Vanessa disappeared into the bathroom.
“And ice cream,” Allie muttered. “You can’t get any decent ice cream in this lousy country. They give you some shit called ice cream, but it isn’t. Neal, did you bring any real ice cream with you?”
“No. Sorry.”
She stepped over to him and looked him in the eyes. “You’re no good, Neal. You know that? No damn good at all.”
She said it with such utter sincerity and then gave him a smile so dazzling that he couldn’t quite believe she was strung out. He couldn’t help liking her. It was almost as if she was aware of herself, making fun of the American bitch for everyone’s entertainment.
“And the weather,” she continued, “it’s too fucking hot. We sang that in school glee club once. ‘It’s too fucking hot, it’s too fucking hot
“?t’s too darn hot.’”
“Yeah, it’s too darn fucking hot. It’s supposed to be foggy and rainy. In all the movies, it’s foggy and rainy. You ever see Sherlock Holmes with a tan? But I haven’t seen any fog or any rain since I got here and that’s weeks and weeks and weeks and weeks and what is Nessa doing to her hair?”
“Shaving half of it off,” Vanessa answered.
Neal looked into the bathroom. Sure as shit, she was shaving half of it off-the left half.
Fascinated, Allie floated into the bathroom. “Why?”
“Bored.”
“May I watch?”
“Sure, love, but you can’t help. You’d slice me to ribbons.”
Allie lay down on the tile floor and played with Vanessa’s falling locks. Neal stood in the doorway.
“Alice,” he asked, “do you have any dates tonight?”
“Do I have any dates tonight? Yes, Troy Donahue is coming over and we’re going to the malt shop. No. Frankie Avalon and I are going to a beach party. He broke up with that bitch with the boobs. Because he loves me. No… Wally Cleaver and I are going to the drive-in and I’m going to teach him how to make a girl happy, except I think he really loves Lumpy Rutherford.
“Do I have any dates tonight? You think you’re Colin’s administrative assistant now? Vice pimp, that’s pretty good. No, I don’t have any dates tonight.”
“It’s okay with me.”
“Oh, goody. Neal, go get us some real ice cream, okay? Some real, real ice cream. Chocolate ice cream. Yummy.”
“I have to talk to Colin.”
“You have to talk with Colin?”
“How does this look?” Vanessa asked them. The left side of her head was bald. The right half was a cascade of magenta locks.
“Hike it,” Neal said. “A lot.”
He turned to leave.
Allie followed him. “I just remembered another song we sang in good old glee club. Wanna hear it?”
You could take her right now, Neal thought. Whisk her off on some excuse and be gone before Vanessa ever thought to ring the phone box… He hurried down the stairs, and could still hear her singing.
“ ‘A precious gem is what you are. You’re Daddy’s bright and shining star…’ ”
He caught the district line train at Earl’s Court, changed to the Piccadilly Line at South Kensington, and rode it to Leicester Square. The long wooden escalator carried him to the street level. He found Colin in the square, standing under the statue of the Earl of Leicester, The inscription on the base read: THERE IS NO DARKNESS BUT
IGNORANCE.
“Hello, rugger,” Colin said. Crisp sat on the ground beside him in his faithful-dog pose.
“How’s business?”
“Buggers are tying up the phone,” Colin answered, pointing to a queue outside the phone box.
“Shout you a pint?”
Colin looked around for a second, then said, “Why not? Crisp, mind the shop, there’s a good lad.”
They walked to a small pub on Floral Street. Neal found a table by the window and brought two pints over.
“I looked for you over at your place earlier,” he said.
“Office hours.”
“Alice is wrecked.”
Colin shrugged. “‘At’s ’er business, isn’t it?”
“Could affect your business. High rollers don’t like junkies.”
Colin stared out the window. “Well, rugger, ’er business or my business, it’s none of your business.”
Neal glanced out the window. “Might be.”
“Ow’s ‘at?”
“I need a girl.”
Colin laughed. “Not Alice. I’ll set you up with someone else.”
“I need a girl for a job.”
Colin took a long draw on his pint before he said, “My da was on the dole is ‘ole fookin’ life. He was always tellin’ me, ‘Son, ge’ a union job. Ge’ a union job an’ you can fook off your ‘ole life.’ That was my da’s great ambition.
“Is this a union job, Neal?”
“No.”
“We’re interested.”
“It’s a one-shot deal, Colin. Lots of money but very tricky. No mistakes. My ass is on the line.”
“How much money?”
“Enough you won’t have to send Alice out on any more dates.”
Either a trace of shame passed across Colin’s face or he was even a better actor than Neal thought.
“I love ’er, Neal.”
“Right.”
“What’s the job?”
Neal shook his head. “Ill tell you tomorrow. The Serpentine. One o’clock.”
Because you can’t make it too simple, Neal thought. And you have to get him into a pattern of following instructions. Turn the relationship around. Otherwise, the whole thing will screw up.
“Why all the bother?” Colin asked.
“Yes or no?”
“Yes, rugger.”
The tail had picked Neal up in the square and followed him to the pub. He waited across the street and then stayed with him back to the hotel. He stayed a long way back and was real careful. The kid was supposed to be a pro.
Levine answered the phone.
“I’m calling in,” Neal said.
“Good boy.”
“Take your fucking tail off me.”
“What?”
“Next time, send someone knows what he’s doing.”
“Hey, Neal-”
“Take him off.” Neal hung up.
Levine looked at Graham and Lombardi. “That Neal is some piece of work. Little shit thinks I put a tail on him. Asshole.”
Graham’s rubber hand ground into his real one. He had trained Neal better than to see tails that weren’t there.
“Back off.”
“The kid’s on to something, I can smell it.”
The phone connection from London was bad, so he had to repeat himself. “He made you. Back off.”
“He didn’t make me.” “Who’s paying you? Off!” “You got it.”
The guy hung up the phone. He was pissed off. The kid was a pro. A real cute one.
Two scotches and a hot bath didn’t settle Neal down much. That fucking Levine, he thought. That fucking Levine is going to blow this whole thing. If I as much as smell that guy again…
22
Tuesday morning neal decided to have a whopping big breakfast. He picked a table in the dining room that gave him an easy view of the door and dug into his Times, along with two fried eggs, hot cereal, toast, bacon, sausage, and a pot of coffee. He took his sweet time about it, but nobody joined him.
Then he went for a walk. The day was a scorcher, a real bitch, but if they wanted to play games, he’d play games. Nobody picked him up at the hotel door, certainly not the guy from last night, but it would be just like Friends to show him one tail so they could pin a different one on him. And he just wasn’t ready for company on this thing-not yet.
He took a right down Piccadilly and set a torrid pace to Green Park tube station. He bought a 20p ticket from the machine and headed down the stairs, changed his mind, and walked back out on the street. He strolled down Queen’s Lane, nice and slow, stopped at a cart and bought an ice cream, thought about Allie, and turned around and went back to the tube station. But now he picked up the pace, fast and hard, so if anyone was following him, it would cost them a hell of a sweat. He took the train to Leicester Square, rode the escalator to street level, rode the escalator back down to the trains, and took a Northern Line train to Tottenham Court Road, where he got off the train, switched to the Central Line, and continued on to Bond Street, where he switched to the Jubilee Line and rode it back to Green Park.