The Lover's Children

Chapter 101 – Summer’s Inferno – Part 11

KLEMPNER

The shadows lengthen and, Michael strolling beside me, we head for the Sapphire Club.

“You’re sure you’re good doing this?" I ask. “I’m not aiming to cause trouble between you and Jenny.”

“Sure I’m sure. I’m happy to help. But thanks for asking.” He chuckles. “Charlotte’s fine. She knows

what this is about. She also knows that I’m no stranger to the sight of female flesh. I suspect there was

a certain amount of going through the motions in order to make a point.”

He blows out his cheeks. Already, his blond hair is dark with sweat. His forehead shines and a trickle

gleams down from his neck to vanish below the open top of his collar. “Wish we could lose this freakin’

humidity.” Slipping off his jacket, he slings it over a shoulder. “It feels more like the air’s for slicing than

breathing.” Damp streaks down his linen shirt between his shoulders.

He’s not wrong. The evening’s hot. Despite the darkening sky and the advancing hour, it’s no cooler.

Quite the opposite. The air feels viscous, almost too thick to breathe. On the plus side, the weather

makes it easy to wear casual loose clothing and shoes. Easy to move in. Easy to run in. I made a point

of wearing soft-soled trainers.

Easy to walk quietly in.

“You ever been to this Sapphire Club?” I ask. “Perhaps before you were married?”

He snorts. “No. I’ve never needed to pay for my kicks. At the clubs I did attend, there was always some

girl happy to display her talents.”

Silence seems the best reply to that. After a moment, he continues, “So, is there something specific

you want me to do? Or d’you just want an extra pair of eyes around the place?”

“I’d like you up front and visible, by the bar, hanging out with the customers and the hostesses. Turn up

the charisma. You’re good at that. Get the gossip.”

He Hmmms and nods. “And you?”

“I plan to watch from that quiet corner that’s reserved for me. If this Lily’s stalker really is my man,

there’s a chance I might be recognised if he spots me.”

Michael shoots me a look, brows drawn. “It’s a pretty small chance, isn’t it? He didn’t see you surely?

When you followed him before?”

“Perhaps, but why take the risk when there’s no need? You cover the front. Draw the eye. I’ll fade into

the background and watch what develops.”

He sucks at his teeth, head rocking slowly. “And if you do see him?”

“I’ll follow. Find out where he goes. What he does.”

“Want me to join you?”

“No. You’re too noticeable. I’m better by myself for that. But keep your phone handy.”

“You really think this is going to be your man?”

“I think there’s an excellent chance it’s him.”

*****

MICHAEL

The area’s not exactly uptown, but it’s by no means bottom-of-the barrel, at least around the top end of

the road where we arrive. It looks the kind of place ordinary folks work during the day or come out for

the evening: budget outlets, a late-night liquor store, bars, cafes and restaurants, a cinema…

It’s all perfectly normal. Windows are cleaned. The fingerplates on doors are polished. Someone’s

made an attempt at scraping up the pizza-shaped remains of gum from the sidewalk outside the

cinema.

And I’m here helping in the hunt for a serial killer.

It’s surreal.

The height of the year, and despite the late hour, it’s only barely dusk, but a couple of hundred yards

further along, a sign glows against the evening. Sapphire Club! Exotic Dancers! All Kinds of Girls! All

Beautiful!

A classic ‘heavy’ type mans the entrance. “You booked?”

I paint on my casual face. “We’re expected. Danielle invited us.”

He looks between us. “Both of you?” He smirks. “Hope you're going to give her a decent tip.”

Beside me, Klempner shifts, growling low, but I tap my hand to his. “You can be sure she’ll be well

taken care of.”

“I'm sure you will.” He gives us a quick nod, pockets two twenties, then opens the door to admit us.

Klempner stalks inside. “I’d like to wipe that fucking smirk off his face.”

“Cool it. Don’t you think you might have smiled?”

He grimaces. “Maybe.”

“So, let it drop.”

A shabby lobby leads through to the main lounge, furnished with the usual accoutrements you’d

expect; bar, stage area, a pole in a separate spot of its own, tables and seating set across the central

floor plus more nested into booths, semi-concealed by screens.

The evening crowd is in. With all the bodies moving around, it would be unbearably hot except for the

blast of the air-con, the hiss audible even over the music playing.

As we arrive, the act on stage, strutting with the music, makes the most of a pair of ostrich plumes as

she strips. Dyed a shocking shade of cerise, they probably covered more on the ostrich than they do on

the girl wielding them. On the other hand, what they covered wouldn’t have been so interesting.

The girl’s not bad looking at all, and of course, she’s performing for an audience. I find myself

comparing her to old friends from my pre-Charlotte days… Chloe used to deliver a mean striptease.

Certainly, by the time she was done, I was always in condition to do justice to her talents.

Thinking about it, that’s what she was doing, stripping for me, the first night James and I played

together. With her.

Wonder how she’s doing now? Content property of NôvelDra/ma.Org.

Perhaps we should take out some time for the clubs again?

Get things a bit more casual…

Might lighten Charlotte’s mood…

I’ll mention it to James…

Klempner, I notice, is, in an understated way, watching me.

Keeping an eye on what I’m up to?

The idea of something so mundane as fatherly concern from Klempner seems unlikely.

I suppress a smile. He has zero cause for worry. The girl on-stage is pretty enough, but she doesn’t

hold a candle to Charlotte.

With a flourish of feathers, she almost, but not quite, bares her all, then whisks off the stage. Moments

later a compere walks on.

“What the hell’s that clown got on his head?” mutters Klempner.

He has a point. A brown hairline at neck level peeps out from under the ginger mass on top. Whoever

the toupée was made for, it wasn’t the silly bastard that’s wearing it.

“What will it be, sir?”

“I’ll have a beer. Larry?”

“Same.”

“Two beers, please.”

Dragging my attention back where it belongs, Silly Bastard is introducing the next act… “… A big

Sapphire Club welcome please for… Danielle!”

A scattering of applause.

“That her? This Danielle of yours?” I murmur.

Klempner’s lips barely move. “Ah-ha. But she calls herself Danny.”

Danny’s act is pretty edgy, certainly displaying everything she has to offer, or at least everything that’s

just this side of legality in a public venue. She’s good. A talented dancer. But dancing doesn’t truly

describe what she’s doing. Still, her audience is made up of the leerers, the drinkers and the apparently

bored.

Wonder how much she makes?

Her eyes roam the floor as she performs, flashing past us, then back again, locking onto Klempner. He

gives her a barely perceptible nod.

As she winds up her performance, instead of retreating behind the curtain, Danny steps down from the

stage, joining us at the bar. Without asking, the barman pours tonic water over ice, then slides the glass

across to her.

“Hi, Larry.” She jerks her head at me. “Who’s your friend?”

Klempner speaks smoothly, and with more charm than I would have expected. “As you say. A friend.

Let me introduce Michael. He’s helping me in that work we were discussing. Michael, Danny.”

I turn on my smile. “Great act. You look good on stage.”

She reacts… Klempner’s gaze flickers between us, humour competing with wariness somewhere

behind his eyes.

“I um… I work out,” she says. “Gotta keep myself looking good.”

“Of course you do. It’s your living. And it shows. You dance really well.”

“Yeah?” Her pupils are widening.

“Yeah. You keep looking after yourself. That way you’ll be dancing for years to come.”

Her smile brightens and she lays fingers on my chest. “Say, maybe sometime you an’ me… Maybe we

could have a coffee… or something… sometime.”

Klempner shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The movement’s all but imperceptible, but it’s

there.

And there’s no need to be rude to the girl.

“Thanks for the invitation. If I were single, I’d love to get to know you better, but I'm married.”

She sighs, pulling a face. “Of course you are. The good ones always are.”

Her manner turns more business-like. She points across the floor to a shadowed corner. “Table number

fifteen’s yours. You can watch from there and not be disturbed.”

“I take it the man you’re suspicious of isn’t here right now?”

“No, but Lily is. She’s getting changed. If you come backstage with me now, I’ll try to get her to talk to

you.”

*****

KLEMPNER

Danny ushers us through the curtain, then backstage. It’s a mess of racks and costumes, mirrors and

trays of cosmetics. A gaggle of women in assorted states of dress and undress chatter. Sometimes the

boundary between dress and undress is unclear.

Leading us past the gaggle, she takes us to a back-room, blocked, one wall to the other, by lockers,

and a woman casually dressed in jeans, tee-shirt and trainers, her long hair tied back in a ponytail.

Danny nudges her. “Lily, this is the guy I was telling you about. I really think you should talk with him.”

She shoots Danny an annoyed look. “I told you, no. I don’t want any trouble.”

“And I’m telling you, you should talk to him.”

Lily heaves an exasperated sigh, turns to me, one arm crooked to her hip. “You’re Larry, I assume?”

“I am. And your friend is right. We need to talk. I’m told you’re concerned about a man who’s been

stalking you?”

She shrugs, looking sullen. “Don’t know that I’d call it stalking.”

“What would you call it?”

“Well…” Her mouth opens and closes… “… he follows me, turns up unexpectedly…”

“Have you invited his company? Encouraged him?”

“No. I’m not interested.”

“And yet this stranger turns up repeatedly?”

“Yes.”

As Lily speaks, I measure her with my eye. Her dancer’s lifestyle shows. She’s tall and well-

proportioned, soft where it counts, although not so full-figured as Mitch or Jenny. Her arms, bare below

the short sleeves of the tee-shirt, are muscular and well-developed. She has the toned body and

movement of the athlete.

Already good features are highlighted by light, understated make-up. A blush of colour at her lips and

cheeks. A trace of liner and mascara. Dark eyes on pale skin hint at a touch of Italian or Spanish in her

blood. What I can see of the tied-back hair is a match to the eyes, dark, fresh and glossy.