Jim's nightclub was a warehouse close to Chelsea's Lots Road power station, a featureless slab of a building with a brightly lit entrance, guarded by two large, fierce looking bouncers controlling a queue stretching away along the pavement.
The street was narrow, the pavements were solid with cars parked nose to tail, and parking was totally impossible. Hunter circled the club a couple of times in growing frustration, but every spare inch of space was taken.
Elaine began to fidget impatiently. Her head was still bad, Hella and Birgitta were grumbling together on the back seat, and Hunter was getting them all nowhere. She decided that somebody must do something.
‘Give me Jim's card.’ She held out her hand insistently as Hunter fumbled for his wallet, snatching the card, and held it close to her as she waited for him to stop. The Clio Williams halted, blocking the street, and a bouncer advanced towards them menacingly, making signs for them to move on. Several cars began to sound their horns.
Elaine got out, smiling sweetly, and waved the card under the bouncer’s nose. For a moment he glowered at her. He was a square, solid man, built like a tank, with hardness in his eyes. It was plain that he was not going to be impressed by a scrap of paper.
He glanced at the card perfunctorily, and then, suddenly, he was miraculously transformed, bowing and scraping with the most assiduous politeness.
He stepped up to the Clio, a model of deference. ‘Good evening, sir. We have a special carpark for Mr. Nash's personal guests.’ He straightened up, and whistled, and a second bouncer came running.
‘You can go straight in, sir, and my colleague would handle your parking.’
The car behind Hunter sounded its horn again as he opened the rear nearside door for Hella and Birgitta to climb out. The bouncer bristled furiously at the noise, and marched angrily to the offender, lifting his forefinger like an accusing spear.
‘Do that again, sunshine, and you're barred for life.’
An instant later and he was back, bowing and scraping again. ‘This way please, sir.’ He pushed through a small crowd milling outside the nightclub door and faces turned to stare enviously at Hunter and his three companions.
‘Who are they?’ An anonymous male voice grumbled the words sharply.
‘TV girls, probably.’ A second voice provided a reply, and envious faces filled with admiration.
Hella and Birgitta giggled together, and held their heads up proudly. It was the first time in their lives that anyone had considered them stars.
The club's entrance throbbed with sound, and Hunter stepped into a lobby overlooking a sunken dance floor heaving and swaying with pulsating humanity. Hella and Birgitta were already bopping together, and he cut in quickly as a tall young black in a tight white shirt and hip-hugging white strides began executing a series of eye-catching bops around them. The newcomer could have as much of Birgitta as he liked, but Hunter intended to keep Hella all to himself.
The newcomer grinned, shrugged, took a second look at Birgitta, who was now inspecting him with great interest, and they bopped off together into the scrum. Hunter deftly steered Hella into another crack in the crush. Elaine could fend for herself.
Elaine stood in the entrance lobby, feeling lost and more than a little forlorn. A couple of bouncers eyed her curiously, and she wondered whether to ask for Jim Nash, find a loo and sob out her heart, or start making tracks for Slough.
‘Elaine, wonderful to have you here.’ A harsh voice broke in on her gathering despair. Nash had appeared at her elbow as though by magic, exotic in a club-owning sort of way in a bright floral silk shirt open half way to his waist. A heavy gold chain around his neck and a matching massive gold bracelet on his wrist signalled wealth, tight black bullfighter pants flagged desire. He bopped on the spot in a subdued sort of way, promoting the club's ambiance, as he inspected her. A stern-faced and shaven-headed minder dressed in black like an undertaker, his eyes hidden behind aviator shades, stood a couple of steps behind him, motionless and impassive.
Nash pecked Elaine's cheek and looked round searchingly. ‘Where's the boy?’
She shrugged. Hunter had vanished, out of her sight, out of her life.
‘Oh, dear.’ He eyed her sharply. ‘Fallen out?’
‘Slung out.’ She bit the two words off bitterly. She was no mood for lengthy explanations. ‘I've got to find a new home.’
‘Oh, no.’ Nash's face fell. ‘Oh, that's bad.’ He made his voice sympathetic, though inwardly his mind was racing. He had four important guests who were very much looking forward to meeting Mr. Hunter, and a sizeable slice of dosh might be at stake. Blood could flow over this - Mark reported her arriving with a man and two other women. ‘Who brought you?’
‘He did.’ Elaine was impatient. ‘He picked up a couple of Swedes in the market, took them back to the flat, and wanted us all to strip off together. I wouldn't do it, so he brought me here and ditched me. He's got one of them in there.’ She gestured with her chin towards the dance floor.
‘You mean he's here?’ Nash looked relieved.
Elaine nodded wordlessly.
Nash raised his hand. The impassive minder stepped forward.
‘Take Elaine to the private bar and fix her up with a bottle of bubbly, the best.’ He rattled his order out at speed. ‘Then get Charlie on your blower and tell him to get up there sharpish. Tell him a very good lady friend of mine has arrived, and I want him to look after her, red carpet treatment.’
The minder nodded politely. Nash was still bopping on the spot. He patted Elaine's arm. ‘Joe'll take you to the VIP Suite and fix you with a drink, Charlie'll show you the ropes, introduce you to one or two nice people. Don't worry about your man, we'll fix you up.’
He smiled a shark smile and bopped off. People wanted to talk to Mr. Hunter, and serious money was at stake. This was no time for dancing.
Hunter was now wrapped around Hella, each holding the other tight in a thunder of multi-decibel slow motion. Conversation was impossible, but they were cheek to cheek, flesh to flesh, and he was already lusting for a repeat performance. He wondered how long she and Birgitta planned to stay in London. Three in a bed might be a really tempting proposition.
The music stopped suddenly.
A voice thundered. ‘Mr. Richard Hunter and Swedish friend, please come to the VIP Suite.’
Hunter pretended not to hear. Jim plainly wanted to hunt him.
The thunder voice repeated its message, and the wall of slow motion engulfs them again.
Hunter nibbled Hella's earlobe and mused on concepts of virility and staying power. He was fine where he was.
Then he realised that he was beginning to drift away from his slowdance of on the spot bopping towards the dancefloor perimeter, and a moment later he was standing in a relative oasis of calm by a doorway.
Hella pushed at the door. A bouncer opened to them, and she beamed. ‘I have brought your man. Do I get free drink?’
The bouncer smiled bleakly, and ushered them along a thickly carpeted corridor and up a flight of steps, into a luxuriously furnished area with a long bar along one side, and a wall of plate glass overlooking the dancefloor below. Nash was already waiting at the bar, and Hunter noted a happy looking Elaine surrounded by a group of smooth young men.
‘Richard, welcome.’ Nash was all bonhomie. He spared a quick look for the trim little blonde with Hunter, and licked his lips. ‘You shouldn't have run away like that.’
A waiter appeared with a tray laden with glasses of champagne.
‘Have a drink, have several. Get yourself into party mode.’
Hella had already downed one glass and was now sinking a second. Nash leered at her.
‘You look thirsty.’
‘You should see my friend drink champagne.’ Hella took a third glass. ‘She is champion drinker. But she went off.’
‘She's here?’ Nash lifted his hand, and a minder stood at his shoulder. ‘Show this young lady how to work the spot.’ He stepped closer, holding a fourth glass ready, smiling his most lecherous smile. ‘This gentleman will show you how to pick out your friend with a spotlight, then we'll call her up for some champion drinking.’
He watched Hella trot off, and beamed. ‘Nice one, Richard. Nice one.’ He rested a hand on Hunter's arm to forestall any attempt to follow her, and began to steer him gently, but very insistently, towards a door in the corner. ‘Got some friends want to meet you, have a little chat with you. Then you can get back to bopping the night away.’
Three large, bulky men in dark suits and a fourth, younger man in an open-necked silk shirt and tight-fitting chinos, sat at a long table in a small room, watching a Russian satellite television newscast. They turned as Nash pushed the door open, and stared at Hunter curiously. The young man waved. He had piercing blue eyes and fair hair cut in a flat top like a US marine.
‘Hello, come in.’
Nash was deferential. ‘This is Richard Hunter, he writes for Financeday. He's a key City man.’
The young man fired off a burst of Russian. His three companions smiled politely. But their eyes were cold, and hard.
Hunter waited.
‘Come, sit down, please.’ The young man gestured at a chair. He paused for a moment. ‘We are Russian businessmen. We saw your story about Wonders, and we need some help.’
Hunter nodded neutrally, wondering what kind of reward help might bring.. One of the large men spoke briefly. The younger man nodded in his turn.
‘Mr. Melnikov, our chairman, says we are lost in fog.’
Hunter smiled cautiously. So the Russians were for real, and needing information. But first they must show some of their hand.
‘Morissey is running hot and cold.’
‘Giving you a hard time?’
The Russian smiled thinly. ‘Maybe.’
‘Perhaps he doesn't trust you.’
Four pairs of eyes bored into Hunter. The three bulky men plainly knew enough English to understand the word 'trust'.
‘Russia's a long way away.’
‘So?’ The young man's voice was hard as sharp steel.
Hunter realised that Nash had slipped away silently, and had a vision of the bearded clubowner making an unsavoury pass at a pert little Swede. He was impatient to get back to the dancefloor. It was time to attack.
‘Morissey's thinking of doing a deal with you, right?’
The Russians nod in unison.
‘But you can't get him to water?’
The question triggers a burst of rapid crossfire in Russian. Hunter rephrases. ‘He won't do the deal you want.’
More nodded.
‘He's under pressure.’ Hunter was now probing, in a grey area where he knew some things, and must guess at others. ‘Wonders’ share price is sliding, Croesus - Ned Harris - is breathing down his neck. He needs a deal, but it's got to be a good deal. Russia is a long way away, people there do business in strange ways. He might be hot for you, but you've got to be stars.’
He rattled out his words like bullets. Nash was a lecherous bastard, and Hella might be tempted to do something rash. The Russians must start talking, and show some signs of solid strength, or he would be out of this poxy room, and back on the dancefloor, back with Hella, and out of the building on his way home, and to hell with the lot of them.
The younger Russian looked doubtful. He traded more crossfire with his companions, then took a deep breath. ‘Okay, we will tell you some things. But you must be careful.’
Now it was Hunter's turn to nod agreement.
‘We are Elektron. It is Russia's top IT company - we build PCs, mobile communications, we process data in every way. We used to be military, in the old days, now we are leading edge technology. We can undercut the Japanese and the Americans on price, we have access to the world's most exciting new market. But we need capital. We will do deal with Wonders, join Wonders, but we need major investment.’
‘How much?’
‘Much much.’
‘Millions? Billions?’
The Russian smiled. ‘That must stay secret for present. But it will be big number.’
Hunter shook his head. ‘Morissey hasn't got the cash.’
‘We know. That is why he hesitates. He wants to put together big package - very ambitious. But he says it will take time, and we don't have so much time. maybe we will go and talk to Germans, or French, or Americans.’
Hunter saw the light. ‘You mean he wants to tie you into a deal, so that he can then tell the City, start his share price climbing, raise the cash, and smile all the way to the bank?’
‘He is a dealmaker.’
‘And you want to be sure he can pay?’
‘We are also dealmakers, Mr. Hunter.’ Melnikov spoke in English for the first time. He was a squat man, with heavy black eyebrows gathered in a permanent frown. He had two small enamel badges in his lapel, and a blue and red striped tie. A Russian guardsman.
‘And me?’
‘We think you could help us very much.’ Melnikov's voice was harsh, and heavily accented. ‘We think you can get close to this man, and tell us how he is thinking. We think you can help us as we move forward. We think we can move forward together.’
This was temptation, and Hunter had a feeling that he need only hold out his hand to find it filled with goodies. But he also needed to think, and right now he needed to rescue Hella, or Nash would surely wreak some harm. He pushed his chair back and got to his feet with a smile, and his smile was a consent, but a consent hedged with reserve. ‘Why not? You scratch my back, and I'll scratch yours.’
The three bulky Russians look baffled again.
‘I'm having lunch with a merchant banker tomorrow, then I'm interviewing Morissey and Harris next week. I'll keep you posted.’
The Russians smiled, and stood up. Melnikov held out his hand, a great paw like a bear's.
‘We shall be friends. Good friends.’ He crushed Hunter's fingers.
The younger Russian followed Hunter to the door and took a card from his wallet. The card was printed in both Roman and Cyrilic scripts: Sergei Petrovich Gorbodey, with an address in Moscow. He scribbled a number on the card quickly. ‘You can reach me here, it is my mobile. Any time.’ He held out his hand, and his eyes fixed Hunter's. ‘We will be grateful.’ His grip was firm, and he kept hold of Hunter's hand. ‘We are Russians, and we are good to our friends.’
Hunter returned his stare, measure for measure. ‘When friends are good to you.’
Gorbodey smiled slightly. ‘Of course.’
It was a parting.
Hunter turned away, launched himself at the door, and was back in Nash's VIP Suite in the blink of an eye. He looked round anxiously. A cluster of girls and young men were strung out along the bar, and a scattering of couples and small groups dotted the tables and chairs. But Hella, Nash and Elaine had all vanished. A waiter passed, carrying a tray of drinks, and Hunter homed in on him.
‘Where's Jim Nash?’
The waiter did not speak, but smirked and looked toward the plate glass wall overloooking the club's dancefloor. Hunter hurried to the glass wall, and stopped short.
Two blonde girls were dancing below him, naked in the centre of a circle of men. The circle was motionless in the middle of the heaving mass of the dancefloor, and several more naked girls and a couple of naked men joined them as he watched. Nash and a couple of his bouncers appeared to be attempting to restore order, but they seemed to be having little success, and a struggle broke out as Hunter watched, with two bouncers pouncing on one of the naked blondes, only to be assailed in turn by the enclosing circle.
Bouncers and dancers began to tussle, and a ripple of unrest spread outwards. A fight had begun, with the makings of a pitched battle.
Hunter raced for the stairs down to the dancefloor. A bouncer barred his way at the bottom.
‘Sorry, sir. There's trouble out there.’
‘I know, my girlfriend's in the middle of it.’ Hunter pushed past him, and began burrowing into the mass of dancers. The music thundered on, but now he could hear shouts and screams. He burrowed onward. But the music was relentless, and it was hard going.
After a moment he realised that the shouts and screams had melted away, and then he had burrowed clean across the dancefloor, and a small group of battered young men being tended by their companions were the only remaining signs of combat.
Nash stood by an emergency exit, surrounded by a group of bouncers looking pleased with themselves.
He smiled wryly at Hunter. ‘Your two Swedes made a right bloody pain of themselves.’
‘What happened?’ Hunter looked round anxiously. Hella and Birgitta were nowhere to be seen.
‘We had to throw them out.’ Nash shook his head sadly. He could have done magic things with the little one. But she had filled herself with best bubbly, collared an open bottle, shoehorned her way through the crush to her friend, and begun creating havoc. ‘They were too much aggravation. We put them in a minicab and sent them back to their hotel.’
‘They've gone?’
‘Please God I'll never ever see them again.’ Nash spoke with feeling. He put his arm around Hunter's shoulder. ‘Find yourself another bird, or come and have a drink. We'll go and get pissed with the Russians, you can sleep here.’
Hunter hesitated, and Nash laughed.
‘Don't worry. Your friend Elaine went as well. One of my boys took a shine to her, they left hand in hand. He's gone to help her move out of your place.’
Hunter felt the ground wobble a little underneath his feet. Nobody could help Elaine move, because she had surrendered her keys.
Nash laughed again. ‘Duplicate keys, old son. I told my boy to bring them back here when she is out of your place. Come and have a piss-up. We'll give you a bed in the staff annex, and I'll throw in a free breakfast. We want those Russkies on side.’