'Suck this,' shouted another of the men, fumbling with the zip of his trousers. Another moment and he had pulled his penis free. He staggered drunkenly towards Carol, his throbbing organ protruding from his zip.
'That's it,' snapped Scott and both he and Calder moved forward.
The man actually had his foot on the edge of the bed when Scott grabbed him by the shoulder.
'Sit down,' he rasped, and threw the man backwards. He landed squarely in his seat, his penis still sticking through his flies.
'What the fuck is this?' another of the men shouted, glaring at Scott.
'I think it's time you gentlemen left,' said Scott.
The first man was busy doing up his flies, yelping in pain as he caught a pubic hair in his zip.
'We paid our fucking money, we want to see the show,' another protested.
'Go and find another show,' Scott told them. He turned towards Carol. 'Get dressed.'
She nodded and moved away from the bed.
As she did, the youngest of the five men grabbed her around the waist and lifted her into the air, laughing as he did.
'We only came in for some fun,' he said, chuckling.
Scott turned furiously on the man, his body shaking as he saw the other man holding Carol.
Get your hands off her.
'At least let us have our money's worth,' said the man holding Carol.
'Let go of her,' snarled Scott through clenched teeth.
'You charge enough in here,' the man protested.
Let go of her.
Scott grabbed the man's hand and prized open his grip, squeezing his wrist in a vice-like hold that threatened to break the bones.
Don't you dare put your hands on her.
Scott pulled the man close to him, his eyes blazing.
'What the fuck is wrong with you?' the man said, trying to shake free.
Scott glared at him a second longer then drove his head forward sharply, slamming his forehead into the bridge of the man's nose, hearing the sharp crack of bone with satisfaction. The man fell backwards, blood spurting from the shattered cartilage.
Immediately the other four men were on their feet. Two turned and ran for the stairs, but the others flung themselves at Scott.
He parried a clumsy blow and struck out with his left foot, driving it hard into the man's groin. As he crumpled up, Scott grabbed his hair to pull his head upright then he sent a powerful punch into his face, splitting the top lip.
Carol, still naked, stood close by, her arms around Zena, watching the fight.
The music roared on as an accompaniment.
'… You've been outta my life so long,
There's no way I'll stay…'
Calder struck another of the men in the stomach, hurling him over one of the sofas, aiming a kick at him as he scrambled to his feet and ran for the stairs.
The first man, blood streaming from his broken nose, struggled to his feet, his hand closing around a glass. He hurled it at Scott but missed. Scott turned to face him, dragging him upright by his lapels. He looked into the man's eyes, then across at Carol.
Scott brought his knee up into the man's groin so hard he felt it connect with his pelvis.
The man uttered a strangled cry and tried to clutch at his injured testicles.
Scott looked across at Carol again, still not releasing his grip on the man.
He drove his head forward again.
And again.
His own forehead was red now as he slammed it against the man's face. He opened a gash above his eye, another on his cheek. Blood from the injured man had spilled onto Scott's face and speckled his shirt. Scott hardly noticed that his adversary's eyes were closed. Instead he smiled across crookedly at Carol, holding him as if he were some kind of limp, blood-spattered rag doll. He grabbed a handful of the man's hair and yanked his head back hard, finally throwing him against the wall, watching with satisfaction as he slid down to the floor, his shirt a mass of blood, his face cut and bruised by the onslaught. The man's companion stumbled across and helped him to his feet.
'Get out,' hissed Scott. 'Next time I'll kill you.'
The men made their way up the stairs, one of them slipping half-way, almost falling.
Scott felt something warm and wet on his face and realised it was blood. He wiped it away with the back of his hand then looked at Calder.
'Make sure they don't come back in here,' he snarled.
The bouncer nodded and followed the men upstairs.
The music roared on.
'… I don't need your dirty love…'
Scott looked at Carol, who met his gaze impassively.
'You all right?' he asked.
She nodded.
'Go and get dressed,' he told her, smiling thinly. He looked down and noticed that there was blood on his hands too. He pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket and slowly wiped the crimson stains away.
Carol and Zena disappeared through the door marked 'Private'. Scott finished wiping the blood from his hands then stuffed the stained cloth back into his pocket.
There was more blood on the carpet.
He smiled.
THIRTY-SIX
Before he switched off the engine he glanced at the clock on the dashboard.
12.36 A.M.
Frank Gregson swung himself out of the Escort and slammed the door, fumbling in his pocket for his front door key. He finally found it and let himself in, careful not to drop the thick manila file he had cradled under one arm. As he moved through the house he switched on lights, finally ending up in the sitting room. There he dropped the file onto the coffee table, crossed to the drinks cabinet, took out a bottle of Teacher's and poured himself a large measure. As he stood drinking the fiery liquid he heard movement from above him, soft padding footfalls on the stairs.
He sighed and finished his drink, filling the glass again.
'I couldn't wait up any longer.'
The voice came from behind him as Julie moved into the room. He didn't bother to turn; he knew where she was. He heard the creak of springs as she perched on the edge of the armchair.
'You could have phoned,' she said. 'I was worried.'
'If anything had happened to me you'd have heard about it soon enough.'
'I'd cooked you some dinner; I had to throw it out.'
'My loss is the dustbin's gain,' he said, finally turning to face her.
She wore just a short housecoat. He knew she was naked beneath it.
Naked, like Paula Wilson had been on that slab.
'Do you want me to get you something?' she asked, curling her legs under her.
'I'll manage with this,' he said, raising the glass. He crossed to his seat and sat down, gazing at the file before him. 'Sorry I disturbed you,' he added, as an afterthought.
'I wasn't asleep. I was waiting for you to get in,' she told him.
He smiled thinly.
'Well, something came up at the office, dear,' he said acidly, taking a sip of his drink. 'That's why I'm late.'
'If you mean that girl, I saw it on the news.'
'Yes, I do mean that girl. Paula Wilson, aged twenty-three.' He raised the glass in salute. 'Rest in peace.'
'They said the man who killed her committed suicide.'