Killer Tease @page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } © Danny Hogan 2009 � All rights reserved � No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. � First published in Great Britain by Pulp Press � All paper used in the printing of this book has been made from wood grown in managed, sustainable forests. � ISBN13: 978-1-906710-41-5 � Printed and bound in the UK Pulp Press is an imprint of Indepenpress Publishing Limited 25 Eastern Place Brighton BN2 1GJ � A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library � Cover design by Alex Young � www.brainofalexyoung.com � � Acknowledgments I wouldn’t have got this far had it not been for the support of my mum, dad and family; the O’Neills, the Burkes, the Deutroms, the Pulmans and the Big Modge. Thanks to Umi Singh who taught me the ropes of creative writing at the University of Sussex.� Thanks also to my mates who helped out when I had nothing: Nicola, Rebecca, Alex, Nathalie, Wayne, Katie, Emily Jane, Amy and Crazy Chris Clarkson. A special shout out goes to the old school boys, Tarik, Brian, Jimmy Ovens, Steve Gundog, Herve� and all of Deadline, The Business, The Last Resort, Agnostic Front, Madball, Knuckledust and Ninebar for maintaining a little of the good old past in the present. Especially, thanks to the good folks at Indepenpress for giving me a chance. For Kim � 1 Most men were useless, that was Eloise Murphy’s thinking. So when the square-faced, blond, short-back-and-sides sporting bloke tried to pull her after her set, she felt nothing but revulsion. The guy said a whole lot of nothing for a full ten minutes, waving a roll-up around to punctuate his sentences and smirking constantly. In her eyes it was one of the clumsiest displays of misdirection Eloise had ever seen. As he was waving his right hand around with the roll-up in, she watched him drop something into a tumbler of booze with his left and pass it to her. She took the glass graciously and then smashed it into his face, grinding until she could feel bone and hear him squeal like the bitch he was. Looking down at him as he writhed around the floor clutching his face, blood seeping between his fingers, she raised a stiletto above his face and readied herself to finish him off. The other Burlesque dancers who were not on stage at the time laughed or shook their heads. The customers who witnessed the scene reeled with horror, some vomited. She was vaguely aware of the confusion behind her but didn’t see a man come up from behind. He grabbed her arm and dragged her to a darkened corner, away from prying eyes. �ŚChrist sake, Eloise,’ he said. �ŚThat’s the last time.’ �ŚThat pillock was trying to get fresh or something, Charlie,’ said Eloise, �Śhe dumped a pill in my drink. You would have done the same thing; if you had any balls.’ �ŚListen�Ś’ Eloise did not like the serious tone Charlie took. �Ś�ŚI’m going to have to let you go.’ �ŚWhat the hell you talking about? I’ve been doing gigs here for four years.’ �ŚWe’ve had a good go with you, we really have, but let’s face it; Burlesque these days is a young wo-man’s game. I have a crew of eighteen-year-olds fresh out of Roedean who are chomping at the bit for their turn. You’re pushing thirty now; you’re close to being washed-up. It’s time to call it a day now while you still have some dignity.’ Her hands formed fists and rage soaked through her like meeting an old friend who was a bad influence. �ŚYou bastard.’ Charlie signalled over to a couple of hefty bouncers who walked over and flanked him. �ŚEloise, what you want me to say? That’s the second customer you’ve battered this month.’ �ŚYou should be more bloody careful who you let in then. Besides, the rule is I dance, the punters watch, they don’t touch. None of these dicks have the right to touch me and if these fat bastards,’ she gestured at the bouncers, �Śdid their jobs I wouldn’t have to defend myself.’ �ŚAll right, I’ll put it plain for you,’ began Charlie. �ŚI’ve found an investor who wants to make some changes around here. You’re getting old and you’re too earthy for the kind of punters we want to start bringing in. The new girls share the same social background as the clients, they feel more comfortable, disadvantage gives them the creeps. Above all, the new girls show way more. These days people want to see what they pay for; the whole shebang, not a hint of tit.’ �ŚBut that’s the nature�Ś’ �ŚEloise, get your bag, get your coat, you’re gone. Non negotiable.’ With that Charlie, the man who had promoted her for four full years, strode away with his bouncers packed tightly around him. She felt empty; trapped in a void. The club was packed but everyone seemed a hundred miles away from her. The fact that she was still in her sequinned pasties and underwear made the situation seem worse. Backstage, an area where she had been boss, the atmosphere felt cold and unfamiliar. It would have been a plain galley of a room with harsh strip lights, peeling white wallpaper and a musty smell, had it not been for the furnishings. Dressing tables with large, lightbulb ringed mirrors thronged the walls to the left and the right of the entrance. Piles of garishly coloured boas, large feather fans and bespoke corsets hung from every inch of available space. Tubes, powders, creams, elixirs, potions, wipes and all manner of beautification paraphernalia were scattered or neatly stocked across each dressing table. Discarded clothes and shoes formed canyons around the floor. The new girls who had, until last week, been studying maths and English in their privileged public schools, kept their backs to her as they muttered between themselves and applied their garish make-up. Eloise briefly considered laying into them. It’d be easy; she’d go through them like a bad curry. But thought better of it; she didn’t have the energy. On the backstage CD player they were playing what Eloise took to be some girl group warbling away for all they were worth. She wrenched the CD out, threw it to the floor and put in her favourite Agnostic Front compilation and pressed play. The other girls turned around to look; Eloise glared back at them and waited. Nothing happened. They just turned back around and muttered more quietly to one-another. As Eloise was getting into her day clothes� (dark blue vintage jeans, a red and white gingham shirt and a pair of black brothel creepers) Jolene May, a six-footer who had been around for nearly as long as she had, entered the dressing room. �ŚI just heard,’ Jolene said to Eloise. �ŚI can’t believe it, Charlie is such a git. I had a right go.’ �ŚYeah well, ain’t much I can do about it. He had his goons around him the whole time.’ �ŚListen, if there’s anything I can do?’ Eloise turned around as she fixed a red bandanna around her jet-black hair. �ŚCan you get me a gig somewhere?’ �ŚYou know that’ll be pretty hard to do, what with your reputation.’ �ŚThis used to be a decent game,’ Eloise said, fastening the bandanna. Jolene leant forward and peered at herself in Eloise’s mirror, rectifying an errant smudge of lipstick. Eloise hugged her friend and gave her a kiss on the cheek. �ŚKeep in touch yeah,’ she said as she grabbed her bag and bomber jacket and left. The street was damp with rain as she found herself alone in the cold night air. Walking the short walk down Preston Street to the seafront, she passed another group of the new 18-year olds from Roedean. �ŚWe’re in town now, so you and the rest of those old ladies had better get used to it,’ one of them said as she walked by. Eloise stopped, dropped her bag and turned. For this girl who dared speak to her so, her short career was over. 2 Waking the next morning, Eloise felt a rough but affectionate tongue being dragged across her face. When she opened her eyes she found herself staring into the sly face of her Devon Rex cat, Sinatra. Then all she felt was agony. It could have been the Full Moon or the Mash Tun or even the Great Eastern, wherever it was Eloise had gone to drown her sorrows she couldn’t quite remember. All she knew for sure was that she had one hell of a hangover. Disjointed images filled her mind of drink after drink after drink and a lot of shouting, swearing and singing. She grabbed the hem of her quilt and tugged it over her head. Lying there for what felt like an age, her booze-addled brain tried to make sense of it all. A loathsome wave of self-pity bore down upon her and upset her already churning stomach. She struggled to get a grip. A lifetime of taking care of herself was her proud legacy and she wasn’t about to go looking for someone else to share the burden or help her out now. She grabbed Sinatra, who let out a feline whinge, by the scruff and placed him on the floor. Getting out of bed, she threw some clothes on and left her Kemp Town flat to brave the walk to the Co-Op on the corner to pick up some croissants. Back home, Eloise laid her small dining table with fresh coffee, orange juice, the croissants and a cold glass of water with two codeine tablets dissolving in it and sat down for breakfast. As she drank and ate she tapped a pen against a pad and began writing a plan-of-action. Listing all the venues that hosted Burlesque nights that she wasn’t barred from, she ended up with three places. For her it was a good effort; she was never one for making lists anyway. She brought the pen up to her lips and closed her eyes. She had to perform again. Sure, she had her day job at the glorified sex shop she worked in during the week but dancing was her reason to be. The truth was she was not really good at anything else. School had been a waste of time. While everyone fought for university places or work experience in accountancy firms she had never really thought of anything she had wanted to do. Until, that was, she saw some old pictures of Gypsy Rose Lee in a retro store one day and that was it. For her it wasn’t the overt sexuality; it was beauty, style and class in its purest form. After showering, she got dressed in a pair of capri jeans, a rare Brutus button-down shirt, a blue bandana, a pair of Sambas and huge pair of black sunglasses. She was particularly proud of the Brutus; a lucky find on eBay, not some Top Shop knock-off. She watered her collection of carnivorous plants with carefully collected rain water and left to go into town. She loathed Brighton in daylight. It was Saturday and the sun was out. The whole damned town seemed to be heaving with estate agents on their day off. Smackheads, tramps, ne’er-do-wells and morbidly obese women of low-calibre with their armies of grubby offspring formed the other half of the population. Trudging around in the heat with a steaming hangover, surrounded by plebeians, painful feet, stomach in agony, getting rejected by the three venues she had listed. The day was turning into a catastrophe. There was no point in getting in contact with any of the Burlesque troupes based in Sussex. To them Eloise was an infamous journeyman, a loose cannon. A piece who wouldn’t do what she was told and was quick and savage in discouraging the punters from getting any ideas. In the Laines she picked up a flyer advertising The Wrongful playing a gig at the Albert that night. She pulled out her phone and gave Hunter Steadman, the lead singer, a call and they arranged to get together in the Office pub for a drink as he also happened to be somewhere in the Laines towards Trafalgar Street. The Office had a few fools hunched over their drinks and chattering to each other but the beer garden was practically empty. Eloise watched as the ice cubes bobbed around in her pint of cider. She looked up at her skinny friend, with his shaved head and aviator sunglasses; a strange choice of accessory for him. �ŚYou’re playing at the Albert tonight, right?’ she asked, taking a sip of her beverage. �ŚYeah, it’s a shithole I know, but we sell the place out. Agnostic Front played there once.’ Hunter always seemed nervous and fidgeted constantly. �ŚYeah I know; I was there. Anyway, I lost Charlie’s gig last night, didn’t I, and I think he’s bloody blacklisted me.’ �ŚOh really?’ said Hunter as he quivered and fidgeted. �ŚJesus. Anyway I need a stage, so how about I open the show for you, you know, warm the crowd up a little.’ �ŚFor free?’ he said, his eyebrows appearing above the rims of his sunglasses. �ŚNo.’ �ŚOh.’ �ŚInstead of doing one of your lame, run-of-the-mill gigs�Ś’ �ŚOi!’ �Ś�Śyou could make a real show out of it. Maybe even start playing some proper places.’ Eloise smiled as she drank some more of her cider and watched a seagull eating a rotting pigeon in the corner of the beer garden as Hunter twitched and gibbered. The sun was beating down on them and the heat was making Eloise feel microwaved. �ŚWell, we could do with more fit birds in our ranks. Talent’s getting to be a bit low quality these days and some of the lads are complaining,’ Hunter eventually said. �ŚThey,’ said Eloise, pointing at the seagull and pigeon, �Śare birds,’. Hunter flinched at the sight. �ŚWell you know, sure. How’s ten minutes sound; say eight-thirty?’ �ŚGreat,’ said Eloise, draining her pint. They sat in silence for bit, which suited Eloise fine as her head was doing an Irish lap dance. Closing her eyes, she wished everything in the world would stand still for a few hours so she could go home and bury herself back in bed until the evening. �ŚSorry, for being such rubbish company,’ she said, feeling queasy as hell. �ŚThat was a good thing I had going with Charlie and, you know, losing it has stressed me out. Let me get you another drink, OK?’ Hunter pushed his sunglasses up along the ridge of his nose. �ŚYou got anger issues,’ he added, shaking his head and looking down. �ŚTrue story,’ she admitted, clutching her purse and getting up. Returning from the bar, Eloise placed the drinks on the table, looked Hunter dead in the eye and said: �ŚI’m gonna warm that crowd up for you tonight, Hunter. I’m gonna warm them up but good.’ 3 On the way back through the Laines, Eloise bought herself a few CDs from Punkerbunker, a couple of graphic novels from Dave’s Comics and a pot of violas from a florist in an effort to cheer herself up. After a power nap and a cold gin and tonic in a hot bath she began to prepare. Surf rock in the background, black Fifties style underwear, embroidered black pasties with tassels, her six-inch vintage stiletto boots. Most of her show gear was bespoke custom jobs made for her by a French girlfriend of hers in London. She packed a battered antique doctor’s bag with needful things and a change of clothes for afterwards. Hair done, face done, she was good to go. Sinatra was enjoying some much needed petting as the phone call came letting her know that the cab she had ordered was waiting downstairs. And she was off, a pure thoroughbred of the old school; not like these check-book strippers who called themselves Burlesque dancers these days. This was her life and it had taken her years of work to pay her dues the old-fashioned way. Her ink was proof. Full sleeves covered her arms, a large rose on the left side of her neck, a pair of dice on the right, Agnostic Front across her throat and a huge winged beast on her sternum. She got these pieces the traditional way, back-in-the-day when you had to earn your tattoos. Not everyone seemed to understand that Eloise had danced professionally in Vegas, LA and CBGBs in New York in the early nineties when the swing craze was all the rage. She’d followed that up with four years’ dancing in Paris. She had fought tooth and nail for what she had and the metal plates keeping her face together, which got real cold in the winter, served as a reminder. The thought of this caused a pang; she was now reduced to warming up for punk bands thanks to some blonde-haired, blue-eyed rich kids who had never done a day’s work that their daddies’ golf-mates hadn’t organised for them. Sitting in the back of the cab, her fists clenched as that old rage built up inside her chest. Gradually she unclenched and relaxed; she had a show to do. This was business. It was eight twenty-five when she arrived; she had timed it perfectly. Eloise didn’t like being late. The Albert was heaving, all the low-types of Brighton where there; punks, skins, hardcore kids, rockabillies, psychobillies, thieves, whores, hippies, ruffians, panhandlers and gibbering deviants. Grabbing a drink from the bar, she necked it as she walked up the stairs going from the main pub area to the venue. She pushed through the stinking crowd and handed a CD to the wretched looking man working the PA. She placed one stilettoed foot on the stage as the music began to blast out an old rambunctious number. She vaguely heard Hunter calling something like: �ŚWait a minute, we thought you weren’t gonna show.’ On stage with her arms held up and apart, allowing her coat to fall to the deck; her full glory was on display covered in a vintage dress with elbow-length gloves. The crowd stopped whatever foul business they had been up to and now all eyes were on her. She couldn’t give a damn what other people thought of her when she wasn’t dancing, but on stage, chest out, chin up and cheesecake smile, she commanded attention. As the music progressed she ever so slowly pulled the first glove off with her teeth before flailing it around her head. The second glove was then ravelled down her slender, tatooed arm but not after she had turned skilfully about, hinting at removing a more substantial item of clothing. Although she had spent the best part of her adult life training her body her routine was all about her face. With expressions designed to titillate and tease she had the audience’s undivided attention. The face was her character. The supreme device for misdirection; the crowd did not even notice anything else for a moment until her dress fell to the floor. And there she was standing before them in her stockings, authentic Fifties’ knickers and the black sequinned pasties with the long tassels. With her shoulder blades pulled back until it was almost painful, she raised her right arm and thrust her breastworks, or money makers, as she called them. Men and women alike stood dumbstruck; in awe of a body that was built by a strong, never-say-die character and a hell of a lot of heart. Smiling, winking, pouting, hinting, allowing a quick peek; she was more titillating than a thousand dead-eyed cover girls who would show their all for cash and a taste of the highlife. Her right breast began to rotate as if by some unseen force, causing the tassel of the pastie to spin like a propeller. The crowd were now roaring their approval. It didn’t matter to her anymore that this was upstairs at the Albert and not a Vegas lounge or Parisian Review. She was onstage, doing what she did. She had been around long enough to know what routine and for how long. All too soon, her set was over. As she skipped off, and blew a kiss, the crowd cheered and hooted. Pushing past the oncoming band, Eloise grabbed her old doctor’s bag and slipped to the toilets to change into her day clothes. She was not about to spend another second half-naked in front of this lot. 4 �ŚBollocks,’ Eloise muttered as she fought to put her clothes on in the cramped cubicle. She greatly appreciated that there was a mirror in there to straighten herself out in. Posters from the Guardian newspaper plastered to the walls said it all. After what seemed like an age she went back into the venue to watch The Wrongful banging out their old chestnuts. The crowd was going mental and she knew that they were riled-up so because of her. Hunter was thundering around the stage, all limbs and energy, shouting into the microphone. Eloise respected him; he knew how to work a crowd. Nutters and thugs were locked in what looked like a dreadful battle on the dance floor, laughing crazily as they battered each other. A brute of a man in full sailors rig meandered about the place smashing faces and wringing necks in time with the music. After the show Eloise chatted to a few people she knew and went downstairs to the bar to get a drink. She was joined by Hunter. �ŚAnd this is for you,’ he said, waving around a twenty-pound note that looked like it had been minted in the Eighties judging by its wear-and-tear. Tear was the word. It was held together in the middle by a thick strip of yellowing Sellotape and smears of cocaine were visible on its surface. Eloise could hardly believe it. �ŚOh God, is that it?’ she asked. Hunter just looked stupid for a moment before saying, �ŚWhat do you mean? How much do you think we get paid for doing this?’ �ŚOh well,’ she said, whipping the note from his hand and looking balefully at it. �ŚMore where that came from if you’d like. We’re playing the Free Butt on Wednesday.’ She just looked coldly at him. Hunter appeared bemused and hurt. �ŚLook,’ she said putting a hand on his shoulder, �Śthanks for helping me out, I really appreciate it.’ �ŚListen, I’m sure something will turn up, you’ve come back from worse; way worse.’ �ŚI know, I’m just getting tired of having to fight for things all the time is all.’ Hunter put his hand on her arm. �ŚListen, do you want to come around to mine afterwards for a drink and a talk?’ �ŚThanks, but I reckon I’d be shit company again. I think I need to be alone for a little while.’ He gathered his stuff and called out to a few of his band members who were heading towards the door. �ŚListen, you need anything you give me a bell, OK,’ he shouted back to her. Eloise nodded. Sitting at the bar, she stared blankly at the multi-coloured collection of liquor bottles stacked on the back wall. As she spun her drink around slowly in her hand she barely noticed someone sit down next to her. He was a man who definitely did not belong here. He wore what appeared to be a very expensive suit and had hair slicked back into a long pony-tail. He also had orange skin and a smile that had wanker written all over it. But above all, it was night time and he was wearing designer sunglasses in a dark pub. �ŚOh God!’ Eloise said, burying her face in her hands. �ŚHey, I’m not after you, well not in that way anyway.’ Eloise looked back at him; he didn’t look like a bailiff. �ŚWell, what do you want then?’ �ŚI saw you dancing upstairs and I’d like to offer you a job.’ Eloise regarded him with suspicion. If he had been upstairs she would have noticed him all right, he would have stuck out like a Nazi at Diwali. �ŚI represent Napoleon Hammerstein.’ �ŚThat greed-headed bastard who got in the news because of his massive bonus even though the bank he was running failed?’ �ŚGreed-headed�Ś’ he chuckled and straightened his already oh-so-straight hair. �ŚSome people would call him an enterprising man with good negotiating skills and I must say, I don’t like hearing a woman curse. I don’t know, call me old-fashioned, but it just kind of�Śwell it riles me, you know.’ �ŚHere, I’ve got one for you: fu�Ś’ �ŚWhoa there cowgirl,’ he said, holding his sovereign festooned hands up. �ŚLet’s not get off on the wrong foot here.’ He put his elbows on the bar and looked at himself in the mirror behind the bar. His manner was like that of someone’s dad about to bestow advice. �ŚI’ve been in this game a long, long while.’ As if to prove it, he removed his sunglasses to display eyes that carried huge saggy bags and were bizarrely wrinkled compared to the rest of his crease-free orange face. He smirked and continued, �ŚI know what you’re thinking�Ś’ �ŚNo you don’t.’ �ŚYou’re thinking: what’s the man trying to get me into here? Should I trust him?’ �ŚWell you’re quarter-right actually,’ Eloise said draining her drink. �ŚOh really?’ he said, putting his sunglasses back on and grinning. �ŚI was thinking what a dickhead; I shouldn’t trust him.’ His grin disappeared and his top lip shuddered. He pointed at the barman and whistled. The barman ignored him. Eloise was amused at how flustered this seemed to get the dodgy stranger. He rifled in his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash held precariously together by a money clip that was in the shape of a dollar encrusted with diamonds, although it could have been diamante. He tugged a �Ł50 note from the stack and waved it about in front of the barman who had previously been unresponsive. This seemed to do the trick as he strolled lazily over. �ŚA dirty Martini and whatever the lady is having.’ �ŚThat ain’t no lady, that’s Eloise Murphy,’ said the slack-jawed barkeep. �ŚOi!’ Eloise said. �ŚI know who it is, just get the goddamned drinks.’ �ŚYou don’t know me,’ said Eloise. �ŚOh don’t I? Born in Cork, spent your childhood in London; if you could call it a childhood. I could go into more detail than that, like�Ś’ He leant closer to her and whispered into her ear. She could barely breathe. For the first time in fifteen years she felt feeble. �ŚMr Hammerstein is using some of his well deserved bonus to open up a series of specialist gentlemen’s clubs around the country, starting with Brighton. He wants you to be a part of the team and he’s willing to pay very well indeed.’ �ŚWhy me, though?’ Eloise said, distraught at the obvious quiver in her voice. �ŚI think that perhaps you are more in demand than you realise, young lady.’ He flashed a smile that made her skin crawl. �ŚPop by and pay Mr. Hammerstein a visit on Monday when you’ve finished selling dildos and I assure you the past will stay in the past.’ He fished about in the inside pocket of his suit jacket and produced a card. �ŚHere’s the address.’ He pushed it along the bar top towards her; making sure it soaked up every bit of spilt drink as he did so. Necking his drink, he turned and walked out of the door. Eloise picked up the damp card and noticed that it was magnolia and slightly ruffled, the lettering was gold and embossed and read: Napoleon Hammerstein Entrepreneur and Philanthropist God, the pillock. There was also an address on West Street and a red shield with three hammers on it. She didn’t know what to think, all she knew was that she needed a drink. She called over the barman and asked for �ŚA pint of pear cider and a gin and tonic on the side, oh, and if you ever say �śthat’s not a lady” when referring to me again, I’ll cut your damned balls off.’ 5 Twenty minutes after Eloise had thumbed the text to Jolene May inviting her to come out for a drink, she walked into the pub. Accompanying Jolene, to Eloise’s horror, was one of the eighteen-year-old public school dancers; a vacuous looking creature with blonde hair and fresh tattoos. �ŚWhat the fuck’s she doing with you?’ asked Eloise as she hugged her friend. �ŚDon’t worry about Lulu Mae,’ Jolene said, �Śshe’s harmless. She’s new in town and Charlie wanted me to show her around.’ �ŚLulu Mae? Christ!’ said Eloise. Lulu Mae just looked at Eloise and smiled. It was an overconfident smile as if she knew something that Eloise didn’t. �ŚI also wanted to meet the famous old-timer, Eloise Murphy herself,’ Lulu Mae said in an annoyingly high-pitch. �ŚDo you want me to be the last person you ever meet, you little cu�Ś’ said Eloise, lifting herself off the barstool. �ŚWhoa, whoa,’ said Jolene, putting her arm out to hinder Eloise’s progress, �Śthere’s no need for sillies. Anyway Murphy, you might have lost your job but there’s no need to take mine with it; Charlie will give me the boot for sure if I bring damaged merchandise back.’ Eloise got back on her chair. She didn’t like Jolene’s attitude towards the business at times. Referring to the other dancers and even herself as merchandise while kowtowing to the whims of promoters like they were their masters. �ŚWhen I texted you, it was because I wanted a drink with a friend after my shithouse day, not for that friend to come and rub my nose in it by bringing one of the brats along with her.’ Eloise lifted her pint slowly and took a sip, then followed it up with a large gulp of gin. �ŚLook, I had to kill two birds with one stone. What are we gonna do here, drink or what?’ Jolene called over the barkeep in a way that suggested she knew him intimately, and ordered a round. Lulu Mae kept on looking at Eloise, smiling. Eloise just glared back. This whole situation didn’t ring true somehow. She knew that these girls were stupid but, even so, did they really need babysitting now? When the drinks arrived Eloise took a slug of her pint and followed it with another gulp of gin. �ŚYou better watch yourself,’ said Lulu Mae. Choking on her drink, Eloise could scarcely credit what she’d just heard. It was about to get a whole lot worse. �ŚThat’s an awful lot of calories you’re taking in there, and you’re not dancing anymore, or getting any younger.’ Gripping the tumbler of gin Eloise went for her foe but Jolene managed to grab her hand just in time and, although she was tougher than Jolene, she was a lot smaller. Jolene just managed to get the edge on her and force her back in her seat. �ŚI’ll say again Murphy; you ain’t losing me my gigs. I’ll deal with this, OK.’ Jolene tugged Lulu Mae to one side and began talking to her in hushed tones. Eloise sat on her barstool breathing heavily. Jolene’s pretences of authority shook her to the core. They had been more-or-less equals up until now and Jolene was a pushover, normally. Something had changed. She couldn’t make out what they were saying exactly but Jolene seemed to be very stern about it. When they came back from their mutterings Lulu Mae gently put her hand on Eloise’s arm and said, �ŚI’m really sorry, OK? I’m still learning the ropes.’ �ŚTake your hand from me, child.’ �ŚMurphy, give her a break will you.’ Eloise said nothing, continuing to double-fist her drinks instead. As drinks disappeared Eloise watched as the two nattered away about a whole load of nothing like a pair of chickens, but did not contribute herself. The pub was beginning to empty of its clientele when Lulu Mae eventually got up to go to the toilet. Eloise leant close to Jolene and said, �ŚYou shouldn’t have treated me that way in front of her.’ �ŚWhat the hell’s wrong with you, Murphy? You’re getting paranoid; chill out.’ �ŚThat skank fronted me; I was well within my rights to stave her head in off the fucking floor.’ Jolene brought her drink up to her lips and rolled her eyes. �ŚLook, she saw you do exactly that to her mate outside the Engine Rooms earlier�Ś’ �ŚWant some revenge does she?’ asked Eloise ,smacking the bar. �ŚDon’t be silly, like I said she saw you put their poor dumb bitch of a friend in hospital for a couple of weeks. A twig like that would know full well she doesn’t stand a chance.’ Jolene seemed to be looking at herself in the mirror before turning to Eloise. �ŚWe’ve known each other for ever, haven’t we? Do you think I’d bring someone down here if I thought for one second they would try it on?’ Eloise pondered Jolene’s words and behaviour. �ŚLook,’ began Jolene, �Śhow about we go to a late night spot and get wasted. Forget all this nonsense, eh? What do you say?’ �ŚIs that bitch coming, too?’ �ŚWell, yes�Ś’ Eloise stood up abruptly, causing the feet of the barstool to scrape across the floor behind her. �ŚYou’re right, I have known you for a long time; long enough to know when there’s something up.’ Jolene, normally tediously confident in her manner, looked a little rattled. �ŚEither you come clean with me now or I’m out the door.’ �ŚI really don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.’ With that, Eloise grabbed her doctor’s bag and stormed out of the pub, bowling some hapless drunkard out the way as she went. The air was cool and dry as she stood in Trafalgar Street for a moment, half expecting her friend to come out after and explain herself, but she didn’t. A group of lads walked past her, drunk out of their heads and roaring nonsense down the street and she tried to remember the last time she had been carefree. She couldn’t. The next thing Eloise knew, the sound of breaking glass sang out and she found herself face down on the floor. She lifted her head and saw the lads who had previously been in the grips of their simple amusements were looking shocked. She turned the other way and was met by the sight of a boot hurtling towards her. Her reactions were quick and she turned her face away so that the boot smacked off the side of her cranium. She heard what she was sure was a feminine vocalisation but she could not tell exactly what it was or by whom it was made. By the time she gathered her senses she hauled herself up to a sitting position and heard the sound of boots thundering around the corner. Eloise got up but she was dazed and nearly fell back down again. Running around the corner she saw no one, just an eerily empty street which felt like there was a presence but she couldn’t see anybody. Her head hurt and she felt a warm stickiness in her hair. Confused, she reached up and rubbed the back of her head and when she brought her hand back down she saw blood in her palm. Eloise stood there for a while glaring at the blood, which was now dripping between her fingers. Her hands shook as she formed a fist. Somebody was going to pay. She stormed back into the pub pushing past the bouncer, who was turfing people out. Neither Jolene nor her charge was anywhere to be seen. 6 It was nearly seven on Monday evening when Eloise finished her godforsaken day job of �śselling dildos”, as the man had put it on Saturday night. She headed down to the address indicated on the business card, somewhere down West Street practically on the seafront. She actually knew it well. It had a big cinema on one corner. The door was closed and the bar looked empty but as she walked up a man in a black shirt and trousers opened the door and pulled aside a red velveteen chord. He ushered her in and she found herself in a sumptuous environment. The carpets were plush and red and the décor was a tasteful mix of new and vintage. Large seating booths were placed around gleaming tables and the mahogany bar must have been around thirty-foot long. �ŚGo through the door at the back there and up the stairs,’ began the man that let her in, �Śyou’ll find yourself in a corridor lined with doors. Knock on the last door, the one that’ll be facing you; Mr. Hammerstein is waiting.’ As Eloise went to follow the man’s instructions he called back: �ŚOh, Miss. Do not go into any of the other doors.’ She didn’t answer; she was not the type to make promises she couldn’t keep. The corridor had the same red carpet that was in the bar area and the same colour of wallpaper. The doors were all dark brown wood. The silence was overbearing and there was an ominous and claustrophobic feel to the place. As she walked past the doors she felt strangely nervous, butterflies in her stomach began to come to life. She had to stop for a second and get a grip of herself to continue on her way towards the last door that looked further away than she was sure it actually was. Her hand reached up slowly but giving herself a confidence injection, she gave the door a couple of firm thumps. There was no answer but she went in anyway. After the cramped corridor she had not been expecting to find herself in this immense office. The ceiling was at least twenty feet above her and hard backed books lined the walls. Eloise noticed from the spines that most of the books were by the notorious hack fantasy novelist N. Reg Mother, who had founded his own religion that was popular with low-brow celebrities. Again, the same carpet as the bar and the corridor covered the floors and in the centre of the room was the biggest wood and marble desk she had ever seen. Looking out of the far window was the man who had approached her in the pub on Saturday night and sitting at the desk was, who had to be, Napoleon Hammerstein. She had expected a fat balding bastard but instead was met by a scrawny bastard with out-of-control, wiry hair and a badly kempt goatee. �ŚEloise Murphy,’ he said, grinning. Eloise felt instantly at ease; this person was clearly a fool. He reminded her of a pervert who had tried to teach her at school once. �ŚPlease sit down, make yourself comfortable,’ he continued. �ŚMaybe I should ask you to take your clothes off.’ He broke into a long stupid laugh, as did the man at the window. These two were dads for sure. �ŚOK, what’s the gig? When do I start? How much do I get paid and let’s get something straight from the get-go; I don’t do stripping, numb-nuts,’ said Eloise, sitting down gingerly and allowing her bag to slip from her shoulder and fall to the floor. Just to the left of Hammerstein stood a large safe. Eloise wondered if that’s where he kept the lion’s share of his bonus, afraid the tax man would get it and too worried that an offshore bank might crumble under civil upheaval in this insecure day-and-age. �ŚAnd neither would I expect you to,’ said Hammer-stein, in the kind of tone a Frenchman would use, his big bulbous eyes gleaming in a skull that looked a little too small as he rifled with a file on his desk in a clearly theatrical display. �ŚI am opening a club for discerning gentlemen with very special tastes. Your name has been mentioned several times by some of the customers I am hoping to attract, so naturally I am interested in you becoming part of the team here.’ He grinned in a way that didn’t inspire confidence at all. �ŚWhat you offering?’ He slid a slip of paper across the desk at her. She picked it up and looked at it, making sure she maintained a flippant air. It was an air she could no longer keep when she saw what was written on it. If she was careful with her finances, she could afford to finally take it easy and relax. Eloise was, however, not one to be bought no matter how much nearer her dream it would get her. �ŚSpecialist tastes? I don’t like the sound of that one bit.’ Hammerstein didn’t answer; instead he picked up the file in front of him and opened it. He scrutinised its contents seriously for a moment and then gazed at it with a sympathetic expression. �ŚIt always both amazes and horrifies me,’ he began, �Śhow photography can capture things that the human mind dare not conjure.’ Eloise found it hard to breathe again. She knew exactly what he was talking about. �ŚWould you like a peek, my dear?’ he said holding the file out to her. �ŚNo,’ she replied and saw the man at the window grinning as well. Hammerstein’s whole manner changed in a split second. He no longer seemed like the buffoon she had originally took him for; his features appeared darker. �ŚIf something has been befouled then it in turn becomes foul. Thus, Eloise, you are foul. Broken. A broken doll useful only to a very few. I am one of those very few, Eloise, d’ya hear me?’ She struggled harder to breathe. �ŚYou will dance for me every night, the customers can do as they please. Look,’ his mean, angry mouth turned into a leery smile, �Śtouch,’ the smile grew, �Śwhatever they please.’ He sat back in his chair and seemed to relax somewhat. �ŚIf you so much as raise a hand to one of my clients,’ he slammed the closed file on the desk in front of her, �Śthis!’ There was a long horrible silence. Eloise couldn’t say anything and she was starting to feel faint and nauseous. �ŚFurthermore, every night you will come here into my office and thank me.’ She broke into a fit of coughs and felt the overwhelming urge to be sick. 7 �ŚCan I have a glass of water?’ asked Eloise, fighting the urge as best she could. Hammerstein just looked at her with his mouth pursed and hands together. �ŚMay I have a glass of water please,’ he stared at her sternly, �Śsir.’ She was faced by a difficult choice. She hated being sick more than anything but would she just let loose on the floor there and then rather than debase everything she stood for? She felt the bile rising and clamped her eyes shut. If she was sick now, then almost certainly tears would involuntarily stream from her eyes. She decided that looking like she was crying in front of these two was the worst case scenario. �ŚMay I get�Ś’ she blurted �ŚHave, may I have,’ said Hammerstein. �ŚMay I have a glass of water.’ Eloise began to gag. He just looked at her expectantly with his bushy eyebrows raised. �ŚPlease, sir.’ Both men laughed, though a little less energetically this time, and Eloise could just make out that the man at the window had turned around and was looking at her. Hammerstein looked at him, the man looked at Hammerstein, bowed slightly and smiled. The man then walked across the room to a globe and opened it to reveal a drinks cabinet. He poured some water from a bottle into a glass and dumped a couple of ice cubes into it. He walked over to Eloise and handed it to her. Eloise sank the glass noisily; water poured from the corner of her mouth. When she’d finished Hammerstein was again looking at her expectantly. The other man was still next to her. She was unnerved by the fact that her face was level with his groin. �ŚWhat do you say?’ Well, she had her water. �ŚNothing!’ said Eloise, wiping the water away from her mouth. �ŚNot the face,’ Hammerstein said. At that, the man standing next to her smashed his fist into her stomach in one savage movement. Eloise was aware of extraordinary pain and the feeling that her guts were dissolving. All her organs seemed to cease functioning and she slid from the chair onto the floor. Eloise rolled onto her back, desperate to get some air, and the man stepped up beside her and booted her just below her ribs. Pulling off his sunglasses and smiling, he kicked her again. The toe of his shoe was pointed and it felt like a spear was being run through her. Weakly, she curled into a ball but this time he kicked her in the base of her spine forcing, her legs to kick out. In agony, and so desperate for air, she made out the sole of his shoe above her and felt totally helpless. �ŚEnough!’ said Hammerstein, walking around from behind his desk. Through the water in her eyes she could make out that he was a short, skinny man. Hammerstein kicked her legs apart and went down to kneel between them. With all the strength she could muster she fought to take a hold of herself, but it was too late. In one foul instant he smashed his bony knee into her crotch and brought his face close to hers. Through the pain she was overwhelmed by the rank stench of stale coffee. �ŚWe have a deal?’ he said. She could do nothing else but nod. Her eyes were clenched shut and nothing happened for a moment. Then somebody gripped her hair and pulled until she was on her feet. She opened her eyes and realised she was moving towards the door rapidly. She was weak and racked with pain, her legs buckled and she went to fall but was just dragged up by her hair and forced towards the door. �ŚTomorrow eight o’clock, Eloise,’ said Hammerstein. His voice was way behind her so it must have been the man with the ponytail who was presently manhandling her. �ŚDon’t be late.’ With that she was hurled into the corridor with a kick to her arse and her bag smacked her in the head as it followed her out. 8 Eloise lay in the corridor for a few moments in the teeth of pain and humiliation. Her stomach felt like a huge knot, her ribs killed, making breathing in extremely painful, her back felt like it had been cracked, her hair felt like it had been pulled out of its roots and her crotch throbbed like nothing she had ever experienced before. She had quit smoking nearly a year ago but she wanted a cigarette more than anything now. The stuffy corridor was not helping and the walls felt like they were closing in on her. She could hear Hammerstein from inside his office. �ŚShe’s had enough; when she’s gone you leave too. I want to enjoy my orange and I must never be disturbed when I’m eating an orange.’ Eloise had intended to take a quick peek in at least one of the doors but with the thought of the ponytailed-man’s impending approach she was in no mood for it. Getting up slowly, she felt stiff and the walk to where the stairs lead to the downstairs bar took twice as long as it should have. Each step downward caused her to wince and hold her sides and she was practically doubled over. As she descended the air became markedly cooler and she took a moment to draw in as much as she could. The bar was beginning to fill up with a few customers when she finally arrived in it. The people ordering drinks were mainly mean-looking men. Not mean in a hard way, mean in that way a man has when he strives everyday for more cash yet already has bought whatever he wants. Eloise was aware that everyone had stopped what they were doing to look at her. She would have been more bothered but, right now, what she needed was more water. The bar was manned by two staff; a man in his mid-twenties and a girl who looked younger. The girl was looking at her with disgust but the man appeared genuinely sympathetic to the wretched sight he was faced with. Eloise finally made it to the bar and sat down in an effort to rest and get some comfort. But no comfort was to be had; every movement across the seat seemed to inspire more pain. The girl, who was nearest, was just looking at her with hostility. �ŚWater, please,’ asked Eloise. �ŚThere’s a tap on the seafront,’ said the girl. Eloise put her head on the bar in the grips of pain and despair but soon heard a tap running. �ŚWhat are you doing?’ she heard the girl say spitefully. �ŚJust leave it, will you.’ And then something like a glass being pushed towards her on the bar top. She looked up and saw a tall tumbler full of ice and water, condensation running in rivulets down its side. �ŚHere you go,’ he smiled. Eloise was not seduced by looks alone, but there seemed to be a way about this man that she was not familiar with in strangers; sincerity. It was then that she caught sight of herself in the back bar mirror; she could have wept. Her eyes were red and puffy and mascara streaked her cheeks like grubby spiders’ legs. As if he was reading her mind, he held out a piece of tissue paper for her. She did the best she could to clean her face. The man passed her a red drink in a pint glass full of ice. �ŚThanks, what is it?’ Eloise thought about fleeing this place but the draw of a stiff-looking drink was too great. �ŚIt’s a Serbian Ice Tea; white rum, gin, vodka, lemonade and Kalulha.’ �ŚCheers, it’s lovely,’ Eloise said, taking a sip. It was sweet, but not too sickly, and incredibly refreshing. �ŚIt should make you feel better,’ he said as he turned his back to get on with his tasks. The girl behind the bar tutted. She still had a sour look on her face. Eloise had been in many grim resorts in her time but the atmosphere in this luxurious drinking establishment was by far the darkest she had ever encountered. The place was beginning to really fill up but even though the clientele looked wealthy, none of them appeared to be having fun. Nobody smiled or even laughed, they just demanded their drinks and sat in the booths muttering angrily to the people they’d come in with. She was aware of one particular bunch because they kept looking at her and occasionally pointing. They seemed eerily familiar but she could not think for the life of her where from. It was at that point that she decided to leave. � 9 The weather outside was the kind Eloise couldn’t abide; overcast and uncomfortably humid. Everyone in West Street was in a bad mood as if, somehow, the atmosphere from the bar had infected the general population. Taking a long detour, she popped into the Caroline of Brunswick as she knew that’s where Hunter went every night he wasn’t doing a gig. She needed a friend. He still had his aviators on and she realised that this must be his new �śthing”. Hunter periodically adopted a new thing which would come in the form of a phrase, a group, an item of clothing (as in this case) or, back in the bad old days, a drug. �ŚPint a cider and a G&T on the side, judging by the looks of things,’ Hunter said to the barman as Eloise walked towards him. She wanted so badly to relate her experiences at the building on West Street but couldn’t. In the space of a weekend her world was coming apart but what could Hunter do about it, other than listen intently in that nervous, fidgety way of his and then tell her it was going to be all right? �ŚDildo trade not going too well is it?’ �ŚI’ve got some new gigs,’ she began, ignoring his question. �ŚOh, well done, mate,’ he said, suddenly bursting into movement, jumping from his stool and hugging her. �ŚYeah, at that big new club over on West Street where the cinema is.’ He unclasped her and moved back with a bemused expression on his face. Eloise noticed that even the barman seemed to be paying concerned attention. �ŚThat’s one of them bloody lap dancing places, ain’t it?’ �ŚI heard it was a front for one of them posh knocking shops,’ the barman chipped in. �ŚI don’t know,’ said Eloise, grasping her pint and fantasising for a moment that it was Hammerstein’s throat, �Śall I know is I ain’t doing none of that.’ �ŚI don’t know Murphy,’ began Hunter, scratching his head, �Śthey could get you doing your normal stuff and then, one day, they’ll come to you and say that one of the girls has got a sore bum or something and, before you know it, you’re writhing over some yacht-sail-shirted dickhead for twenty quid a time.’ �ŚHe’s right, them places are a slippery slope,’ butted in the barman again. Eloise looked around the pub at all of the paintings of pin-ups on the wall as Hunter and the barman slandered the big club complex on the corner of West Street. All she could think about was getting Hammerstein and that pony-tailed bastard. Getting them, but good. �ŚMurphy, you’re an artist,’ said Hunter, �Śyou don’t need to go down them dodgy avenues. Leave it alone.’ �ŚThey made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.’ The barman smiled slyly and got on with his duties but Hunter seemed to understand. He no longer looked nervous and stopped twitching. �ŚAre you in trouble, Eloise?’ Eloise shook her head. �ŚNothing I can’t handle.’ �ŚListen, you need help; anything at�Ś’ �ŚYeah, I’ll call you,’ said Eloise, finishing her drinks and making her way to the door. It was going to be a long walk home. During the night she couldn’t sleep. It didn’t help that Sinatra kept jumping on her and demanding attention. Eloise barely believed it when she looked over at the clock; seven a.m, the time she usually got up for her run along the seafront before work. That was not going to happen this morning. Eloise lay in bed until she absolutely had to get up or she’d be late for work and although she always walked, this time she took the bus. Mobile disease carriers ferrying the idiot vox populi to their woeful destinations, Eloise thought, and had half a mind to get out her journal and write that down but just couldn’t be bothered. 10 Work was atrocious. The highlight of the day was when some morbidly obese woman tried to return a rabbit that had blatantly been used until its sorry death and then tried to squeeze herself into a corset that was three sizes too small. Eloise watched with detached amusement as the woman grimaced, huffed, puffed and undulated. Miraculously, she managed to get into the skimpy item and looked not unlike a liver sausage that had been squeezed in the middle. The woman turned to Eloise, her cheeks full of blood and sweat dripping from her small down-turned lips, and asked for assistance in tightening it up at the back. Turning from pink to red to purple to green, the woman eventually collapsed in a huge, sweaty, heaving ball of meat with Eloise, boot at the base of the woman’s spine, pulling for all she was worth. Eloise stopped only when it became apparent that, any more, and she would choke the life out of the beast. Leaving the three-hundred pound, patent leather-clad carcass she had just bagged on the floor, she realised that soon she would have to close the shop and face the fact that tonight she started work at Hammerstein’s place When she arrived, there was a great long queue for the cinema and Eloise wished to God that she was among them. There was nothing like a good film, in her eyes, a chance to escape from the reality of bills to pay and dealing with people who brought the same old stories over and over. Going through into the same bar as the previous night she was greeted by the barman, who handed her a Serbian Ice Tea. �ŚYou’re going to need this,’ he said almost apologetically. The atmosphere seemed a lot friendlier than the previous evening. Even the snotty barmaid smiled at her in a pleasant manner. A couple of business types sparked up conversation with her at the bar and, although these were not the usual kind of people she’d associate with, they seemed friendly and strangely familiar. As she had arrived early she took the time to have a couple of drinks with them. Eloise barely had enough time to finish her last drink when a brutal looking man who had all the markings of a bouncer grabbed her by the arm. �ŚCattle this way,’ he said as he hauled her to a discreet door next to the bar. Before she had time to launch a defence she was hurled through. The room she found herself in was dank and humid and the walls dripped with indescribable filth. A damp, vomit encrusted mop stood in the corner and the only furnishing in the room was a battered dressing table with a partially smashed mirror on it. The room was illuminated by a single 40 watt bulb which flicked and blinked like it was going to give out at any moment. There was another door on the far side bearing a sign with �śStage” written in manic handwriting. There was no sound in the room except for a strange sniffing. It was then that Eloise realised she was not alone. In the corner a young girl was hunched, clutching her knees to her chest and sobbing quietly to herself. She was completely naked and seemed to be bruised and bleeding from everywhere. �ŚWhat happened?’ Eloise asked. The girl said nothing but carried on weeping. Slowly Eloise approached and as she got closer she realised that this girl had been reduced to some kind of animal. Gingerly, she reached out to put a hand on her shoulder but no sooner had she made contact than the girl turned with a gut-wrenching scream, shoving Eloise’s hand from her and holding out her own in defence. Eloise guessed that this girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen but it was difficult to tell because all her teeth had been knocked out and her nose was flattened against her cheeks. It was her eyes that were the worst of all; they were huge and bulbous and held no ounce of humanity in them; a clear testament to the terrors she must have seen. Her face was caked in all manner of secretions and she emitted a foul, biological stench like a mix of iron and wet dough. Eloise’s stomach seized as she regarded this pitiful creature, unable to take her eyes away. The door that she had been flung into opened and the bouncer stood there. �ŚYou got six minutes to get ready and then you go out of that door and dance; no option.’ He glared at Eloise and then looked at the creature on the floor. �ŚDon’t worry about that, we got rooms upstairs full of ’em. You’ll be joining ’em soon enough.’ With that he slammed the door behind him and her heart sank as she heard a key locking it. 11 On auto-pilot, Eloise tipped her doctor’s bag out on the dressing-table top and searched for a non-existent cigarette. She turned around but realised it would be fruitless to ask the shivering wretch in the corner. Faster than she had ever done before she put on her gig knickers, her suspenders, the corset and then slapped on the pasties, the cold dampness of the room and the quivering being watching her driving her to go faster still. There were two items which held solace for her. She had made the correct choice in footwear; her old vintage closed stiletto boots, sturdy and built to last with eight-inch heels that were long and tapered into a vicious looking point. She remembered how long it took to get used to them. She had not taken to wearing heels naturally. It took a good year and a half of relentless practice that had nearly crippled her before she learned how to walk and dance in them. And then there was the heavy-duty riding crop she had brought with her to use as a prop. As she was putting her boots on she heard a key being roughly manipulated in the lock. The door flew open and there stood her old friend the bouncer who now appeared to be in the teeth of a bestial rage. �ŚRight you; get the fuck out there, now,’ he said, flicking his wrist to activate a telescopic baton. Getting up carefully, she brushed herself off and glared at him. Showing fear or weakness had not been in her routine for years, though it shook her how much she felt it. As she stepped through the stage door it was as if all her troubles were left in the dressing room. She was going to perform; that’s all that mattered. She found herself in front of a heavy red curtain and chose her mark. Centre stage. She stood there and formed the pose that she would break out into her routine from, the crop hidden behind her back as a surprise. Eloise could hear men talking and laughing loudly and the sound of glasses making contact with tables. She was ready for them. She was ready to perform. When the curtain went up no amount of preparation could have sufficed for the sight that met her. The gloomy room was full of men. They were all laughing and grinning but their eyes were mad and vengeful. Every single one of them seemed familiar. There were the men who had been staring at her and pointing in the bar the evening before; there was also the men she had chatted to at the bar, and right at the front was a man with short, blond short back and sides hair and fresh-stitches in his face. It dawned painfully slowly on her what all these men had in common. At some point in her long career, she had beaten every man in the room at numerous gigs when they had tried to snatch hold of her, tear her clothes from her, sedate her or overpower her in a car park. But this time, she was hopelessly outnumbered. Eloise felt weak and her legs trembled. The crowd surged towards her and, for a brief second, she was reminded of one of those zombie films. The short back and sides man was the first up on stage with a smashed Hennessey bottle in his fist. He was nearly upon her when Eloise caught herself. Whatever doom awaited her at the hands of Napoleon Hammerstein she was not going out like this. The riding crop hit him in his freshly cut face with such force it broke in two and flew off into the ether. He fell to the floor like a sack of coal. With the rest about to pounce on her, Eloise fled to the stage door only to see that the bouncer was standing in its frame grinning crazily and holding that telescopic baton meaningfully. �ŚYou’ve got no chance, love,’ she heard him utter. There was no option. She steamed towards him and leapt up, raising her right leg. It had the desired effect as he instinctively raised his hands to protect his head leaving, himself wonderfully open. Years of rage, fighting, standing up for herself against the odds and facing the injustice of failure beyond her control mixed with the adrenaline in her system and shot from her throat, down her chest, through her gut, into her buttocks, through her thigh, calf and with all the might and pure, unadulterated anger she could muster, she sank her stiletto into his crotch. The bouncer whistled. It nearly cost her. Her ankle and knee had twisted in opposite directions and pain set in. It took a mighty effort to unsheathe the full eight-inches of the heel from the bouncer’s groin and the crowd of perverts were nearly upon her. But she managed. Leaping over the bouncer, who was doubled up clutching at himself as he wheezed and gibbered, Eloise found that his bulk made for a great barricade between herself and the rest of the men. The undead being in the corner seemed to have forgotten her woes and looked on in apparent disbelief. Without skipping a beat Eloise wrenched open the door to the bar. The cool air was heavenly compared to the dank rooms she had just come from, but she had no time to enjoy it. It would not take long for the gang of perverts to disentangle themselves and clamber over the felled heavy. 12 Her sudden appearance in the bar and the fact that she was dressed only in her dancewear drew the attention of all the miserable but rich-looking drinkers. Bolting towards the door, she was nearly there when something smashed across her neck, knocking her to the ground. Eloise rolled on the floor, choking and catching her breath. She had no time for pain, and using every last ounce of energy, she picked herself up from the floor and was about stagger towards the door. But she couldn’t. Standing in her way and grinning meanly was the pony-tailed man who had blackmailed her into coming to this god-awful place what seemed like a lifetime ago. Eloise could tell that he really enjoyed hitting women. She heard the commotion coming from behind her, almost certainly the gang of perverts, as she smashed her forehead into the nose of the slick bastard. He staggered back clutching his face. His sunglasses were jutting out from behind his hands at a weird angle. Gasping, with an almighty pain in her head, her right leg sprained and feeling dizzy, she had no time to stop. Another bouncer who had been at the front door had been watching the whole scene in frozen bemusement but had now come to life, blocking her exit. Her arm was grabbed by a firm but smooth hand and she found herself being dragged behind the bar and through another door that she hadn’t noticed before. Eloise was facing a stairway. She turned to see the friendly barman bolt and lock the door behind them. �ŚI hope you like super hero movies,’ he said, passing her a black trench coat. Automatically she took the coat and put it on. He grabbed her hand and hurriedly led her up the stairs as the sounds of pounding erupted from the bolted door. After leading her through a labyrinth of corridors which were lined with blue carpets and pale walls, the barman stopped her outside a pair of plain double doors. �ŚMy name’s Jez, by the way.’ He held out his hand. She took it in hers and shook it gently still fazed by the events of only a moment ago. �ŚEloise,’ she said. Her throat was terribly dry. �ŚLike the Damned song,’ he said as he opened the doors and beckoned her through. Eloise found it strange that someone his age made the connection. The wall in front of them had several posters behind Perspex advertising the latest film releases. Jez grabbed her hand and pulled her along another eerily quiet corridor. A young boy with lank ginger hair and bad acne stood outside a set of double doors, Jez spoke to him in hushed tones. A moment later and they were ushered through the doors. Eloise found herself in the unmistakable dark airiness of a cinema theatre, with a massive screen blaring its garish adverts. They chose seats next to each other and sat down, and Jez reached over to press a tissue to her forehead. �ŚYou got cut back there, must have been from that bloke’s sunglasses you broke when you nutted him,’ he whispered. �ŚI haven’t seen anything like that before.’ She took the tissue and gently removed his hand. �ŚThanks, I can do it myself,’ she whispered. �ŚPlease don’t take it wrong but�Ś’ �ŚDon’t worry, I understand.’ Eloise could usually tell a wrong ’un a mile off and she knew when someone was helping her out because they wanted something; but there was a genuine selflessness to Jez. It wasn’t something she was used to. Eloise turned to look at the door. �ŚDon’t worry,’ Jez whispered, �Śthere’s eight screens here and I’ll bet you anything they think we ran out into the street. �Ś He was probably right and, as she began to relax, she wondered what he was all about. �ŚHow can you work there?’ Eloise asked. �ŚWhat do you mean? I was never allowed into that room. They took girls in there, I just thought there was another exit or something they left from.’ �ŚBut yesterday you saw that I was all beaten up.’ �ŚShhh,’ one of the patrons behind them hissed. He didn’t answer for a while, just stared at a mobile phone that was jigging insanely on the screen. �ŚI didn’t know what to think, I never saw anything like that before.’ Eloise rolled her eyes, but then what was she expecting? She tried to put herself in his shoes for a moment and wondered what she would have done if she had seen the same thing in a bar. �ŚI’m sorry,’ he said. �ŚIt’s OK; seriously, it’s fine, I’m just a little freaked out is all.’ They looked at the bizarre and meaningless adverts in silence for a while before Eloise asked, �ŚYou got anything to drink? I’m dying of thirst.’ He sniggered to himself and said, �ŚI’ve just done a year out in India, you don’t know what thirst is.’ Eloise huffed. Jez got up but she grabbed him and said, �ŚNo, don’t leave.’ �ŚIt’s OK, I’m going to give that usher a fiver and he’ll sort it out. Don’t worry, he’s cool.’ Minutes later Jez returned and sat down. The film began and Eloise couldn’t help being pleased to see that it was the latest comic book adaptation she had been hankering to watch. She should have been nervous, expecting thugs and perverts to storm through the doors and batter her like a baby seal, but she really did feel safe here with Jez. The ginger usher appeared with a large beverage in his hand, grinning leerily at her. The trench coat had fallen open to reveal her pasties. Pulling the coat together, she snatched the drink off him and glared at the screen. The ginger nerd leant towards Jez and whispered in his ear before departing. �ŚIt’s OK, there’s a load of dodgy-looking blokes milling around outside the cinema but none of them are inside.’ It was good news but Eloise was not about to let her guard fall. Next thing she knew Jez’s arm was around her shoulder. In any other situation the general cheapness of this manoeuvre would have caused her blood to boil and earned the perpetrator a dousing in soft drink. But this was very different. Although she tried to fight it she felt comforted and, for the first time in her life, she relaxed in a man’s arms. She didn’t even feel angry at herself for acting like a girl. 13 Eloise loved films. At seven-pounds-a-go they were a little luxury she treated herself to. So on any other day, the thought of going to the pictures and getting in for free for a film that she had really wanted to see, only to spend the entire time snogging like a couple of urchins, would be wasteful and revolting to her. Not to mention she had only just met the guy whose lips she was currently locked to. The only thing making her feel uncomfortable about this situation now was the lame, doe-eyed way he looked at her every time they broke off for air. She also felt a little uneasy with the fact that, at one point, she had even let him feel her up. When the film ended they both sat there for a while, not saying anything. Eloise wanted to ask him something but it went against everything she stood for. Under the circumstances though, she was running out of options. �ŚHave you got a couch at yours?’ she finally asked. �ŚYeah,’ he said, startled. �ŚCan I come around and kip on it tonight?’ �ŚSure, but maybe you’d be better off in my room; my housemate’s a right pain. I mean, you can have the bed and I’ll sleep on the floor.’ �ŚDoes your housemate have anything to do with your work?’ �ŚNo.’ �ŚThen the couch will be fine, if that’s OK.’ Jez looked bewildered as he scratched the back of his head. Eloise felt the fear creep up on her as they left the screen. All the thoughts that had been far from her mind during the film came back in full force. Gingerly, she followed Jez through the corridor and then down some stairs. They arrived at a set of swing doors and Jez signalled for her to stop. Opening them, he slowly peeked his head through. Eloise’s heart thundered in her chest. She hoped her instincts were right to trust him as he indicated the coast was clear and gestured for her to follow. The street outside the cinema was deathly quiet when they hailed a cab. Eloise kept a look out the whole time but, other than her, Jez and the cabbie, there was no one about except for the odd stumbling drunk. Jez’s home was not what Eloise had expected at all. A penthouse flat on the seafront, halfway between the cinema and her house, it screamed money. The furnishings were all ultra-modern and definitely not Ikea. It was huge, in fact it was the biggest flat she had ever seen in Brighton. Genuine wooden floor, a breakfast bar attached to a massive kitchen packed with high-end gear including a walk-in fridge, of all things. Jez also had a sunken lounge, ringed all around by a leather couch. Pride of place was the biggest flatscreen TV she had ever seen with a satellite box and all the next-gen game consoles neatly displayed underneath it. The TV stood before a big bay window that looked out onto the dark sea. �ŚSuch a boys’ pad,’ Eloise observed, �Śbut bloody flashy. How d’you afford it?’ Jez mumbled something before walking into the fridge and re-emerging with a couple of bottled beers. He opened them with some chrome-plated contraption attached to the breakfast bar and passed one to Eloise. �ŚDo you sell drugs or what? A bar job at that place can’t pay for all this, surely?’ asked Eloise as she sat down on the sumptuous couch and took a drag of her drink. �ŚI study law at Uni,’ Jez said, joining her. �ŚAnd I make a lot of commission from an internship I’m doing at a top firm.’ �ŚDaddy get you the job, did he?’ asked Eloise, belching. He looked funny for a moment. �ŚNo, I’m good at what I do, is that so hard to believe?’ �ŚYeah.’ �ŚAnyway, tell me about you, how did you get into stripping?’ �ŚI ain’t no stripper, mate, and besides, I ain’t about to tell you anything about me; you wouldn’t be able to handle it.’ He looked at her for a long while as if trying to sum her up but Eloise was in no mood to get into it with him. It was then that she realized that she had left her precious doctor’s bag at the club with her change of clothes and other stuff in it. �ŚOh shit, I’m sorry but I should go. You wouldn’t have anything I could wear would you?’ Jez suddenly sat up and looked like he was about to tell her something. �ŚStay, kip on the sofa if you want, seriously, no funny business. It’s too late to go home. I’ll drive you to your place tomorrow. Besides, I really want to get to know you.’ �ŚI’ll stay for a little more but seriously I want to get going at some point. Anyway, what do you know about Hammerstein’s joint?’ He looked taken aback but then began to talk. Eloise learned that he’d found the job on Gumtree and hadn’t even met Napoleon Hammerstein. �ŚI mean he could have been in the club when I was there but I wouldn’t know what he looks like anyway.’ Eloise felt the energy seep from her as Jez was talking and might have actually said, �ŚGod you’re boring’ but couldn’t be sure. Her brain was muddled and, fight as she might, she could barely stay awake. Even though she had been living in Brighton for some five years, one thing Eloise couldn’t stand was waking up to the evil cawing of seagulls. It seemed malicious and had exactly the same sentiment as when she was once woken by a gang of chavs throwing stones at her window. One saving grace was the smell of fresh gourmet coffee filling her nostrils. She opened her eyes and saw Jez pottering about in the kitchen. He was joined by a foppish lad who looked like he watched a lot of cricket and rugby but was probably not very good at either. Both of them appeared to be very proud of the fact that they were wearing just boxer shorts and T-shirts but she couldn’t think for the life of her why. Eloise saw that she was wearing a baggy T-shirt that didn’t belong to her, and was under a plush quilt. She then became aware of an extraordinarily bad taste in her mouth and a dark mood descended upon her. �ŚEloise, this is Johnny. Johnny, Eloise.’ Johnny offered Eloise a limp handshake and said, �ŚEloise, pleased to meet you’ in a loud nasally voice. �ŚWhy am I here?’ Eloise got up and checked herself. Her pasties were still on and so were her knickers; these two had a chance of survival. �ŚIs that a philosophical question?’ asked Johnny, grinning like an idiot. �ŚDon’t get funny with me, you tart, what’s that taste in my mouth?’ Eloise spat on the floor. �ŚIt ain’t normal.’ Johnny looked shocked and Jez appeared apologetic as he picked up one the bottles of beer he had offered her last night and held it up. �ŚIt’s this new Lithuanian beer; it’s really nice but has a strange after taste.’ Eloise snatched the beer and sniffed it. The aroma of stale, foreign booze was too much and she passed it back to him as her stomach heaved. The sky outside was overcast, filling the room with a gloomy light. All Eloise wanted was to call in sick and go home but she was ravenous, so when Jez passed her a plate of breakfast she could not refuse. The kind of conversation that Johnny and Jez struck up with each other was woeful and Eloise looked on as she ate, wondering what these two would do if they were ever faced with real problems. Jez lent her a pair of combats to go with the T-shirt she had borrowed and they headed down to his car, a brand new Audi A5 with all the trimmings, which was spoiled only by a large streak of seagull shit across the passenger door and window. �ŚYou must be a damned good workie, affording all this on commission.’ He didn’t answer. On the ride home Jez seemed to have lost his nerve with her, so Eloise decided to break the ice. �ŚListen, thanks for putting me up and helping me out last night.’ �ŚIt’ll be interesting to see if I still have a job tomorrow night, or survive the kicking I’ll be getting by the looks of things,’ said Jez, concentrating on the road. �ŚListen, you do bloody well with your law thing, maybe you shouldn’t bother turning up and go and look for something else.’ �ŚThat’s exactly what I’m thinking.’ Eloise indicated that they were at her flat and they pulled up on the opposite side of the road. Jez seemed to scrutinise it heavily. �ŚAll right, mate, it ain’t like your place I know but�Ś’ �ŚInvite me in for a coffee,’ he suddenly blurted. �ŚI’m gasping.’ She had called in sick at Jez’s and all she wanted to do now was die in bed for a bit, alone. But he had helped her out. �ŚAll right but don’t get any ideas. Last night was last night.’ The hall and stairway leading to her flat were dark, as the lights didn’t work. But, despite what Jez might think, she felt a huge sense of relief as she entered. It was a studio but she was well pleased with how she had done it up. A fake leopard skin rug on the floor and matching bedspread, red and white gingham tablecloth on the small table with her laptop on it and plants everywhere you looked. Old-fashioned posters from the golden age, books, CDs and records covered the walls. �ŚThink yourself lucky, I don’t let just anyone here.’ �ŚYou live alone?’ He was answered by the appearance of Sinatra, who seemed awfully suspicious of him. Jez regarded the cat as if it was some kind of foe and seemed to be looking at the furnishings of her place almost moodily. As Eloise went into the small galley kitchen to make the coffee, she felt strange. Something wasn’t right. 14 The last twenty-four hours had given Eloise plenty to think about but what really stuck in her mind was Jez’s behaviour before he left. He’d seemed cold and looked at all her things with an apparently critical eye. Every time Sinatra came near him, he brushed him aside as if he was an object and not a living creature. He didn’t talk much, just glare at her things. That, along with the treatment of her cat made her anxious for him to leave. And when he finally did, she felt glad. �ŚWhat a dickhead, eh Sinatra?’ she said, tickling the cat under his chin as he showed his appreciation with slow, rhythmic purrs. Eloise put her hand on her chin and thought. Jez had screwed with her head. Made her soft. Although it was miserable out, she decided the best thing to do would be to go down to the seafront and try and get her head together. Freshly showered and with a fresh change of clothes, she took a can of cider she had in the fridge and made her way to the beach. Looking out at the waves which rolled lazily and crashed onto the pebbles, she drank her cider as her mind wandered. Seagulls circled overhead like the Devil’s own vultures and she kept an eye on them to make sure they didn’t shit on her. She was in no mood for Murphy’s Law now. Her thoughts went from Jez to Hammerstein as the realisation that her life was about to become very hard soaked through her. She was at a complete loss and felt so very tired. Some children were paddling in the waves nearby, prodding things in the water with sticks and laughing. A dog bounded into the foam to join in with the fun. Eloise wondered, had she made different choices and led the banal life she had always loathed, if things wouldn’t have been easier. Thoughts of the past filled her mind like unwelcome house guests. Drink-fuelled nights in strange countries, battles won and lost. There was a kind of obligation to entertain them but a longing that they were gone. After finishing her cider she stayed for a bit more to breathe the clean air and then, as she wasn’t feeling much better, decided to go back home. Entering the dark hallway, Eloise was suddenly overcome with a deep and unusual sense of foreboding. She stopped for a moment at the stairs and looked hard into the shadows but as her eyes became accustomed, she was reassured to see that there was no one there. It was when she arrived at her flat that she realised her instincts had been right. The door hung from its frame and had been smashed at the lock. She shook with adrenalin as she stormed into her room, ready for aggro. What she saw clean robbed her of any fight. Her whole music collection, original albums from the likes of Agnostic Front, Madball, The Last Resort, Gundog, The Business and Deadline lay in shards across the floor; her books, including many first edition pulp novels from the Fifties were in tattered remains and her clothes were strewn about the place or draped across bits of broken furniture. But it was what was on the wall that bore more horror than she could ever imagine. In one sense it didn’t look like something she had known or loved or that had kept her company when everything else was going wrong. On the other hand, the delicateness of life and love was so painfully illustrated. Nailed in cruciform to the wall was Sinatra, though he didn’t look anything like feline now. Blue-grey tufts of fur patchily covered what resembled a rabbit’s carcass. The face was horrible, a living creature frozen in the midst of indescribable torture. The absolute worst of it though was the huge gaping wound across his guts and the streams of red and purple entrails that had been pulled from it. His intestines had, in turn, been nailed to the wall so that they read �śBitch”. Eloise, scarcely able to take it all in, fell to the floor and held her head in her hands. She stayed that way for what could have been hours. When she removed her hands from her face, there on the floor in front of her she saw a scattered pile of crude photocopies of the photos that Napoleon Hammerstein had in the file. Vile, hateful, disgusting images. Scenes upon scenes of hideous acts that had ruined her life. Things that had made it so hard for her to interact and to trust, things that had bred the violence in her that had brought her trouble everywhere she went. Eloise sat there unable to stop herself from sobbing. She felt like a freak, a monster. Somebody who wasn’t normal. At that moment she found herself missing Hunter dearly. He was always the one person she had felt comfortable with. The one person she had entrusted with details of what had happened and he didn’t treat her any differently afterwards. Shakily she got up and tried to phone him but after several tries only got his answer phone and left a garbled message which she regretted instantly. Her mobile rang as soon as she hung up and she answered it quickly. �ŚI trust you got my message,’ came the unmistakable voice of Napoleon Hammerstein. She didn’t answer, no words were forthcoming. �ŚMy customers are not very happy with me, Eloise. You cost me a lot of money, not to mention the fact you emasculated one of my expensive security consultants.’ There was a long silence as if he expected a response from her. She didn’t give one. �ŚI would threaten you Eloise but I think we both know that your life is worthless and, well, I’ve already killed your cat. I am sending my personal assistant to collect you and bring you in for a meeting. Come quietly or Hunter Steadman will be next.’ With that the phone went dead. Eloise glared at the phone in her hand, rage building up in her. It was no longer under her control. 15 Eloise went in the kitchen and ignited a ring. Selecting the biggest cauldron from her collection of antique solid brass pans which had escaped the ravages on her flat, she filled it two-thirds with water and placed it on the hob. Going back into her living area she scavenged around for her big rubber Mac and put it on. It had a large gash down one breast, but that was OK. Back in the kitchen she poured a load of oil into the cauldron and then a full kilo of sugar. She was stirring the bubbling concoction as she heard a car pull up outside. Inching towards the window she leant forward a tad and peeked out of it. Down in the street the pony-tailed man was exiting a flashy black saloon. Rushing back into the kitchen, she checked on the cauldron. It was bubbling and spitting angrily. She then ran across the floor of the living room and propped the remnants of the door against its frame. Going back into the kitchen, she grabbed the cauldron. It was as heavy as hell but she needed all her strength now. Wrapping her insulated rubber forearms carefully around the brass pan, but keeping it a sufficient distant from her body, she heaved it with her across the living room. She had to turn her head away from the searing, hot steam but was not able to avoid the molten spit that erupted from the pot and burned her chest badly. She had to take it. Positioning herself by the door, her legs felt feeble and her arms ached, the heat from the cauldron was unbearable, but she had to take it. She could hear footsteps approach her flat, unbearably slowly. The cauldron in her arms felt like a burning coal. The insulation in her Mac had given out and she was sweating and nauseous and felt like she was melting, but she had to take it. The footsteps stopped outside the flat and there was no sound. Eloise felt her mind bending with the agonising pain, her chest stinging badly and her arms felt like they were on fire. Her legs were about to give up and all she wanted to do was drop the pan. She took hold of herself. She remembered what they had done and the all-or-nothing days she had grown up in and then the rage took over. The door was booted away from its frame and with all her strength and might she pivoted and launched the pot. There was a hideous hissing and steam filled the hall in front of her flat. The pony-tailed man was standing there, drenched and looking at his hands. As he brought his hands up to his face he began a howl which turned into a scream that seemed too shrill to be human. He doubled up, gurgling and retching with his hands to his face. Feeling the muscles in her arms tense, Eloise snatched the cauldron and brought it above her head. She was going to make sure that this man, who so enjoyed hitting women, would spend the next few minutes rueing the day the thought had entered his mind. With a satisfying dinging sound she proceeded to spank the heavy, solid brass pot off his head and did not stop until she saw his eyeballs free of their sockets. She was going to have Hammerstein. She was going to have them all. Ferreting around her stuff she found an undamaged frockcoat and what she was really after a pair of her elbow-length gloves. Although the quickest way to her destination was the seafront, she chose the road running parallel as there was a hardware store on it. It didn’t take long to select what she needed; a hatchet, which felt nice and heavy in her hands. She was going to bring it to them, old school. Leaving the hardware store she headed to the seafront. Her walk would normally take at least five minutes but it felt like seconds, so full was she of unbridled fury. She stormed up the stairs of the apartment building and thumped at the door of Flat 21. It was all falling nicely together as Jez answered the door. He was wearing a bathrobe. Smacking him clean in the face with her forehead, he fell to the floor. She stepped over him and grabbed him by the scruff, dragging him across the floor until his head rested at the feet of the breakfast bar. �ŚWhat the hell’s going on?’ Eloise looked over to the owner of the voice and saw the moody barmaid from Hammerstein’s standing in the sunken lounge, naked. �ŚWant to get involved, do you?’ said Eloise, producing the hatchet. The girl stood dumbstruck. Eloise turned to look at Jez, who was lying on the floor trying to stem the blood from his nose and hiding the tears coming from his eyes. �ŚIt was you, wasn’t it?’ Eloise said, kicking him in his ribs. �ŚIt was you who told them where I lived.’ For a while Jez just lay there snivelling. �ŚLook, I...’ He let out a baleful moan. �ŚI didn’t mean any harm. I didn’t want to hurt anybody, especially, not you.’ Jez began to sob unacontrollably. �ŚCome on,’ Eloise began softly. �ŚJust admit it and everything’ll be fine, I promise.’ �ŚEloise,’ said the barmaid in the living room who was now covering her modesty with the very quilt Eloise had slept in that night. �ŚListen, please, he didn’t want any harm on you, but his dad insisted. You don’t know what it’s like. If Napoleon Hammerstein says �śJump”, you say, �śHow high?”.’ �ŚMention my name again, you skank, and I’ll kill you.’ Eloise turned her attentions back to Jez. �ŚSo you’re Hammerstein’s kid. I suppose all that talk about being a law student and commission and all that was bullshit. Daddy pays for all this. He pays for all this off the backs of the defenceless, doesn’t he?’ �ŚI do study law, but you’re right, OK, he sorts me out,’ wept Jez. His little rich boy voice was becoming unbearable to her, she was furious that her own body had betrayed her the previous night. �ŚBut I just told them where you lived. It was your friend Jolene that gave him those photos. Don’t you see? He doesn’t actually have any real info on you, he just pays your friends to inform, that’s all. Listen, you can leave Brighton and disappear, perhaps we could�Ś’ Seeing Eloise clearly not listening to him, he stopped snivelling and his features contorted angrily. He then broke into an evil grin. �ŚYeah, I drugged you last night, all right. Slipped a little something in your drink. That walk-in fridge is so handy. Want to know what Johnny and I did to you last night? Well we�Ś’ Eloise stamped on his face until he gibbered, and then stamped on his face until he gibbered no more. 16 Resting against the breakfast bar and breathing heavily, Eloise noticed that the girl had long gone. The barmaid was nothing; she had much bigger fish to fry. Wiping the bits of his skull from her boots on his own doormat, Eloise left Jez’s penthouse and headed off down the Kingsway towards the cinema building. The people in West Street pottered around their business, ignorant to what was about to transpire as Eloise made her way around the building to the bar on the side. Even though it was not officially open, she could see many people milling about within. As she approached she recognised every last one of them. A new plan began to develop. The door was unlocked and Eloise entered slowly. All the teeny pseudo-burlesque dancers including the skinny blonde wretch Lulu Mae and that smug barmaid were there. At their fore stood Jolene. �ŚYou’re going to get it now, bitch,’ said Lulu Mae. �ŚYeah, we’ve been waiting for you,’ added the barmaid with a snivel. �ŚShut up, OK,’ said Jolene. �ŚEloise, please, it doesn’t have to be like this. These girls really want to hurt you. You can just leave. Never come back. I’ll make sure no one knows.’ Eloise glared at her for a second. �ŚAnd what about you, do you want to hurt me? Did you want to hurt me?’ Jolene’s eyes fluttered before she responded. �ŚI was so stupid Eloise, I was�ŚI’ll tell you before this lot now that I’ve always been jealous of you. I’ve set you up so many times over the years, Eloise, and you never knew.’ Jolene’s lips quivered and tears began to stream down her face. �ŚI am so, so sorry.’ Eloise was getting tired of all the crying. She stood her ground. The girls were looking at her and smiling meanly, except for Jolene. She pulled off her coat and flung it behind the bar. �ŚKnow this,’ Eloise began, �Śafter today, none of you will ever dance again; that’s a promise.’ Jolene wiped the tears from her eyes and made an effort to compose herself. �ŚAll right, Murphy, you want it this way. But remember the rules; not the face. You stick by it, we’ll stick by it.’ The mean smiles disappeared. Perhaps they had been expecting Eloise to fill with fear or even look a little worried. She was smiling now, a big, viscous smile and occupying her space like an angry viper. This was a dream come true for her, twenty-to-one; good odds against this lot. For the second time that day she produced the hatchet and said: �ŚYeah.’ There was a stand off, giving Eloise ample opportunity to let the rage build up. Most of the time she fought to control it, even taking medication for years in an effort to keep herself on an even keel, but now she just let it come. Lulu Mae huffed a mound of white powder off of a table, her head flying back. �ŚI’ve been waiting for this,’ she said, wiping her nose with her forearm, and tore towards Eloise, clawing and screaming pathetically. The bouncer, the pony-tailed man and Jez had only tasted what she had to offer; this lot were in for the full show. These little girls had no tradition, their whole past, present and future bought for them. Eloise’s kind had been around for centuries, it was in her Celtic blood as much as drinking. Many, many years ago when warriors fought toe-to-toe with sword and axe, they had a word for people like her. Berserker. Lulu Mae was nearly on her. Eloise sent the hatchet though her cheek, her mouth and out of the other cheek in one powerful swing, sending blood and teeth everywhere. That was that bitch out of the running, as well as five other girls who fled screaming into the distance at the sight. Jolene winced and back-pedalled rapidly, getting behind the gang of quaking girls who remained. Eloise wasn’t about to wait for them to build up courage and flew at them, hacking widely. Her first shot smashed a knee and smacked into another’s jowl. The next shot caught someone plum in their liver and lodged there, necessitating head butts and kicks to the others trying to get near her. Eloise was in her element. She was their nemesis, the agent of righteous retribution on their sorry hides, and they were only making it worse for themselves by squealing like swine. Some of them seemed to find their courage. They started getting angry and attacked Eloise. All they got for their efforts were smashed legs, necks and faces. Despite this, the barmaid even managed to stab Eloise in her side with a small pocket knife. Eloise took her arm clean off and opened her face like a bag of crisps. Most of them, however, including the five who had fled, were now cowering in a far corner. They were huddled up in a pitiful state, sobbing crazily and pleading for their lives. Eloise kept her promise and ensured none of them would ever dance again. When she had finished, the bar that had looked so luxurious resembled a badly kept slaughterhouse. Pale bodies and limbs were everywhere and blood covered every surface. Jolene stood before her, heaving and huffing, with vomit down her flashy gown. �ŚYou’re a fucking psycho, Murphy, you need locking up, girl.’ Eloise answered with a hatchet to the knees. Jolene let out a blood-curdling cry as she dropped to the ground. �ŚPlease, please,’ she whimpered. Eloise snatched her by her blonde hair. All the things over the years that Eloise had blamed herself for, all the things that had held her back had been partly, if not all, Jolene’s fault. So much wasted time. �ŚDon’t worry, I won’t touch your face,’ Eloise said, raising the hatchet. �ŚNo,’ shrieked Jolene as the hatchet bore down. Eloise felt a huge weight being lifted as Jolene’s scalp came away in her hands. Old School. She looked down at her foe who was as pale as paper and jerking around the floor in some kind of fit. Blood jetted and sprayed from her exposed skull. �ŚCan you hear me, Jolene, can you?’ Eloise wiped away the spittle that had gathered at her mouth. �ŚIf you live through this you tell them Hammerstein done it, all right?’ Eloise gave the spasming body a kick. �ŚIf you don’t I’ll come back for you.’ Before Eloise ascended the stairs leading to Hammerstein’s office she made two phone calls and then legged it up. The stifling atmosphere in the corridor aggravated her and drove her on rather than hindered her. Booting the door open, Eloise was once again in the cavernous office, but she was not prepared for the sight that met her. Hammerstein was waiting there, with open arms. He had been smiling but quickly stopped when he actually saw her. Covered in blood spatter, her features twisted by years of hatred, one hand wielding a meat-encrusted hatchet, in the other Jolene’s gory scalp; she must have been a sight. Eloise saw the safe in the corner, its jaws open and half full of crisp notes and a bag next to it brimming with cash. He was planning to do a runner. He could see what she was looking at. �ŚDon’t,’ he said, piping a tear, but then became angry. �ŚMy son, your cat. Far more than a fair trade, wouldn’t you agree? But leave me my money, d’ya hear?’ He was a weak, scrawny little man with nothing to him. A knee from her well-toned leg to his nuts was enough to send him to the floor and out of the game with enough time. As she filled the bag with cash until it could hold no more and secreted as much as she could down her top and about her person, she looked over to him, wheezing and spluttering on the floor. At one point he appeared to be crawling towards his books. �ŚYou’ll find no answers there,’ said Eloise. In the safe she found the original copies of the pictures and a USB pen. She thought about destroying them. But the fact that it had not been her fault took the venom from the images. Besides, they would serve a purpose yet. Heaving the bag across her shoulders, she walked over to Hammerstein, bent down and pressed the hatchet and the scalp into his chicken claw-like hands and smeared him with as much blood as she could. She then stamped on his groin for good measure. She walked over to the globe and wrenched it open. Pulling a bottle of water from it, she doused herself to get rid of the gore. And then took a quick swig of Bombay Sapphire for good measure. She noticed a book on the shelf, The Right of Man Over the Fairer Sex by N. Reg Mother, pulled it out and flung it at him. �ŚThere you go.’ As she passed through the corridor she thought about forcing the doors open and freeing the poor souls the bouncer had told her about, but she decided not to. It would look much better this way. When Eloise entered the bar she was surprised to see Jolene still twitching and gurgling on the floor, the blood from her skull now pouring out more calmly like it was on tap. The others were all still lying around the place, the lucky ones letting out the occasional moan. If she had had time she would have pulled out one of the chairs and plonked in the middle of the room. Their sorrow was like music to her. But she didn’t have time. Dashing out of the bar, she pulled her collar up and walked briskly down West Street towards the sea just as a multitude of police vehicles descended from all angles on the entrance, their sirens howling. 17 Of all the watering holes in Brighton, Chequers in Preston Street was Eloise’s favourite. She considered it her front room and liked the fact that it was small and dark and most people had a tendency to walk right past it. It was here that she used to sit and have a drink and chat to the manager while she prepared to bump and grind at the Engine Rooms. It seemed fitting that this would be her choice of venue to sit with a cold mango juice, chock full of ice, and watch the news reports of the story that was gripping the nation transpire on the small TV in the corner. �ŚLook at the face on him,’ said the manager as he polished a glass and stared at the TV, smiling. On the screen, Napoleon Hammerstein, covered in claret, was shrieking himself hoarse, protesting his innocence to reporters as burly police officers bundled him into the back of a waiting pie wagon. There was a brief but hideous glimpse of a woman, who Eloise knew to be Jolene, being hurried by stretcher into an ambulance. All manner of tubes and gizmos were attached to her heavily bandaged head and distributing red gunk, keeping her alive. The next image showed a lavish white mansion, with columns, somewhere in Sussex and, standing in front, an abused looking woman with the caption: �śMrs. Hammerstein” who was wailing like a banshee as she looked on at an army of police and bailiffs charging into her home. �ŚDid you hear about this?’ the manager asked Eloise. �ŚYeah,’ said Eloise. �ŚTalk about comeuppance, he was a right greedy bastard and whoremonger too by all accounts. As well as all that nastiness they found in the bar, they said earlier that they found fifty live women upstairs and a further hundred who had shown evidence of being starved or battered to death. What a psycho.’ He turned and looked quizzically at Eloise. �ŚHere Murphy, how come you’re not drinking? That’s not like you.’ �ŚI’m driving,’ she said, draining her glass. She picked up her heavy bag and left. Outside, seagulls swooped peacefully overhead and the street was full of people idly going about their business. She crossed the street where her prize was waiting for her. She stopped, removed her sunglasses and took in the classic beauty that was the Cadillac Eldorado she had bought from a collector in Hastings earlier that morning. It was black and shiny and had a white leather interior. All other features were expertly chromed and it boasted white-walled tyres. Everything about it lauded excessive dimensions. She aimed the monster down towards the seafront and drove the round about way to get to the Laines. Parking in one of the car parks, she walked to the vegetarian restaurant that provided Hunter Steadman with a day job. He came running out and flung his arms around her. They embraced for a long while until he gently broke away and said, �ŚAll that trouble yesterday that they pinned on that banker, eh. I don’t know about that but whoever was responsible they would have to be one hell of a nutter.’ He reached up and tufted her hair. �ŚMaybe,’ she said. �ŚI’m going to be gone for a while, but take care of yourself, OK.’ He looked serious and a little sad. �ŚWhere you going?’ �ŚI don’t know, but you know I’ll come back for you.’ �ŚYou’d better, and for the love of Christ girl, will you stay out of trouble, for me, please?’ They embraced again and shared a delicate kiss on the lips. He was as perfect as man could get, just such a shame he was on a different bus, Eloise thought. As she approached the seafront in the Eldorado, Eloise couldn’t help but feel a little proud of the attention she was getting. She aimed the beast down the Kingsway and entered the slow, early evening traffic. Maybe Charlie had been right without even knowing it, maybe it was time to change and do something. But what? Eloise thought for a moment. That was something to consider, but what was for sure she decided, was that she was going to give the fighting a miss from now on. She had won, but everything hurt so much more these days. A twinge in her side and the wind making the plates in her face go cold bore testament to the fact that she was no longer invincible, like she used to feel. As she drove past the cinema she thought about maybe catching a film. But decided against it; she’d had enough of that place. making her way along the seafront she saw someone she recognised meandering aimlessly up the road, with a look of disbelief on his face as he gazed at the pavement in front of him. She pulled the car up at the roadside, got out and stretched. A seagull was perched on a wall in front of her and observed her closely with his bloodshot eyes. I’ll give up fighting tomorrow, she thought as she followed Johnny down the road. The End