2.1
'... She was just a child, Nick. Fourteen years old.' Beth Roberts caught Nick Lacey's eye and refused to let go.
'Aw come on, Beth, don't do this to me.' Nick blocked her out by taking a deep chug from his pint.
'In her own bed, with her parents asleep in the next room.'
'It's Thursday night, I just want a few beers, maybe drop some coins in the jukebox at the Giffard, get a big fat kebab and pass out on my sofa. Is that okay with you?'
'And she's not the only one. There are potentially up to four other bodies. I think it could be the same man.' Beth fanned her face with the file, while around them undergraduates abused the buy-one-get-one-free student night offer.
'For fuck sake.' Nick acquiesced, 'Show me.'
In the time it had taken Nick to go through Beth's file, a four pint pitcher had been thoroughly dealt with by a group of lads on the next table; one of whom had hilariously taken to wearing the pitcher over his head, while the others flicked beermats at his face. Beth sat intently watching Nick as he absorbed the photos and reports. Nick dropped the file on the table and leaned back into his seat. He pinched his bottom lip with his thumb and the second knuckle of his forefinger.
'What do you think?' Beth leaned toward him. 'Its got legs, hasn't it?'
'Just... Give me a minute.' Nick rubbed his eyes. In the corner, somebody lost a game of giant Jenga, much to the noisy delight of the rest of the bar. Nick looked Beth in the eye. 'Yeah. Yeah it's possible.'
'That's it? I was hoping you'd have more for me.'
'I don't know what you want me to say, Beth, there's not a lot to go on here.' Nick ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. In his early thirties he'd always said that if he made it to his forties with a full head of hair he'd be happy; now with his fortieth relentlessly approaching, he was hoping for an extension on that deadline. Fuck it, grass doesn't grow on a busy street. 'Look, there's not a whole lot to go on here, no telltale similarities with any aspect of the individual cases.'
'But...?'
'But,' Nick gave her a nod, 'it does feel like the same guy. It's all a little too random, like it's intentional.'
'All the victims are female, and the level of violence...'
'Still isn't enough to go on. Come on, Beth, you know what kind of world we live in.' Nick put his hand on her's. 'I know you're frustrated.' Beth pulled her hand away and used the palm to rub a tear from her cheek.
'I just feel so... powerless.'
'You can't let it get to you. Keep at it. If there's something to find, you'll find it. Just don't go to your D.C.I until you have something solid.'
Beth nodded. She took the rest of her glass of wine in a single hit, slid the file back into her bag, and kissed Nick on the cheek as she got up to leave.
'Sorry I ruined your night.' She said.
'Nah, I'm not feeling it tonight anyway. Come on, I'll walk you to the taxi rank.' Nick drained his own pint glass. He stood, and placed the glass on the bar. 'Cheers, love.' he nodded to the girl behind the bar.
'Oh. Ta, bab.' she said back with a big smile.
Nick took Beth's arm and led her out of The Hogg's Head onto Stafford Street. The street existed in a state of cultural apartheid. One side of the road consisting of pubs, kebab, and southern fried chicken shops. While the other side was consumed entirely by the ever expanding University of Wolverhampton. He walked her the fifty yards to the taxi rank.
'Thanks, Nick,' Beth said stooping her head to get into the taxi, 'if you ever get bored of sneaking around in bushes for a living, we'd take you back in a heartbeat. You know that, don't you?'
'Goodnight, Beth.' Nick said, closing the taxi door. Once the taxi had pulled away, he stepped off the kerb. Nick skirted along the edges of the university quarter. The streets were quiet tonight, but the pubs were heaving. It was always the same just after student loans were doled out. He gave a handful of change to a begger as he past St Paul's Church, and tried to distract himself from what he'd seen in Beth's file.
2.2
The patches of colour breaking through the black floor of The Giffard Arms indicated that the carpet had actually been red at some point. Whatever its intended colour was supposed to be, it tried to peel Nick's shoes from his feet as he negotiated his way to the bar.
Two students were laughing and taking selfies on the high-backed gothic throne that stood proudly in the centre of the pub. With goat's legs, dragons for arms, and an inverted cross carved into the back, the throne was a popular attraction that nicely encompassed the small pub's unique gothic charm.
'Ooh, I wouldn't do that if I were you.' Nick said as he passed them.
'Do what?' One of the students asked, shifting her weight onto her left buttock as she slid her phone back into her pocket.
'That throne's cursed.'
'Haha! Fuck off.' The other student laughed and folded his arms. 'What are you on about, cursed?'
'No, seriously, it's true. I've seen it myself.' Nick indicated to Matt at the bar. He got a short nod in response. 'Word is any woman that sits at that throne gets pregnant.' The first student shot Nick a curious glance.
'Pfft. Nah, mate, that's bollocks.' The second student said with a sneer. 'You'd have people trying for kids from all over the shop coming here.'
'Well there's the thing,' Nick said, placing a hand on the young man's shoulder, 'it only happens if you don't want it to.' The first student jumped up from the throne, dramatically slapping the voodoo from her arse.
'Fuck that, I'm taking no chances with that shit.' She said. She gave the throne the evil eye.
'Chill out, Abby, it's bullshit, just a sad attempt at a pick-up line.'
'Son...'
'Andy.' The second student corrected.
'Andy then. The curse is real, Andy, but I'll tell you what; if I was looking to pick one of you up,' Nick flashed Andy a smile, 'it wouldn't be your friend.' Nick looked over to the bar. Matt had poured his pint, and was shaking his head at Nick and laughing. Nick brushed past Andy on his way to the bar. He turned to Abby. 'No offense, Abby, sweetheart. You might want to sit down and have a chat with your date here, my gaydar has never, and I mean ever, let me down.'
'Pissing on love's young dream again, Nick, you piece of shit?'
'Ah, I was doing them both a favour,' Nick dismissed Matt with a wave, and raised the glass to his lips, taking a deep gulp, 'oh, that's so good... He'll figure himself out in time, and I'm damn sure she isn't beard material. How much do I owe you?'
'Three-fifty for the beer, and I'd like my naïve idealistic innocence back please.'
'Sorry, Matt,' Nick said, handing him a tenner; while, over by the throne, two students argued, 'but you'll always understand the words once you've been taught to read. Gimme the change in coins, will ya? I want them for the jukebox.'
'You're gay?!'
'I didn't say that...'
'No. Fucking... Fuck you, Andy!'
'Abby! Abby wait...' The door of the Giffard Arms slammed. Matt passed Nick a handful of coins.
'Does this mean I'm stuck listening to Mötley Crüe all night?'
'I'll throw in a little Poison too. For variety.' Nick laughed.
After about an hour of Mötley Crüe, with a few Poison tracks for variety, and a beer or two too many, Nick stepped out onto Victoria Street, where the fresh air smashed him in the face. He was fucked. He should go home.
Common sense was pulled up to the kerb, its Asian driver giving him an inquisitive look. The state he was in, he really should go home, drink a pint of water to combat the hangover he was going to get in the morning, and get a decent night's sleep. Nothing good was going to come of him staying out any longer.
Nah. Nick waved a dismissive hand at the taxi. It was Friday in about five minutes. The weekend was here, whoop whoop. Nick swayed up Victoria Street towards the Man on the Horse. He'd go and see Skye at the club. Yeah, Skye, with her blue eyes and her silky black hair, and her... Yeah he should go and see Skye.
'Kebab burger please, mate.'
Heaven's Gate was only a couple of minutes walk away, Nick had devoured most of his burger by the time he saw the divine light dispersing the darkness.
This particular Heaven's Gate's Saint Peter was a six-foot-five, 18 stone man with short, cropped, black hair, and no neck 'Hey, Jack.' who went by the name of Jack. Jack would sit in judgement of those worthy of entering Heaven's Gate. His criteria of unworthyness consisted mainly of being overly intoxicated, or in breach of the club's strict no trainers policy, but he would on occasion deny entry for no other reason than not liking your face.
'Sorry, Nick, private party tonight.' Jack hefted his large frame into Nick's path.
'That's okay, I'm here to see your boss...' Nick started to sidestep around the big man, but his way was barred by an arm as thick as his chest.
'You deaf, Lacey? I said you ain't coming in.'
With liquid courage holding his legs steady, Nick stood his ground.
'And who's gonna stop me?' Jack took a step forward. His shadow fell over Nick. As he craned his neck to look up at Heaven's Gate's head of security, Nick wondered how long it would take for the beer to wear off, and the pain to kick in.
'Not me, mate,' Jack laughed, ushering a confused, drunken Nick Lacey towards the door, 'boss lady is in the office.'
'You had me thinking I was going to have to banjo you for a minute there.' Nick said with a chuckle that was way more nervous than he had intended.
'Comic Strip night is on Tuesday night's, Mr. funny man. Have a good night, Nick.'
Nick Lacey stepped through the double doors of Heaven's Gate, giving Kate at the entrance booth a nod. She smiled back at him with a 'Hey, Nick.' as he walked past her.
Muffled, thumping music heralded Nick's arrival as he made his way down the long, dimly lit corridor leading to the club. A poster on the wall confirmed that tuesdays were indeed, Comic Strip Night: An Evening of Titties, and Titters to Combat the Midweek Blues.
The door to the main club opened, taking the muffle from the music that was pumping from it. Nick found himself missing the days when sleazy rock was the soundtrack to strip clubs. He didn't think the more urban turn clubs had taken in recent years created the same kind of atmosphere.
'Nick! Hiya, bab.'
Nick turned and smiled.
'Hey, Krystal.' Her actual name was Debbie. She was a single mother with a four-year-old son called Shane. She had worked for Skye for years, and they considered each other close personal friends. Nick had gone to a barbeque at her house last summer, and was surprised at the lifestyle that gyrating against frustrated men could provide. He'd always liked Debbie though, and wasn't surprised at her popularity amongst the regulars despite her advancing age. In stripper terms at least.
'Catch up with you in a bit.' She said as she led her private dance to the booths. Nick didn't catch the man's face, but he noticed the suit; taylored, Italian, expensive. Not at all what you'd expect to see in strip club in Wolverhampton at quarter-past-twelve on a Friday morning. The allure of the bar won Nick's attention.
Nick propped himself up with his elbows on the counter, his right foot circling around in thin air trying to find the brass footrest that wasn't there. He knew there wasn't one there but still did it out of habit every fucking time.
Behind the bar, Emily nodded to Nick to indicate she'd seen him. She finished serving the customer she was with, then took a bottle of bourbon from the shelf. She placed the bottle on the counter.
'Here you go, Nick. Not seen you for a bit, where you been hiding?'
'I've been around, Em. How did your uni application go, did you get in?'
'Why yes I did, thank you very much.'
'You're not gonna start analysing the clientele are you?'
'Ha! Nah, chick. The boss lady already warned me about scaring off the punters with "psychobabble". She didn't say anything about you though, Mr private detective. I'd love to have a little poke around in that head of yours.'
'That really does sound terrifying. You'll find nothing interesting in there, I promise you.'
'Hmm,' Emily cocked her head to one side, 'I find that hard to believe. Don't be a stranger, come back and see us soon. I'll send somebody through with some ice.' Emily moved back down the bar to serve the next impatient customer.
'Just make sure they knock first, ay?' Nick said with a wink. Emily returned it.
'Will do, chick.'
Nick lifted the bottle from the bar. A burst of pain exploded from the back of his head. There was a scream. He went down swinging, but his night was over.