'Not in any trouble, is he?' asked the barman.
'Nothing serious.'
'Johnny Maguire, you say. He works over the way at the strip club — the Penthouse. On the door, mostly.'
Morse thanked him, and he and Lewis walked over to the window and looked outside. The Penthouse was almost directly opposite.
'Ever been to a strip club, Lewis?'
'No. But I've read about 'em, of course.'
'Nothing like first-hand experience, you know. C'mon, drink up.'
Outside the club Morse surveyed the pictorial preview of the erotic delights to be savoured within. 18 GORGEOUS GIRLS. The sexiest show in London. 95p only. NO OTHER ADMISSION CHARGE.
'The real thing this is, gentlemen. Continuous performance. No G-strings.' The speaker was a ginger-haired youth, dressed in a dark green blazer and grey slacks, who sat in a small booth at the entrance lobby.
'Bit expensive, isn't it?' asked Morse.
'When you've seen the show, sir, you'll think it's cheap at the price.'
Morse looked at him carefully, and thought there was something approaching honesty in the dark eyes. Maguire — almost certainly; but he wouldn't run away. Morse handed over two pound-notes and took the tickets. To the young tout the policemen were just another couple of frustrated middle-aged voyeurs, and he had already spotted another potential customer studying the stills outside.
'The real thing this is, sir. Continuous performance. No G-strings.'
'You owe me 10p,' said Morse.
They walked through a gloomy passage-way and heard the music blaring from behind a screened partition, where sat a smallish, swarthy gentleman (Maltese, thought Morse) with a huge chest and bulging forearms.
He took the tickets and tore them across. 'Can I see membership cards, please?'
'What membership cards?'
'You must be members of the club, sir.' He reached for a small pad, and tore off two forms. 'Fill in, please.'
'Just a minute,' protested Morse. 'It says outside that there's no other admission charge and. .'
'One pown each, please.'
'. . We've paid our 95p and that's all we're paying.'
The small man looked mean and dangerous. He rose to his meagre height and moved a thick arm to Morse's jacket. 'Fill in, please. That will be one pown each.'
'Will it buggery!' said Morse.
The Maltese advanced slightly and his hands glided towards Morse's wallet-pocket.
Neither Morse nor Lewis were big men, and the last thing that Morse wanted at this juncture was a rough-house. He wasn't in very good condition anyway. . But he knew the type well. Courage, Morse! He brushed the man's hand forcibly from his jacket and stepped a menacing pace forward.
'Look, you miserable wog. You want a fight? That's fine. I wouldn't want to bruise my fist against your ugly chops, myself, but this pal of mine here will do it with the greatest pleasure. Just up his street. Army middleweight champion till a year ago. Where shall we go, you dirty little squit?'
The little man sat back and sagged in his chair like a wilting balloon, and his voice was a punctured whine.
'You got to be members of the club. If you not I get prosecuted by police.'
'F — off,' said Morse, and with the ex-boxing champion behind him walked through the screen partition.
In the small auditorium beyond sat a sprinkling of males, dotted around on the three rows of seats facing the small, raised stage, on which a buxom blonde stripper had just, climactically, removed her G-string. At least one of the management's promises had been honoured. The curtains closed and there was a polite smatter of half-hearted applause.
'How did you know I was a boxing champion?' whispered Lewis.
'I didn't,' said Morse, with genuine surprise.
'You might get it right, though, sir. Light middleweight.'
Morse grinned happily, and a disembodied voice from the wings announced the advent of The Fabulous Fiona. The curtains opened jerkily to reveal a fully-clothed Fiona; but it was immediately apparent that her fabulous body, whatever delights were soon to be unveiled, was signally bereft of any rhythmic suppleness as she struggled amateurishly to synchronize a few elementary dance steps with the languorously suggestive music.
After The Sexy Susan and The Sensational Sandra even Morse was feeling a trifle blase; but, as he explained to an unenthusiastic Lewis, there might be better things to come. And indeed The Voluptuous Vera and The Kinky Kate certainly did something to raise the general standard of the entertainment. There were gimmicks aplenty: fans, whips, bananas and rubber spiders; and Morse dug Lewis in the ribs as an extraordinarily shapely girl, dressed for a fancy-dress ball, titillatingly and tantalizingly divested herself of all but an incongruously ugly mask.
'Bit of class there, Lewis.'
But Lewis remained unimpressed; and when the turn came round for the reappearance of The Fabulous Fiona Morse reluctantly decided they had better go. The little gorilla was fleecing a thin, spotty-faced young man of his one pown membership fee as they walked out of the club into the dazzling sunshine of the London street. After a few breaths of comparatively clean air, Morse returned to the entrance and stood by the young man.
'What's your name, lad?'
'William Shakespeare. What's yours?' He looked at Morse with considerable surprise. Who the hell did he think he was? It was over two years ago since anyone had spoken to him in that tone of voice. At school, in Kidlington.
'Can we go and talk somewhere?'
'What is this?'
'John Maguire, if I'm not mistaken? I want to talk to you about Miss Valerie Taylor — I think you may have heard of her. Now we can do it quietly and sensibly, or you can come along with me and the sergeant here to the nearest police station. Up to you.'
Maguire was obviously worried. 'Look. Not here, please. I've got half an hour off at four o'clock. I'll meet you then. I'll be in there.' He pointed anxiously to a sleazy-looking snack bar across the road next to the Angel.
Morse pondered what to do.
'Please,' urged Maguire. I'll be there. Honest, I will.'
It was a difficult decision, but Morse finally agreed. He thought it would be foolish to antagonize Maguire before he'd even started on him.
Morse gave quick instructions to Lewis as they walked away. He was to take a taxi back to Southampton Terrace and wait until Morse returned. If Maguire did decide to scuttle (it seemed unlikely, though) he would almost certainly go back there for some of his things.
At the end of the street Lewis found a cab almost immediately, and Morse guiltily strolled back to the Penthouse.
'You'd better give me another ticket,' demanded Morse brusquely. He walked once more down the murkily-lit passage, gave his ticket to a surprised and silent dwarf, and without further trouble re-entered the auditorium. He recognized The Voluptuous Vera with-out difficulty and decided that it would be no more than a minimal hardship thus to while away the next hour and a half. He just hoped the masked young lady was still on the bill. .