The Bat(75)

‘I can pay,’ Harry said, taking out his wallet.

‘Put it away!’ Sandra said, pushing his wallet back. ‘I’ll come with you and you’ll have to pay me something, but not here, OK?’

‘Let’s go to my hotel, it’s just round the corner, the Crescent Hotel,’ Harry said.

Sandra shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

On the way there they passed a bottle shop where Harry bought two bottles of Jim Beam.

The night porter at the Crescent studied Sandra from top to toe as they came into the reception area. He seemed to be on the point of saying something, but Harry beat him to it.

‘Haven’t you ever seen an undercover policewoman before?’

The night porter, a young besuited Asian, smiled tentatively.

‘Well, forget you ever saw her and give me my room key, please. We have work to do.’

Harry doubted the porter would buy his slurred pretext, but he gave Harry his key without any objections.

In the room, Harry opened the minibar and removed all the booze.

‘I’ll have this,’ Harry said, picking out the miniature bottle of Jim Beam. ‘You can have the rest.’

‘You must really like whiskey,’ Sandra said, opening a beer.

Harry looked at her and seemed confused. ‘Must I?’

‘Most people like to vary their poison. For a change, isn’t that right?’

‘Oh yes? Do you drink?’

Sandra hesitated. ‘Not really. I’m trying to cut down. I’m on a diet.’

‘Not really,’ Harry repeated. ‘So you don’t know what you are talking about. Did you see Leaving Las Vegas with Nicolas Cage?’

‘Eh?’

‘Forget it. It was supposed to be about an alkie who decided to drink himself to death. I could believe that, no sweat. The problem was that the guy drank anything. Gin, vodka, whiskey, bourbon, brandy . . . the whole shebang. Fair enough if there are no alternatives. But this guy was standing in the world’s best-stocked booze hall in Las Vegas, had loads of money and no preferences. No bloody preferences! I have never met an alkie who doesn’t care what he drinks. Once you’ve found your poison you stick to it, don’t you? He even won an Oscar.’

Harry leaned back, emptied the mini-bottle and went to open the balcony door.

‘Take a bottle from the bag and come here. I want us to sit on the balcony with a view of the town. I’ve just experienced déjà vu.’

Sandra grabbed two glasses and the bottle and sat beside him with her back to the wall.

‘Let’s forget for a moment what the bastard did when he was alive. Let’s drink a toast to Andrew Kensington.’ Harry filled their glasses.

They sat drinking in silence. Harry started laughing.

‘Take Richard Manuel, musician with the Band. He had serious problems, not just with drinking but with . . . well, life. In the end he couldn’t hack it, hanged himself in a hotel room. In his house they found two thousand bottles, all the same brand – Grand Marnier. That was all. D’you see? Fucking orange liqueur! There you have a man who had found his poison. Nicolas Cage – pah! It’s a strange universe we live in . . .’

He thrust out a hand to Sydney’s starry night sky, and they drank some more. Harry’s eyes had started to blink when Sandra placed a hand on his cheek.

‘Listen, Harry, I have to go back to work. I think you’re ready for bed.’

‘What does a whole night cost?’ Harry poured himself more whiskey.

‘I don’t think—’

‘Stay here. Let’s drink up, then we’ll do it. I promise to come quickly.’ Harry sniggered.

‘No, Harry. I’m going now.’ Sandra got up and stood with her arms crossed. Harry struggled to his feet, lost his balance and took two backward steps towards the balcony railing. Sandra caught him, he put his arms around her slender shoulders, leaned on her heavily and whispered: ‘Can’t you keep an eye on me, Sandra? Just tonight. For Andrew’s sake. What am I saying? For my sake.’

‘Teddy’ll start wondering where I—’

‘Teddy will get his money and keep his mouth shut. Please?’

Sandra paused, then sighed and said: ‘All right, but let’s get these rags off you first, Mr Holy.’

She manoeuvred him onto the bed, removed his shoes and pulled down his trousers. Miraculously, he managed to unbutton his shirt himself. Sandra’s black miniskirt was over her head in a flash. She was even thinner without clothes, her shoulders and hips jutted out, and her ribs were like a washboard beneath her small breasts. When she went to switch off the room light Harry saw that she had bruising to her back and behind her thighs. She lay beside him and stroked his hairless chest and stomach.