Streetwise (7 page)

Ava’s first surprise, as she walked through the door into Beast, was the number of people who were there. Who’d have thought that an exhibition of stuffed animals would have drawn such a crowd? Her second surprise came as her eyes alighted on the good-looking blond man standing by a makeshift bar.

‘Oh, God,’ she murmured, nudging Tash with her elbow.

‘What?’

‘It’s him. It’s Guy Wilder.’

Tash followed her line of sight. ‘So?’

Ava gazed at Wilder as he handed out brightly coloured cocktails. He was surrounded by a group of women, all stylishly dressed and all vying for his attention. ‘So it’s embarrassing, isn’t it? Last time we met, I was with Chris Street – and the two of them were just about ready to kill each other.’

Tash gave a shrug. ‘I shouldn’t worry. He won’t remember you.’

‘Really? Well, thanks for that. It’s good to know I’m so instantly forgettable.’

Tash tilted her head and grinned. She was wearing one of her cuter hats, a bright red pill box with a short net veil. ‘Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t. All I’m saying is that he was probably preoccupied. And anyway, what does it matter? It’s not as though he’s got anything against you.’

‘I suppose.’ But Ava still felt awkward about coming face to face with him again. ‘Look, why don’t you go and get the drinks and I’ll wait here.’

‘Okay, what do you want?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Anything. Surprise me.’ While Tash headed for the bar, Ava began to wander along the cabinets, reading the names of the various exhibits. She wasn’t really interested in the contents, but she took the opportunity to do some people watching and to eavesdrop on their conversations. Morton Carlisle, sporting a tweed jacket and a green bow tie, appeared a few feet away from her and began talking to a middle-aged expensively dressed couple. She could hear him holding forth on the merits of a mounted red fox, on the
exquisite
artistry and
sophisticated
technique.

Ava peered between the couple until she spotted the animal in question. The red fox was standing alert with its ears pricked and its head turned a little to one side. For a second it seemed to be looking straight back at her, its wily eyes staring directly into hers. She felt an odd jolt followed by a pang of sympathy for the remains of the creature trapped forever inside its glass cage. She wondered how it had died, if it had been fast or slow, and if it had even understood the concept of mortality.

The view of the fox was obscured as the middle-aged woman shifted position. Ava looked across the gallery towards the bar, wondering where Tash had got to with the drinks. There was no sign of her. Guy Wilder was now chatting with a slender, elegant black man and an older grey-haired guy in a suit. His female entourage lurked to one side, waiting – or so she surmised – for an opportunity to join him again.

As Ava watched, the older guy moved and turned his head slightly. It was then that she thought that she recognised him. But she couldn’t quite place the face. It niggled away at her, her frustration growing by the second. Who was he? Not wanting to be caught staring, she walked along a row of cabinets, pretending to be absorbed in a display of freshwater fish. It was only as she surreptitiously lifted her gaze again, that she suddenly realised. Yes, she’d got it – he was the bloke she’d seen outside the Hope. It was! It was the Russian man, Borovski, the man Chris had bought the falcon for.

Ava frowned. There was, she knew, no reason why the Russian
shouldn’t
be here – he obviously had an interest in taxidermy – but something smelled wrong. He seemed very pally with Wilder. Their body language, their easiness with one another, made her certain that they’d known each other for some time. But so what? Just because Wilder and Chris were at loggerheads didn’t mean that Borovski couldn’t have an amiable relationship with them both. And yet…

Ava drifted along with one eye on the cabinets, the other on the Russian.
Don’t get involved
, she told herself. Chris Street was old enough and smart enough to take care of himself – he didn’t need her watching out for him. She was paid to be his driver, nothing else. But still her gaze kept flicking towards the two men. They were laughing now, slapping each other on the back, enjoying a private joke. Could she really say nothing to Chris? Was it better or worse to keep her mouth shut about what she was witnessing?

A waitress walked by with a tray full of cocktails. As Tash still hadn’t come back, Ava grabbed a glass containing something as red as her friend’s hat, thanked the girl and took a few quick sips. Cranberry and some kind of liqueur, she thought. Well, whatever it was, it slipped down nicely. What to do next? Ava was in two minds as to whether to continue her spying activities or to move to another room when she turned to find herself standing right in front of Morton Carlisle.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Miss… er…’

‘It’s Ava, Ava Gold.’

‘Indeed,’ he said, as if he had once known her name and it had only temporarily slipped his mind. ‘How nice to see you again. Thank you for coming today.’ His eyes slid away from her and made a quick nervous survey of the surrounding area. ‘And is, er… is Mr Street with you?’

‘No, I’m here with a friend.’ She found herself glancing around for Tash, but she was nowhere to be seen.

‘Ah,’ he said, relief spreading over his face. ‘And you’re enjoying the exhibition?’

‘Yes, it’s very…’ Ava scrabbled for a suitable response. ‘Very inspirational.’

‘Indeed,’ he said again, clasping his hands together. ‘I’m so glad.’

‘Absolutely,’ Ava said, trying to edge away from him. ‘And there’s so much more to see. I’d better get on. I don’t want to miss anything.’

Morton gave a small bow, releasing her from his attention.

Ava moved off with a sense of relief. She didn’t care for Morton Carlisle, although she couldn’t say exactly why. It was a gut reaction, something that came from deep within her. He was like a shudder under her skin. He reminded her of darkness, of nightmares, of creepy things that went bump in the night.

Slowly skirting around the main room, Ava made her way closer to the bar. The Russian was still talking to Wilder although others had joined them now. Had she been wrong about what she’d seen? She loitered by a cabinet of snakes, pretending to make a study of the leathery-looking reptiles. The last thing she wanted to do was to stir up trouble. But if she kept silent and Borovski
was
closer to Wilder than Chris realised…

‘Ah, here you are!’

Ava, lost in her thoughts, whirled around to find Tash and another girl standing behind her.

‘We’ve been looking all over for you,’ said Tash, as if Ava was the one who’d done a disappearing act rather than herself. There was no sign of the drinks she had gone to get; either she had never reached the bar or the cocktails had been drunk along the way. ‘This is Lydia. She’s been a real sweetheart, introducing me to everyone. You wouldn’t believe the people who are here today. God, if I could get a few commissions for my hats it would really make a difference.’ She paused and then quickly added, ‘Oh, Lydia, this is Ava.’

‘Hi,’ Ava said.

‘Sorry,’ Lydia said. ‘I didn’t realise Tash was with anyone or I wouldn’t have kept her so long. Have you been okay?’

‘Fine, thanks. I’ve just been checking out the exhibits.’

‘Seen anything you liked?’

‘Oh,’ Ava said, not wanting to offend. ‘This and that.’

Lydia smiled at her. She was a slight, pretty girl with silky blonde hair and wide blue eyes. ‘It’s okay, you don’t need to be polite. I know it’s not to everyone’s taste.’

Tash spotted someone she knew and waved to them across the room. ‘Oh, there’s Amanda,’ she said. ‘I’m just going to nip over and say hello.’

As Ava watched her disappear again, she found herself thinking of that nice comfy sofa that she’d sacrificed – and all the delights of trashy afternoon TV. So much for Tash needing company; she could have easily come on her own! Her gaze flicked over to settle on Wilder again. If she hadn’t let Tash persuade her into coming, she’d have never seen the exchange between him and Borovski, and wouldn’t have had to decide what, if anything, to do about it.

Lydia saw her looking and said, ‘That’s Guy Wilder. Would you like me to introduce you?’

‘What? Oh, no. No thanks.’

‘Gosh,’ Lydia said. ‘I think you’re the first woman who’s ever turned that offer down!’

Ava gave a thin smile. ‘Yes, he does seem kind of popular, but we’ve already met… sort of.’ She glanced over at Wilder again, remembering what her dad had told her. It was hard to imagine how a man so outwardly handsome could harbour such inner resentment. ‘And he is very good-looking. It’s just that… to be honest, he’s not really my type.’

‘I suppose you’re immune to his charms.’

Ava frowned, not understanding. ‘Immune?’

‘Well, you know, with you and Tash being…’

It took Ava a moment to realise what she was saying, and then she laughed. ‘Oh, we’re not… we’re not a couple, just flatmates, nothing else.’

Lydia’s cheeks flushed pink. ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean… I thought… Jesus, I’m always putting my foot in it.’

Ava laughed. ‘You haven’t. Don’t worry about it.’

Lydia looked down at the floor and then up again. She pulled a face. ‘Now I feel like a complete idiot.’

‘Don’t. It doesn’t matter, honestly.’ Ava had intended to make her excuses and leave – Tash clearly wasn’t in need of her support – but she didn’t want Lydia to think that she’d taken offence. As such, she felt an obligation to stay on for a little small talk before heading for the door. ‘So, have you worked here for long?’

Lydia shook her head. ‘Only a few months. I moved here in July. It’s interesting, though. I like it.’ She leaned in and lowered her voice. ‘Well, most of the time. To be honest, Morton’s a bit odd, but I think he’s harmless enough.’

Ava grinned at her. ‘Are you sure about that?’

Lydia bared her teeth in a half-grimace. ‘I hope so. Hey, have you seen the Rogue’s Gallery yet? Why don’t you come and take a look.’

Ava, who was now yearning more than ever for that sofa, suddenly found herself being led towards the rear of the room. So much for making a quick escape. Still, Lydia seemed nice enough, if a little nervous, and she had the cocktail to finish. She drank the last inch as they squeezed through the crowd and then she placed the empty glass in a handy space between two cabinets.

The Rogue’s Gallery was in a completely separate room to the rest of the exhibition and Ava’s eyes widened as she went inside. The cabinets in this area did not contain real animals at all, but ones that had been created using the body parts of several different species. Some were mythical like dragons, griffins or unicorns; others were works purely of the artist’s imagination.

‘A lot of taxidermists don’t approve of this,’ Lydia said. ‘They don’t consider it
real
taxidermy. But it’s kind of interesting, don’t you think?’

Ava wasn’t sure what she thought. It was like stepping inside another universe, where creation had taken a completely different path. There was a rabbit with wings, a two-headed lamb, a fish wrapped in squirrel fur. Some of the exhibits were just plain strange, others faintly frightening, like the rat with three tails pulling the bloody entrails from its own stomach. ‘It’s certainly weird,’ she murmured.

Lydia tilted her head and gazed through the glass. ‘Yes, they are a bit bizarre. They remind me of a book I used to have when I was a kid, all about fantastical creatures, mermaids and the like.’

The room was busy, but above the buzz of conversation Ava was convinced she heard Guy Wilder’s voice. She swung around, her eyes scanning the crowd, but he wasn’t there. Had she just imagined it? As she slowly turned back towards the cabinets, her gaze came to rest on the rat again. She wrinkled her nose, not wanting to look and yet feeling oddly compelled to do so. And then, from somewhere deep inside her, she was assailed by a sudden sense of dislocation, a notion that nothing and no one were what they appeared to be. She wrapped her arms around her chest, but it was too late. A coldness was already seeping into her bones.

Vic Delaney stood by the side of the swimming pool, pushed his hands into his pockets and scowled down at the water. An empty cheese-and-onion crisp packet was floating on the surface, bobbing around, shifting from one place to another as the wind caught its edges. He thought about getting the net from the pool house and fishing it out – but why should he? It wasn’t his job. That was what he employed the bloody staff for. Not that any of them earned their wages; a pile of lazy, good-for-nothing skivers the whole fuckin’ lot of them.

Vic wasn’t in a good frame of mind. He’d woken up in a temper that morning and, like a festering sore, it had been growing worse ever since. Now he was just about ready to blow his top. Walking over to the small metal table, he picked up the glass of brandy, knocked it back in one and refilled the glass.

It was starting to sleet again and still he didn’t go inside. The cold evening air made him shiver and the booze wasn’t good for his blood pressure – he’d been told to lay off the alcohol by his doctor – but he wanted to stay angry. Anger was his fuel for getting things done and something had to be done about Danny Street. In his mind, he went over the meeting with Terry, his hackles instantly rising. Who the hell did he think he was, giving him advice on what to do?
Just leave them to it.
Jesus, what kind of a response was that? Danny Street was a nutter, a druggie, a fuckin’ weirdo, and he didn’t want him anywhere near his daughter.

Vic lit a cigar – another vice that had been banned by his doctor – and began pacing impatiently round the pool. He kept his eyes fixed on the crisp packet as if it represented everything that was wrong with the world. He thought about Silver and slapped a hand against his thigh. She wasn’t a bad kid. She was just easily led. And not having a mother hadn’t helped either. What kind of a woman just took off like that, leaving her child behind? A bitch, he decided, a selfish shitty bitch. And okay, so the marriage hadn’t exactly been perfect, but blood was blood and nothing should get in the way of it.

‘Boss?’

Vic turned and glared at the man who had just stepped out from the open French doors that led into the living room. ‘What time do you call this?’ he snarled. ‘I said six. Ain’t you got a fuckin’ watch?’

‘It is six, boss,’ he said.

Vic lifted his wrist, screwing up his eyes as he peered at the dial of his own watch under the dim pool lights. It was true, it was six o’clock exactly, but that only annoyed him all the more. Even the fuckin’ time was conspiring against him. ‘What you got for me, then?’ he snapped. ‘What’s going down?’

Raynard, who was used to his employer’s irascible moods, didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘No change,’ he said. ‘She’s still hanging out with Street. Only one odd thing; last night the two of them went to a shop on Kellston High Street, place called Beast.’

‘Beast?’

‘Yeah, they sell stuffed animals. And the shop was closed. It was after nine. They had to ring the bell to get in. They stayed for about twenty minutes.’

‘Who’d they meet there?’

‘Can’t say for sure, boss. I reckon it was the owner who let them in – a bloke called Morton Carlisle – but there’s no knowing who else was inside. No one came out before them though, so I reckon it might just have been those three.’

Vic puffed hard on his cigar, coughing as the smoke invaded his lungs. ‘What do we know about this Carlisle geezer?’

‘Not much at the moment. I’ve put a few feelers out, but it’s early days yet. He’s in his sixties, been in the trade a long time. He opened the shop in Kellston a couple of years back. That stuff’s becoming popular again, all the rage apparently. There’s money in it now.’

Vic frowned, trying to figure out what the angle was. What the hell was Danny Street up to? He glared at Raynard again, but only because he had no one else to take his frustration out on. In truth, Raynard was the only person he trusted these days. Vic had inherited him from an old pal, a Clacton villain called Badger Campbell. Badger had managed to get himself garrotted by a rival gang, and Raynard – not wanting to end up on a cold slab beside him – had decided to hotfoot it to London and take his chances elsewhere. That had been three years ago and Vic had never regretted hiring him.

‘You want me to have a word with Carlisle?’ Raynard asked.

Vic thought about it, but then shook his head. ‘Nah, not yet.’ Raynard, despite his slim build, was very persuasive when it came to ‘talking’. What he lacked in muscle, he made up for in sheer sadism. He liked to hurt people and to do it slowly. ‘Let’s try and find out what the fuck’s going on first.’

‘Okay, boss.’ Raynard gave a nod. ‘And Terry Street? What about him?’

Vic snarled, his upper lip curling to reveal a row of brown stained teeth. He was still seething about the conversation that had taken place at Belles. Disrespectful, that’s what Terry had been – and no one disrespected Vic Delaney and got away with it. ‘Let’s go inside before we freeze our bollocks off. We’ll talk about it there.’