The Bullet Trick (46 page)

Whatever the truth, James Montgomery was going away for a very long time to a place where policemen were welcomed with a special kind of glee. There would be no family visits and no one waiting for him if he ever came out. It was justice of a sort, but I kept thinking of his fading wife and wondering if she could ever reconcile the price paid for discovering her sister’s fate.

The Divines stopped in front of a building I knew well, though I’d only visited it once before.

Shaz grinned.

'Recognise it?'

'You’ve got to be kidding me.'

'No joke, William.'

We’d unknowingly had the same destination in mind, but if I’d not been led there I might easily have walked past. Bill’s old club was no longer the blank-faced dive where we’d met on that first night. It had undergone a paint job and a glowing peppermint-green sign proclaimed it BUMPERS.

Jacque looked admiringly at the building’s fresh facade.

'And who do you think the new management are?'

I shook my head.

'I can honestly say I’ve not got a Scooby.' The Divines’ excited smiles registered. 'You?'

They chorused Yes! Jacque caught me by the elbow.

'Come on, William, or you’ll miss your treat.'

The doorman smiled at the women then put his broad body in front of me.

'Are you a member, sir?'

'It’s all right, Dave, he’s with us.'

Dave looked unsure, but he stepped out of the way and let me through. The lounge where I had performed my act and the girls had danced for the policemen was transformed. Banks of purple couches now grouped around its edge and where the mirror ball had half-heartedly rotated, a massive crystal chandelier shimmered from the ceiling. Airbrushed photographs of big-breasted women with wet, open mouths hung around the walls in oversized gilt frames. I thought that the models looked mildly pained, as if they had eaten something that disagreed with them. But all of this decoration was merely an adjunct to the room’s focus: a mirrored stage pierced by a silver pole.

'No offence girls, you’ve done a grand job, but I’m not sure this is my kind of place.'

'It never was, William,' Shaz nodded to a waitress. 'But wait till you see this, it’s right up your street.'

I’d thought I’d seen her face before and been mistaken so many times that I had learnt not to trust my senses. But when she stepped out from the darkness I knew that this time she was for real.

She strode across the small stage wearing a smart black business suit edged with white cuffs, raising her hands palm out, showing they were empty, then conjured forth a red silk handkerchief from nowhere. Her slender fingers folded the silk in on itself and made it disappear. She held her hands up once more as if amazed by their emptiness. Her eyes opened wide as she ripped off the white cuffs one by one and threw them behind her, then repeated the trick, conjuring the red square from nothing. Her smile was bright and daring as she moved with the music, slowly peeling off her conservative jacket, flinging it in the same direction as the cuffs, revealing a lacy black bra beneath. Once again the handkerchief suddenly appeared between her fingers. She waved it in the air, folded it away, then looked down at her skirt, raising her eyebrows cheekily as she slid down its zip, dropping the skirt to the floor and kicking it off-stage. Now she was wearing nothing but her underwear and shoes. The red hanky was relentless. It appeared again in her hand and once more she folded it into extinction. The trick was simple, something a precocious six-year-old could master, but I was mesmerised. I shook my head, a smile working its way across my face as her bra and knickers each hit the deck in turn and she stood before us naked. I got to my feet, ready to applaud, but she wasn’t finished yet. The naughty magician glanced down at herself, put her hand towards her sex and once more drew forth the red scrap of material. She flung her hands in the air, made the hanky vanish for the last time and bent into a bow. There was a dismal mid-afternoon round of applause from the half-empty tables. I got to my feet, started clapping my hands as hard as I could and cheered. Shaz and Jacque smiled at me, pleased I’d enjoyed their joke. They couldn’t know that it wasn’t the handkerchief trick I was applauding, but another more spectacular illusion. Sylvie looked in my direction and our eyes met.

We were the only people in the dressing-room. Sylvie cleared a space amongst the discarded fragments of costumes — the used tissues, abandoned makeup, kirby grips and hairbrushes — and pulled herself up onto the counter with her back to the mirror. I drew up a chair and sat opposite her. The sign above Sylvie’s head said

NO SMOKING.

She took a pack of cigarettes from her robe and offered me one. I sparked both of us up. She inhaled and gave me a smile through the smoke.

'So, William, mad at me?'

I thought for a long moment, keeping my eyes on her face.

'I should want to kill you.'

Sylvie pulled the lid from a can of hairspray, flicked her ash into it and gave the smile that had dazzled me in Berlin. It was still worth seeing.

'I guessed you’d wash up in London.'

'Is that why you came here?'

'Perhaps.'

'Perhaps?'

Sylvie shrugged.

'It’s a small world, smaller business. I guessed we’d run into each other sooner or later.'

Disbelief caught in the back of my throat.

'You guessed we’d run into each other?' She drew on her cigarette and her eyes narrowed against the smoke.

'You could of found me William, if you’d cared to look.' She laughed and held her hands out, indicating the tawdry room. 'Seek and you shall find.'

'Have you any idea of what you did to me, Sylvie?' I shook my head, stumbling for words. 'Christ, I don’t know what to ask first. Why or how? How? How did you manage it?'

Sylvie smiled wearily.

'Smoke and mirrors, auto-suggestion. I primed you, planted the seed that everything was going to go wrong, then when Dix set off the effect you believed it. You were on your knees and in shock practically before I hit the deck.'

'I still don’t understand. Why Sylvie? Did I do something to deserve it?'

She looked at her feet and wiggled her toes.

'Do you think we get what we deserve? No, you didn’t deserve it. It was necessary. The show was the price Dix had to pay to clear his debts.'

'Then why not let me in on it? I thought I’d killed you.' I added emphasis to my words. 'I thought I was a murderer. Have you any idea how horrible that feels?'

'I guess not.' She raised her head. 'Sorry, William, your reaction was central to the effect.' She smiled. 'You couldn’t have faked it.'

My voice was bitter.

'No, I guess not.'

Sylvie sighed.

'Dix got out of his depth. The men he was in debt to wanted to make a tape that would recoup what he owed and punish him at the same time.' She leant over and touched my hand. 'You were the opposite of a murderer and I was grateful… very grateful. I made Dix leave you a whole bunch of money.'

I slid my hand from under hers.

'Money I thought was covered in your blood.' Sylvie looked at her feet again and I asked, 'So Dix made on the deal?'

Her voice took on a brittle, jaunty tone.

'You know Dix, always an eye to an angle. For every official watcher there’ll be others in the wings, for every video there’ll be a dozen copies.'

The thought of the episode captured on countless tapes, trapped in the worldwide web, sweated over by an infinite audience of nameless viewers struck me. The realisation must have shown in my expression because Sylvie said, 'Don’t worry, the only face on show is mine.'

I forced my voice calm.

'How is Dix?'

Sylvie looked away.

'He’s fine.'

'A rich man?'

She smiled.

'You know money, it has a habit of evaporating.'

'Hence…'

I looked around at the dressing-room.

'Yes,' she smiled. 'Hence.'

'So,' I asked the question I’d wanted to know the answer to even in the first shock of our reunion, 'Dix is here with you?'

Sylvie nodded.

I said, 'Send him my regards.'

'You are mad at me, William.'

I shrugged.

'No, I’m not mad. I was, but I’m not now.' I got to my feet. 'Take care of yourself, Sylvie.'

She took a last drag and looked at me. For a second I thought she might ask me to stay, but instead she stubbed her cigarette out in the makeshift ashtray and gave me her special smile, the one that could have had them cheering all the way to the gods.

'You too, William.'

I closed the door of the dressing-room and walked out of the club, into the late-afternoon bustle of Soho.

Sheila Montgomery once said that if her sister turned up alive and well she would be tempted to kill her for all the pain she had caused. I knew now that wasn’t true. The revelation of Sylvie’s betrayal hurt, but it didn’t hurt as much as when I thought I’d killed her. I’d entered the club a murderer and left it absolved. That had to be worth a celebratory drink.

There was a decent pub close by that kept the racing on TV all afternoon. I turned the corner and started to walk towards it, the memory of Sylvie’s smile shining sweet and sad in my head.