Part 6 (1/2)

Morse turned to Lewis. 'We'd better do as Mrs Gibbs says, sergeant, and get the tube.'

On the steps outside Morse thanked the good lady profusely and, almost as an afterthought it seemed, turned to speak to her once more.

'Just one more thing, Mrs Gibbs. It may be lunchtime before we get up there. Have you any idea where Mr Maguire will be if he's not at work?'

'Like as not the Angel - I know 'e often ”as a drink in there.'

As they walked to the car Lewis decided to get it off his chest. 'Couldn't you just have asked her straight out where he worked?'

'I didn't want her to think I was fis.h.i.+ng,' replied Morse. Lewis thought she must be educationally subnormal if she hadn't realized that by now. But he let it go. They drove down to Putney Bridge, parked the car on a TAXIS ONLY plot, and caught the tube to Piccadilly Circus.

Somewhat to Lewis's surprise, Morse appeared to be fairly intimately conversant with the geography of Soho, and two minutes after emerging from the tube in Shaftesbury Avenue they found themselves standing in Brewer Street.

'There we are then,' said Morse, pointing to the Angel, Ba.s.s House, only thirty yards away to their left. 'Might as well combine business with a little pleasure, don't you think?'

'As you wish, sir.'

Over the beer, Morse asked the barman if the manager was around, and learned that the barman was the manager. Morse introduced himself, and said he was looking for a Mr J. Maguire.

'Not in any trouble, is he?' asked the barman.

'Nothing serious.'

'Johnny Maguire, you say. He works over the way at the strip club - the Penthouse. On the door, mostly.'

Morse thanked him, and he and Lewis walked over to the window and looked outside. The Penthouse was almost directly opposite.

'Ever been to a strip club, Lewis?'

'No. But I've read about 'em, of course.'

'Nothing like first-hand experience, you know. C'mon, drink up.'

Outside the club Morse surveyed the pictorial preview of the erode delights to be savoured within. 18 GORGEOUS GIRLS. The s.e.xiest show in London. 95p only. NO OTHER ADMISSION CHARGE.

'The real thing this is, gentlemen. Continuous performance. No G-strings.' The speaker was a ginger-haired youth, dressed in a dark green blazer and grey slacks, who sat in a small booth at the entrance lobby.

'Bit expensive, isn't it?' asked Morse.

'When you've seen the show, sir, you'll think it's cheap at the price.'

Morse looked at him carefully, and thought there was something approaching honesty in the dark eyes. Maguire - almost certainly; but he wouldn't run away. Morse handed over two pound-notes and took the tickets. To the young tout the policemen were just another couple of frustrated middle-aged voyeurs, and he had already spotted another potential customer studying the stills outside.

'The real thing this is, sir. Continuous performance. No G-strings.'

'You owe me 10p,' said Morse.

They walked through a gloomy pa.s.sage-way and heard the music blaring from behind a screened part.i.tion, where sat a smallish, swarthy gentleman (Maltese, thought Morse) with a huge chest and bulging forearms.

He took the tickets and tore them across. 'Can I see members.h.i.+p cards, please?'

'What members.h.i.+p cards?'

”You must be members of the club, sir.' He reached for a small pad, and tore off two forms. 'Fill in, please.'

'Just a minute,' protested Morse. 'It says outside that there's no other admission charge and ...'

'One pown each, please.'

'... We've paid our 95p and that's all we're paying.'

The small man looked mean and dangerous. He rose to his meagre height and moved a thick arm to Morse's jacket. 'Fill in, please. That will be one pown each.'

'Will it b.u.g.g.e.ry!' said Morse.

The Maltese advanced slightly and his hands glided towards Morse's wallet-pocket.

Neither Morse nor Lewis were big men, and the last thing that Morse wanted at this juncture was a rough-house. He wasn't in very good condition anyway ... But he knew the type well.

Courage, Morse! He brushed the man's hand forcibly from his jacket and stepped a menacing pace forward.

'Look, you miserable wog. You want a fight' That's fine. I wouldn't want to bruise my fist against your ugly chops, myself, but this pal of mine here will do it with the greatest pleasure. Just up his street. Army middleweight champion till a year ago. Where shall we go, you dirty little squit?'

The little man sat back and sagged in his chair like a wilting balloon, and his voice was a punctured whine.

'You got to be members of the club. If you not I get prosecuted by police.'

'F-----off,' said Morse, and with the ex-boxing champion behind him walked through the screen part.i.tion.

In the small auditorium beyond sat a sprinkling of males, dotted around on the three rows of seats facing the small, raised stage, on which a buxom blonde stripper had just, climactically, removed her G-string. At least one of the management's promises had been honoured. The curtains closed and there was a polite smatter of half-hearted applause.

'How did you know I was a boxing champion?' whispered Lewis.

'I didn't,' said Morse, with genuine surprise.

”You might get it right, though, sir. Light middleweight.'

Morse grinned happily, and a disembodied voice from the wings announced the advent of The Fabulous Fiona. The curtains opened jerkily to reveal a fully-clothed Fiona; but it was immediately apparent that her fabulous body, whatever delights were soon to be unveiled, was signally bereft of any rhythmic suppleness as she struggled amateurishly to synchronize a few elementary dance steps with the languorously suggestive music.

After The s.e.xy Susan and The Sensational Sandra even Morse was feeling a trifle blase; but, as he explained* to an unenthusiastic Lewis, there might be better things to come. And indeed The Voluptuous Vera and The Kinky Kate certainly did something to raise the general standard of the entertainment. There were gimmicks aplenty: fans, whips, bananas and rubber spiders; and Morse dug Lewis in the ribs as an extraordinarily shapely girl, dressed for a fancy-dress ball, t.i.tillating and tantalizingly divested herself of all but an incongruously ugly mask.

'Bit of cla.s.s there, Lewis.'

But Lewis remained unimpressed; and when the turn came round for the reappearance of The Fabulous Fiona Morse reluctantly decided they had better go. The little gorilla was fleecing a thin, spotty-faced young man of his one pown members.h.i.+p fee as they walked out of the club into the dazzling suns.h.i.+ne of the London street. After a few breaths of comparatively clean air, Morse returned to the entrance and stood by the young man.

'What's your name, lad?'

'William Shakespeare. What's yours?' He looked at Morse with considerable surprise. Who the h.e.l.l did he think he was? It was over two years ago since anyone had spoken to him in that tone of voice. At school, in Kidlington.

'Can we go and talk somewhere?'