Chapter 85 – Solstice – Part 18
PAT
You’re there again, performing your act. And so beautifully.
The other so-called dancers have nothing on you, parading up and down as they do, unting
themselves on the dancefloor. Or strutting their cheap wares in the kind of lewd disys that say they’ll
be selling something elseter, to whichever of the gawping spectators has the fattest wallet.
But you…
Lily…
I know it’s a stage name, but it suits you so much better than Martina.
You move with such grace, your spine arching as you sway to the music, sliding long limbs along the
pole. Everything toned and perfect, effortlessly, your body does what you ask of it, your hair sweeping a
long arc as you roll and rotate and undte.
How do you do it?
You make it look so easy.
Pirouetting, you wrap a leg around the pole, flexing your bare foot, then your knee, anchoring yourself
against the metal. I can barely follow the movement as you bring the other leg up, sliding your hands
upward as you climb, then swing. Calves locked in ce, you lean outward, supporting yourself as you
whirl and rock and spin.
The others watching leer and point, theirments crude.
You’re not for the likes of them.
My Lily…
Your act finished, you bow to the assembled drunks, pimps and lechers. They p in a perfunctory way
as you vanish sidelong into the shadows. Some jerk in a sequined jacket announces the next act.
She’s all tits and ass, bouncing onto the podium as though she had any ce following you.
Where are you?
Where have you gone?
I polish off my beer in a couple of swigs, sliding the ss across the bar. “Thatst act, Lily, will she be
on again?”
“She’ll be doing another turn in about an hour, sir.”
“Yeah? In that case, I’ll have another.”
“Coming right up, sir. Oh…” He gestures behind me, drops me a wink… “Here shees now.”
Wearing a wrap around your stage costume, decently covered, you stand next to me at the bar.
“Slimline tonic, please, Jack.”
“Let me get you that.”
You turn to me with a half-smile, then double-take. “You again?” The smile fades. You sound shocked.
“Yeah, me again. Quite the coincidence isn’t it.”
Your brows rise and you look away. “Isn’t it.”
Your drink arrives and I reach for my pocket. “No, it’s alright,” you say. “I prefer to buy my own. Put it on
my tab will you, Jack.”
You sip your drink, your other hand resting on the bar, and I touch your fingers. “What time do you get
off?”
Unsmiling, you throw me a sidelong nce, tug your hand away. “Not for hours yet.”
“I’m happy to wait. Maybe you ‘n me could go on somewhere afterwards? Your ce? Or mine if you
like.”
You bang your ss down on the bar. Your drink slops over. “Look, I''m a dancer, not a hooker. I’m not
interested. Go talk to one of the other girls.”
“Oh… I thought...”
“I know what you thought. But I make my living from dancing and tips. And that’s all.”
“I’d still like to buy you a drink.”
“I can pay for my own drinks.” And turning on your heel, you march away.
Not a hooker…
My Lily…
Pure and white…
My cock strains.
*****
KLEMPNER
Time’s passing. I’ve not learned a thing from my visits to Schauder or Renberger. On the other hand,
I’ve had the chance to think.
I saw Hoodie the first time in the park.
Then I saw him…
… someone who might have been him…
… the second time in the park and lost him a couple of streets away from the square, heading into the
cheaper areas of the City.
Plenty of streetwalkers hanging around there…
A good area for a hooker-hating serial-killer to cruise…
They hang out at hundred-yard intervals, some as singles, most in pairs. Some pacing their pitches.
Others stand by the kerb, disying themselves to the oing traffic.
Where to start?
Then my question answers itself as I see a skinny figure slouching against the brickwork, smoking,
angled to watch the women.
“Hey, McKendrick!”
His head snaps up as he scans for the source of the call. Then, as he spots me approaching, he tosses
the butt in a glowing arc into the gutter and strides out, hand extended, disying gappy, yellow-
stained teeth. “Hey, Klempner. Good to see you. I heard you were back in town. You back in business,
then? Got something for me?”
Ian McKendrick. The very image of a pimp. Skinny as spaghetti, in drainpipe jeans that make him look
skinnier. White tee-shirt. ck leather jacket. Gold earring looped through one lobe. I don’t much feel
like touching the hand but take it in a cursory hold for a second, then resist the urge to wipe my palm
on my pants. “Nothing for you. But a couple of questions. I’m looking for someone. Thought you might
be able to help.”
“Oh?” The smile fades and his stance turns cautious. “Who’s that then?”
“You’ve read what’s in the papers about this killer on the loose? The one they’re calling The Surgeon.”
“Sure. Bad business. Bad for business.” He frowns. “It’s making the women jittery. They don’t want to
go out. Gotta keep them juiced up. Even then, gotta keep an eye on them all the time to be sure they’re
working for their keep.” The frown deepens. “Why? What’s it to you?”
“Looking after my interests.”
“Yeah? Well, I s’pose it’s not great for your business either. So, who ya’ looking for?”
“I don’t know, but I want to know if anyone’s seen anything.”
“Such as?”
“Some guy who hangs around. Acts suspiciously.”
He sniffs again, reflectively this time. “Dunno where I’d start. That could be half the punters we get.”
“This one would spook the women. Ring rm bells.”
“Yeah… Can’t say I’ve seen anything. But then, I just watch to see if their money’s good and that the
girls don’t pocket it.”
“How about a single guy wearing a grey hoodie?”
He coughs augh, hawks and spits in the gutter. “That all ya got to work on? I can see three like that
from here. Yer prob’ly better talking to the hos.”
*****
Where to start?
Nearest I suppose…
It’s not as though it’s hard to attract attention. Their entire remit is to watch for men alone.
The first pair are ssics of the type: too much make-up, not enough clothes. Tits, ass and legs on
disy.
Mitch never dressed like this…
She always had style.
This pair have the style of a road ident.
One; tall, blonde with ck roots; smokes a roll-up.
The other, with what might be her own hair colour, chews gum with her mouth open. Watery-blue eyes
set in made-up ck sockets, face whitened, she’s some variation on the Goth theme…
Takes all sorts…
With a ck dress and ck jewellery, she has nails like ck ws and wears ck boots with two-
inch-thick soles…
Must check my tires…
As I approach the pair, heads together, eyes locked on me, they exchange a few words, then Goth-Girl
nods Gum-Girl my way.
Cigarette in hand, she struts across, working it for all she’s worth. Her wide, stic smile resembles
something Ist saw in some Tim Burton movie. “Well, hi there.”
Please check at N/?vel(D)rama.Org.
“Hi. You got five minutes?” And as the words fall from my mouth, I know it was a mistake…
The mad smile cracks wider. “Five minutes? Oh, I bet you can do better than that…”
Fucked that up…
She moves inside my personal space,ys a hand on my chest. “Want me to help you along? I bet we
could stretch out that five minutes.”
“No.” I remove the hand from my chest… “Thank you.” … patting the back of her fingers… “I’m looking
for someone.”
“Aren’t we all?” she cackles.
“No, you don’t understand. I just want to talk.”
“Oh…” She champs her gum a couple of times, treating me to a view of the ckened teeth at the back
of her mouth. “For five minutes? Gimme twenty.”
“Twenty? For five minutes of your time? How much are you earning?”
Her smile turns sly. “Wanna find out?”
“No. Will you talk to me or not?”
Back by the streemp, Goth-Girl stares at me. A hard re. Wheels are turning behind her eyes.
She’s…
… familiar…
I know you…
Or I have known you…
“You wanna pay me to talk? Or not? Time’s money. What d’you want to talk about?”
“As I said, I’m looking for someone.”
“Well… if you insist…” Rousing her room-temperature IQ from sleep, she frowns. “So, who…?”
“It’s a man. I’m involved in the search for the serial killer who’s been targeting the street girls…”
“Yeah?” Her mouth drops open. “You got a description?”
But Goth-Girl is striding across. Her attention locked on me, eyes wild, rimmed white, she mutters
something into Gummy’s ear. Gummy’s face hardens… “Yeah?” … morphing to a sneer, aimed at me.
“Don’t know nuffin.”
“I’m only…”
But the pair scurry away, resuming their vigil under the streetlight.
*****
From a nearby cafe, nursing a coffee long gone cold, I ponder.
Where do I know her from?
There’s only so many answers to a question like that.
How old are you?
It’s hard to tell under the caked-onyers of vampire cosmetics.
Were you at Blessingmoors?
Of course you fucking were…
In my head, I peel offyered make-up, the costume of a whore, the damage wreaked by the years…
Yeah…
Gotcha…
Mousy blonde…
Timid…
Nine years old…
Who did I sell you to?
You free now?
Or does some whoremonger still own you?
You’re never going to help me…
Did you know my Jenny?
*****