The Lover's Children novel Chapter 88

MICHAEL

James speaks softly. “It’s been a long time. Your friend may not even be in the City anymore…” His voice peters away as, not replying, she continues to sweep the street with her gaze, then steps out, approaching the nearest of the hookers. Short and blonde, but the roots of her hair mousey, a halter-neck top places her cleavage on display. A tight skirt does the same for her thighs and ass.

And she’s young; way too young.

But the face frames much older eyes; speculative as Charlotte approaches. “Does Natalie still work around here?”

“Who’s asking?”

“We were friends. She was my roommate. It’s a few years ago.”

The girl cocks a brow, then shrugs. “Don’t know no Natalie.” She calls over to her partner; a redhead in spandex and black vinyl. “Hey, Lorraine. You know someone called Natalie?”

Lorraine, chewing gum, strolls across. “Natalie? No. Should I?”

The blonde jerks a thumb at Charlotte “This one’s looking for her. Says this used to be her pitch.”

“We’ve been here the last two years. When was this Natalie here?”

James interrupts, touching Charlotte on the arm. “Charlotte, these girls are too young to remember your friend. How long has it been since you lived here?”

She mulls, then, “Eight years.”

“So, find someone older to ask.”

She nods and the girls make to turn away, but Klempner interrupts, displaying his phone screen. “Since we’re here, do you recognise this man?”

They barely glance at it. “Don’t know him.”

“Never seen him before.”

Michael moves in, smiling brightly. “Please look.” He eases the mobile from Klempner’s hand. “It could be important.” The pair look him up and down, thawing, visibly succumbing to the ‘Michael’ charm offensive. “Does he seem familiar at all?”

They look, this time properly. The blonde scissors out the image, peering in. But both swing their heads. “What’s to recognise?” says the redhead. “A shot of a man’s back and no face.”

Klempner opens his mouth to say something, but from offside comes another of the women, perhaps in her thirties, but her face lined and her eyes weary. She mutters something to Lorraine, who snaps a suddenly hostile look at Klempner. The redhead spits a ball of gum onto the sidewalk, turns her back and stalks away.

*****

News travels fast. No one else will speak with us. This may have been Charlotte’s haunt when she was poor and vulnerable, but now, clearly well-to-do and in the company of her father, she could be ringing a leper’s bell.

She sags. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.”

“Perhaps you could ask in the cinema?” I suggest at her disheartened expression.

Charlotte swings her head. “It wasn’t here when I knew Natalie. That building was a pizzeria then.”

Michael scans the street. “What was here?”

She turns, scanning the street. “That cafe, although the name over the door’s different. A couple of the bars...” Charlotte aims a finger. “And so was that.”

Sapphire Club! Exotic Dancers! All Kinds of Girls! All Beautiful!

To all appearances, it’s just a doorway, framed by lurid posters that surely promise more than they can deliver.

A doorman, perhaps in his mid-forties, the classic ‘bruiser’ type for this kind of cheap club, blocks the way to a darkened corridor beyond. As a male figure walks up, he tosses a cigarette butt into the gutter, accepts what looks like payment and admits him.

Charlotte strides to the door. James and I follow, Klempner hanging behind us. The bouncer eyes her, arching a brow. “Not looking for any new staff right now.”

“I don’t want a job. I’m looking for my friend. She used to have a pitch over there.” She gestures out to where the two girls are patrolling. “Natalie.”

He eyes her speculatively. “You don’t look like someone who would have friends around here.”

“It’s a few years ago.” She paints on her big-green-eyes-and-dimples expression. “I moved away. Y’know, poor girl made good.”

A smile tugs the corners of his mouth. “Yeah?” He pauses, stares into nothing, then shakes his head. “Nope, don’t recall any Natalie that worked a pitch around here.”

“How about this man?” Klempner pushes between us, displays his photo.

The bouncer recoils, not so much as glancing at the screen. “Who the hell are you? Cops?” He jerks a thumb. “Get the fuck out of here.”

*****

Yet again, I exchange glances with James.

This is going nowhere fast…

He stamps his feet, rubs his hands together. “Perhaps we should take a break? Something hot? Talk about what to do next?”

“Perhaps…” I cast around. “That coffee bar looks as good a place as any.”

We troop across to the brightly lit cafe. It’s a classic greasy-spoon. Cheap tiles. Wipe-down walls and Formica tops. But it’s warm, clean, and smells enticingly of caffeine and toast. The added scent of bacon has us all shedding coats and gloves to gather around a table.