The Singer Page 13

have overlooked this? We were sitting ducks here, dead meat—it only needed one of them to notice us and we were done for. I never usually had to get myself out of situations like this on my own. What we needed was a plan… a foolproof plan…

  Ten minutes later we were speeding down the highway on a stolen steam bike, closely pursued by a gaggle of irate punks.

  “On second thoughts, I don’t think this was a very good idea!” Shouted Reese over the screech of the engine.

  I was too busy trying to work out how to drive the bloody thing. If I could only get the controls to work, I could steer it out of the way of that massive road barge that was looming towards us…

  And then we were in the Thames.

  “At least we lost them!” Yelled Reese cheerfully as he slowly sank.

  “Has it crossed your mind that neither of us know where Dr. John Doe’s surgery actually is?”

  We were sitting in a café, drenched to the bone, and I was attempting to force feed Reese with fruit. I think they assumed we were vagrants.

  Reese had a fair point. The location of Dr. John Doe’s cave was kept under strict confidence. Patients were escorted there in a car with blacked–out windows by one of the very few who knew its true location, and who were sworn to secrecy.

  I scribbled with Reese’s eyeliner pencil (!) onto an old piece of newspaper.

  We have to find someone who knows.

  “But who?”

  We pondered this for a while, staring into space. I managed to feed Reese a couple of apple slices without him noticing. Then I continued staring intently at the grains of sugar spilled over the surface of the table. I licked my finger and collected the grains on my fingertip, then put it in my mouth. The sugar had been mixed with salt and was sharp and sweet at the same time. I absentmindedly toyed with one of the jam sachets. The compote was a deep shade of vermillion, hardly a natural colour at all.

  Then I had it.

  Excited, I jumped up and started putting on the old parka I’d found to conceal my machinery and metal arm. Reese waited for me to drag him off the table and load him into the old shopping trolley we’d found.

  “Wait, where are we going? Who is it?” He asked.

  I spelled out her name in the spilled sugar:

  Vanessa Jones.

  The flat didn’t look that different from the outside. In fact, at first we wondered whether we’d found the right place. Reese kept checking obsessively, convinced that his wasn’t it, but I could tell that he was just playing for time because he was scared. And he had full reason to be—very few people would voluntarily come here to do what we were about to do now. Even I hesitated slightly as I caught sight of her name beside the bell for her flat. My finger hovered over the bell chord for a second. Then I decided to get on with it and pulled it decisively.

  Although the hour was late, I heard a voice issue from the speaking tube almost immediately. It was saccharine, but with a sharp, slightly unnatural edge to it.

  “Hello? Who is it?”

  I pushed Reese forward and threatened him with a Tunnock’s teacake until he hastily mumbled our names into the mouth of the cone. I could hear the barely concealed glee dripping from her voice like clear honey as she spoke once more.

  “Please, come in. The doorman will show you up.”

  When she opened the door to us I nearly turned straight round and ran down the stairs again. Her appearance was just about as terrifying as her reputation. Her hair and eyes were raven black, and her lips were scarlet. Her dress was claret velvet and her shoes were like polished rubies. The imagery was scarcely subtle. Even the lampshade was red, and cast an infernal glow throughout the room.

  She welcomed us in. I threw Reese into a disgustingly upholstered chesterfield and sank into another beside him. The room was oppressively hot, and I quickly removed the horrendous parka that I’d found abandoned on the café floor. I noticed to my horror that it was from a women’s clothing shop.

  “So, boys,” She drawled, “to what do I owe this extreme pleasure?”

  She sauntered over to the desk and flicked aimlessly through the scattered papers. In the half-light, I thought I saw the bracelet round her wrist move—then I realised that it was not a bracelet at all, but a living creature: a livid red and black striped millipede that raised its antennae and glanced at us, bored, before coiling itself once again around her arm. Reese was staring aghast, open–mouthed. I took this opportunity to insert the Tunnock’s teacake, which he chewed instinctively.

  “Please, tell me.” She said, raising in impeccable eyebrow. “There’s no need to be scared.”

  She used to be beautiful, apparently. But years of ruthless social climbing had caused her features to harden and sharpen, and there was no hiding the cold, calculating glint in her eye. A heart that was once so open to love and possibility had hardened over the years as, one by one, her naïve expectations of human nature were disappointed. Instead, cynicism had seeped in like limestone into a fossil, until only a vague impression of the shape was preserved. There was no need for her to do what Reese had done: she was already completely heartless.

  Vanessa Jones was now the most popular socialite in London, treacherous informer to every tabloid gossip column party to the secrets of even the most high and mighty. As a young woman, she had been a ruthless journalist, a back-bench politician and at one point, rumour had it, a private investigator. If anyone knew where Dr. John Doe’s cave was, she did. Unfortunately, once Reese had haltingly informed her of the purpose of our visit, she didn’t seem as forthcoming:

  “It’s true that at one time I was sent to check up on Doe, to find out the secret of his discoveries. The rival medical research groups were very interested in him at one point, I seem to remember. But I never found anything in the end—he’s far too sly for that. I could certainly draw his cave on a map, but I’m being given a lot to keep this information confidential. I can get any modification I like for free—although you couldn’t tell by looking.” She smiled slyly. “I’d be giving that up if I told you. I’d need something really special in return.”

  “I’m sorry.” Mumbled Reese. “We have nothing—we’re broke. We don’t have anything we can give you.”

  “Then I’m afraid I can’t help you.” She sighed, disturbing a large, colourful scarab that I’d assumed was a brooch. It ran out as far as its chain would allow it before realising the futility of its task and returning to its place. “Such a pity. It would have made a magnificent scandal.”

  “Well, I’m sorry we disturbed you.” Said Reese hurriedly, jumping up and making it halfway to the door before he collapsed onto another god-awful chaise longue.

  “Ooh,” Said Vanessa, her predatory eyes widening. “Poor thing.”

  She looked him up and down, from his sheet of blonde hair to his thin ankles. Then she smiled.

  “On second thoughts, maybe there is something you could do for me.”

  I was horrified. I took her fountain pen and scribbled a message for Reese in blood red ink.

  You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.

  “No, it’s fine.” Said Reese. “I don’t mind.”

  His eyes were dull and lifeless—I don’t think he cared either way. It was the look of someone who didn’t mind anymore what happened to them, or even whether they lived or died.

  “Then it’s settled.” She said languidly. “One night with the lovely Reese in return for the address of Dr. John Doe.”

  She glanced at the watch face glued to the back of a beautiful goliath beetle.

  “It’s getting late. Come on, Reese.”

  She picked him up with surprising ease and flung him over her shoulder. “We’re going to my yacht.”

  She turned and glanced at me, almost forgetting I was there. “You’ll be alright here, won’t you?”

  I nodded. She smiled.

  “Bye then”.

  She walked out with Reese still hanging over her shoulder, and locked the door behind her.

 
Looking back, I can’t believe how stupid I’d been. There were any number of things she could have done while she had us in that position. But the following morning, almost to my surprise, she returned as promised and handed over a labelled map along with Reese, who looked clean, smart and close to death. She stood behind her desk and started relaying a plan of action.

  “Now, it’s not that far, but I recommend you divide the journey into three parts—that way, no one will know…”

  The bell rang, interrupting her. She walked over to the speaking tube and listened intently.

  “Post boy’s bringing up an urgent message, apparently. Better get behind the sofa, just in case.”

  “Er…OK then…” Said Reese, bemused. I rolled him over the back of the chaise longue and jumped behind it myself. There were all kinds of things back there but I kept my eyes on her brutal stiletto heels as she moved to the door, collected the letter and closed it again. I peered round the edge of the sofa. She was reading the message with a look of avid glee in her eye, which was quickly replaced by an expression of businesslike seriousness. She spoke to us again with added urgency.

  “On second thoughts, I’ll get my chauffeur to take you in my car right away. Come on now, quickly.”

  I wondered what the news was. She hurriedly bundled us into the vehicle and packed us off with half the contents of the breakfast bar. I sat in the back of the luxurious quadruple turbo-charged Bentley, frantically attempting to feed Reese strawberries, orange juice, anything I