‘Don’t you say hello to old friends, mate?’
The mate regarded him through dulled eyes. ‘The pimp . . .’
‘I hope Sandra lived up to expectations, Officer.’
‘Sandra? Now let me see . . . Sandra was good. Where is she?’
‘She’s off this evening. But perhaps I can tempt the officer with something else?’
Harry lurched to find his balance.
‘Right. Right. Come on, pimp. Tempt me.’
Teddy laughed. ‘This way, Officer.’ He supported the drunken policeman down the stairs to the club and sat him at a table with a view of the stage. Teddy flicked his fingers and a scantily clad lady appeared straight away.
‘Two beers please, Amy. And ask Peri to dance for us.’
‘Next performance isn’t until eight, Mr Mongabi.’
‘Call it an extra performance. Now, Amy!’
‘Right, Mr Mongabi.’
The police officer had a foolish grin on his face. ‘I know who’s coming,’ he said. ‘The murderer. The murderer’s coming.’
‘Who?’
‘Nick Cave.’
‘Nick Who?’
‘And the blonde singer. She probably wears a wig as well. Listen . . .’
The pounding disco music had been switched off and the policeman held both forefingers in the air ready to conduct a symphony orchestra, but no sound came.
‘I heard about Andrew,’ Teddy said. ‘Too awful for words. Just awful. My understanding was that he hanged himself. Why on earth would such a cheerful man—’
‘Sandra wears a wig,’ the policeman said. ‘It fell out of her bag. That was why I didn’t recognise her when I met her. Right here! Andrew and I were sitting over there. I’d seen her a couple of times in Darlinghurst before, but then she was wearing a wig. A blonde wig. Why doesn’t she wear it any more?’
‘Aha, the police officer prefers blondes. Then I think I may have something you’ll like . . .’
‘Why?’
Teddy shrugged. ‘Sandra? Well, she was given a bit of a shaking by some bloke recently. Sandra maintained it was something to do with the wig and decided to give it a miss for a while. In case he showed up again.’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know, Officer. And if I did, I wouldn’t say. In our line of work discretion is a virtue. Which I’m sure you also appreciate. I’m so bad at names, but isn’t your name Ronny?’
‘Harry. I have to talk to Sandra.’ He struggled to his feet and almost knocked over the tray of beer Amy was carrying. He slumped across the table. ‘Have you got a phone number, pimp?’
Teddy waved Amy away. ‘On principle we don’t give clients the addresses or phone numbers of our girls. For safety reasons. You understand, don’t you?’ Teddy was regretting not following his first instincts – he should have kept away from the drunken and difficult Norwegian.
‘I understand. Gimme the number.’
Teddy smiled. ‘As I said, we don’t give—’
‘Now!’ Harry grabbed the lapels of the shiny grey suit jacket and blew a mixture of whiskey breath and vomit stench into Teddy’s face. An ingratiating string arrangement oozed from the speakers.
‘I’ll count to three, Officer. If you haven’t let go by then I’ll call for Ivan and Geoff. That will mean an aerial exit through the back door. Outside the back door there’s a flight of steps. Twenty steep concrete steps.’
Harry grinned and tightened his grip. ‘Is that supposed to frighten me, you bloody pimp bastard? Look at me. I’m so pissed I can’t feel a thing. I’m fuckin’ indestructible, man. Geoff! Ivan!’
Shadows stirred behind the bar. As he turned his head to look, Teddy jerked himself free from Harry’s grip. He shoved and Harry reeled backwards. He took his chair and the table with him as he crashed to the floor. Instead of getting up he stayed where he was, chuckling, until Geoff and Ivan arrived and sent Teddy an enquiring look.
‘Get him out the back door,’ Teddy said, watching as the policeman was picked up like a rag doll and thrown over the shoulder of a black bruiser in a dinner jacket.
‘I don’t bloody know what’s wrong with people today,’ Teddy said, straightening his crease-free suit jacket.
Ivan led the way and opened the door.
‘What the hell’s this bloke had?’ Geoff said. ‘He’s laughing so much he’s shaking.’
‘Have to see how long he laughs then,’ Ivan said. ‘Put him down here.’
Geoff lowered Harry to his feet, and he stood swaying in front of the two men.
‘Can you keep a secret, mister?’ Ivan said with a bashful smile. ‘I know this is a gangster cliché, but I hate violence.’