recently struggled against restraints.
‘Sarge!’ the bouncer said. ‘I found him! He’s in a fucking dress!’
The room laughed. He threw me onto the floor. The wounds in my side and around my eye flared into the juniper taste of gin. I retched.
A pair of alligator shoes approached my head. They paused and then stepped over me. I heard a slap – and the bouncer who’d thrown me to the ground yelped in pain.
‘You chose to disrespect my guest,’ said a voice I associated instantly with sandalwood oil – it laboured each syllable into a slow irregular rhythm, its affected old-world accent enhanced by the rasp of burnt tobacco. ‘What right did you think you have to make that kind of choice?’ He hit the bouncer again. ‘You have no rights.’
‘The cunt put three of them in hospital.’
‘You shall leave. If this were your wedding I would not treat your bride’s wards in this way. I alone determine the manner in which I manage my affairs. And I do not need to be reminded of details that I have not forgotten. Leave.’
I was lifted to my feet by the man with alligator shoes. His grip evoked the synesthetic scent of sandalwood oil as well – though his actual smell was a mixture of talcum and cocoa cologne. Through half-closed eyes, I saw the room had stilled. The men and women regarded us with reverence. I tried to slow my breathing to reduce the buzz in my bones.
‘I apologise for my employee’s rudeness,’ he said to me. ‘He shall be reprimanded. I wish to extend to you all of my hospitality. Please – sit with us, Leander.’
I swayed backwards, trying to assess him as he held me up. He wore a white bow tie and a white starched collar and a white starched shirt and a cream marcella waistcoat – like the other men in the room – but instead of a tailcoat, he wore a green velvet smoking jacket. He was strong, and far younger-looking than he sounded; he could have been in his late thirties or early forties. The lines of his forehead seemed fixed in ironic disbelief – and his eyes had a shrewdness in them that seemed to see corruption in everything. He had Persian features but almost artificially pale skin, like he bleached it – and he had the hands of a field labourer.
‘You appear to be… sizing me up?’ he smiled. ‘Do you not think it might be polite to speak?’
‘Where’s Dawn?’ I asked.
‘No doubt your injuries have caused you to neglect your decorum.’
‘No doubt,’ I replied, parodying his tone.
‘Do you not think, then, that we ought to exchange some niceties before making demands?’
‘You know my name.’
His smile twitched at this insubordination.
‘Then you must know that mine is Kimber. And at least you have had the courtesy to conform to my dress code. Although I note you have chosen from a woman’s wardrobe. I was wondering to myself… why?’
‘Were you?’ I mimicked, trying to annoy him more. ‘Were you wondering to yourself? I wonder, do you ever wonder at yourself, rather than just to yourself? You sound like a man so repressed by pretence that he is incapable of self-reflection. So, wonder to yourself on my behalf, by all means, but I would be much more interested to watch you try to wonder at yourself.’
‘Ah!’ he smiled. ‘I hoped you could speak in sentences. I am delighted! But sadly, what a twenty-year-old is interested in watching is of no relevance to me. You are trying to anger me with your rudeness, my dear – but I am enjoying you. You are a surprise, Leander, and I rarely enjoy surprises.’
‘Where’s Dawn?’
I tried to meet his gaze in defiance but instead fell backwards. He caught me.
‘Your wounds are getting the better of you’ he said. ‘That is unfortunate. But let me offer you something in the way of pain relief, as your mother requested I should.’
He reached into a pocket and withdrew a small white ball wrapped in cling-film. Then he pressed it into my palm and closed my fingers over it.
‘Let this calm you,’ he said. ‘And then we can talk for longer. I want to make you an offer of employment. Because, despite our… unusual beginning, I think we could develop a fruitful relationship. I have been impressed by reports of your resourcefulness.’
‘You mean from the men you sent to beat me up?’ I asked.
He laughed. ‘Well, from your mother most importantly, and from others who used to frequent this bar, before they chose to take their custom elsewhere. You were said to possess a unique charisma and a unique… appreciation for violence. These skills can be transferred to aspects of the work I engage in.’
‘Which is?’
‘Logistical work. But I would not have known the extent of your skills had you not… undergone a certain canal-side initiation. So I do not feel as much remorse for your wounds as perhaps I should. They show your worth. And it is indecent that a man with your worth should not be well employed.’
‘Where’s Dawn?’
‘She is spending some time alone. In the ladies’ bathroom. Join her there if you wish, my dear – and you’re welcome to consume the gift I gave you. But I request that you do not share that gift with your mother – she’s had enough for now…’
He released me.
I staggered out through the curtain and turned towards the toilets. The bouncer stepped away from me with an alarmed respect. My body was splintering. I felt like I was walking out of an entire movie – leaving behind the pulp mannerisms of Kimber’s underworld – for a more familiar squalor of spilt ale and urine.
The ladies’ bathroom door was locked. I knocked.
‘It’s Leander,’ I said. ‘I’m alone.’