Friends to Die For

Fifteen

The friends had learned of Marlena’s horrific murder the previous afternoon. Tiny had spent much of Sunday morning trying to call her to see if she fancied Sunday Club, and to offer to get her to Johnny’s Place, but, of course, he received no reply — until around 2 p.m. when DCI Nobby Clarke answered Marlena’s phone.

The terrible truth quickly became apparent. Tiny and Billy between them called the rest of the group. Everyone expressed shock and disbelief. They were even more shocked to learn that Alfonso had again been arrested, this time on suspicion of murdering Marlena.

Then on Monday afternoon came the official announcement that Alfonso had been charged.

Tiny and Billy saw it on Sky News and again phoned around the other Sunday Clubbers.

‘If it wasn’t so fucking serious, I’d think it was an April fool,’ George told Tiny.

‘What?’ responded the big man.

‘It is the first of April,’ replied George.

‘For fuck’s sake, mate,’ remonstrated Tiny.

‘All right, all right. But how could anyone believe the Fonz would harm his beloved Marlena.’

Tiny ended the call. None of their group wanted to believe Alfonso would have harmed Marlena. But somebody damn well had. She was dead. And although the details were not yet known, she had apparently been killed in a particularly horrific way.

A disjointed and disturbing week followed, during which Alfonso appeared at Westminster Magistrates’ Court and could be seen in press photos and on the TV news, head bowed, being loaded into a police van en route to Brixton Prison, where he was to be remanded in custody.

It was towards the end of the week that Ari, the only member of the group other than the arrested Alfonso not to have suffered from some kind of incident or attack, decided he wanted to see the others, that it might help if they got together again to talk. So he set about trying to organize supper at Johnny’s Place for the following Sunday.

Previously there had never been any need for organization. There had always been an easy relaxed air about their gathering; the table at the far end of the basement restaurant would be laid and waiting for however many of the group turned up.

Ari had realized that if the friends were ever to meet up again — and for reasons he could not fully explain he thought it was important that they did so — then someone would have to not only do some planning, but also some persuading.

Since the sinister chain of events had engulfed the friends, Ari had become increasingly dependent on coke. And it wasn’t coincidence. He hoped that he could get it under control; the last thing he needed was a repeat of the incident at Harpo’s, which, to make matters worse, had been witnessed by DI Vogel. So far his father didn’t seem to suspect. And Ari needed to keep it that way.

Nonetheless he indulged in a hefty snort of the white stuff before beginning to make his calls. George was first on the list. And Ari didn’t receive a particularly warm reception from him.

‘To tell you the truth, Ari, I’m a bit scared of us all getting together. I’ve already had my dog tortured to death and my friends are falling like flies. In any case, I’m probably going out with Carla.’

‘For God’s sake, George, bring her to Johnny’s. Don’t you think it’s time we all met her?’

‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Ari? I can’t think of a worse time to bring her.’

‘Oh fuck,’ said Ari. ‘You’re right. Who’d want to get mixed up with us lot right now. I’m sorry, George. But it would be great if you could make it. I think it might help if we all sit down together to talk things through. Those of us still able to be there, that is...’

‘Look, I do see where you’re coming from.’ George seemed to be relenting. ‘I’ll be there if I can, all right?’

‘Great,’ said Ari. He paused. ‘I can’t believe Alfonso did this though, can you?’

Ari could hear George sigh at the other end of the line.

‘I don’t know what to believe any more, mate,’ said George.

The remaining friends were equally unenthusiastic.

Bob said he didn’t feel like going out anywhere at the moment, particularly not to Johnny’s.

‘Couldn’t you think of somewhere else for us to meet up for this therapeutic chat?’ he asked. ‘It’s not as if Covent Garden is short on restaurants.’

The truth was, Ari hadn’t even considered another venue.

‘We always meet at Johnny’s,’ he said lamely.

‘There’s no “always” about it any more, is there?’ commented Bob.

Ari could think of no reply to that.

‘Look, I’ll think about it,’ said Bob.

Disappointed with the reactions he had so far encountered, Ari took a bottle of Hendricks from his freezer and sent a couple of shots of neat alcohol to join the chemical mix already whizzing around his brain before making any further calls.

Greg told Ari he had a big job on and was working 24/7, and anyway he wasn’t sure Karen could make it because her mother was away and wouldn’t be having the kids that Sunday.

Ari was getting fed up with the knock-backs. And the coke had, as usual, shortened his temper and lengthened his courage.

‘You’re just making fucking excuses,’ he told Greg tetchily.

‘What if I am, mate?’ Greg answered. ‘What if I am? Far as I know, you haven’t been mugged or had a brick through your bleedin’ window, ’ave you?’

Then he hung up. Ari felt terrible. The coke was beginning to wear off. He regretted having been temperamental with Greg, and as was often the case at this stage in the proceedings, knowing that he was heading for a big low, he regretted having taken the cocaine in the first place. Ari was well aware that he was the only one of the remaining friends not to have been the victim of something. Until Alfonso had been charged, Ari had wondered, obviously, how many of the group suspected him. He’d tried to put himself in their shoes. They had all suffered to some degree, and he had not. Even if they didn’t suspect him, they probably didn’t like him very much any more. Ari decided that was it. He wouldn’t call anyone else. Sunday Club was over. Dead as Marlena. The thought made him shiver.

Then Greg called back.

‘Sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘We’re all on edge, aren’t we? I’ll come if I can. And we’ll see if we can get a babysitter so Karen can come too. You’re probably right. It might do us all good.’

Ari felt much better after that. He changed his mind again. He would continue to try to round up the group. He called Tiny and Billy. Billy answered the phone. And finally Ari got the sort of response he’d been hoping for from the beginning.

‘I think we’d like to meet up,’ Billy said quietly. ‘It’s been a tough time and it’s far from over yet. You’re right, Ari. There’s a lot for us to talk through. We still don’t know what it’s all been about, and we need closure, don’t we? I’ll have to check with Tiny, but I reckon we’ll be there.’

‘I’m glad,’ said Ari.

‘Oh, and we’ve got a little bit of good news,’ said Billy.

‘Great,’ said Ari, who was beginning to wonder if there was any good news left in the world.

‘Tell you when we meet.’

‘Right,’ said Ari.

Then he made the final call, the one he had always thought would be the most difficult.

‘Are you mad?’ hissed Michelle. ‘Do you really think I want to show my face to anyone, the state I’m in? It’s been over a week now and I still look like roadkill.’

‘Look,’ countered Ari stoically, ‘I just didn’t want you to feel left out, that’s all.’

Michelle’s response was waspish.

‘Oh, I don’t feel left out, I can assure you, Ari,’ she said. ‘But no doubt you do.’

And so Ari, the first to arrive, wearing his best jeans and vintage leather jacket with the biker studs on the collar, really had no idea who else would turn up at Johnny’s Place eight days after Marlena’s murder. It was five fifteen. Early. Even for Sunday Club. Ari had been on tenterhooks all day and couldn’t wait. He paused at the door to the basement restaurant then ran down the steps as if he wanted to get in there before he changed his mind. Johnny was at the piano playing ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’. Ari was aware of the gentle irony. Nobody seemed to have been watching over him or any of the others for some time now. Johnny glanced up and looked as if he was about to stop playing to speak to Ari. Ari hurried by. He couldn’t make casual conversation with Johnny, and neither did he have any wish for a more serious discussion with anyone other than the surviving members of his now devastated group of friends.

As he made his way across the room he noticed Justin, the counter attendant at Shannon’s gym, another Johnny’s regular, sitting with an unattractive older man. This was Justin’s usual sort of companion and undoubtedly well-heeled, thought Ari, who had never liked Justin and usually felt rather superior to him. After all, Ari was from one of the wealthiest and most established Asian families in the country, although he tried quite hard not to let it show. On this particular evening Ari just felt conspicuous and vulnerable. He looked away from Justin, determined to avoid any possibility of eye contact, and the heat rose in his cheeks as he approached the familiar table by the rear wall.

It stood empty, but was laid for ten as usual. Ari felt a stab of irritation. Hadn’t the staff grasped that there were no longer ten friends who might attend? One was dead, horrifically murdered, one was in jail, accused of being her killer, and one had such a bad facial injury she could not bear to be seen.

In spite of the hefty snort of coke he’d ingested minutes earlier, Ari’s courage almost deserted him. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to make a run for it, and it was only the arrival of a waitress at his side, asking if he would like a drink, that averted a hasty departure. Habit took over. And innate good manners. Ari placed an order. He asked for a beer with a vodka chaser, one of his favourite combinations of alcohol, and sat down on the nearest chair, reflecting that it might well be possible that he would find himself sitting there on his own for the entire evening. Even Billy and Tiny weren’t certainties. Tiny might not have reacted the way Billy did to the prospect of meeting up at Johnny’s again.

Ari downed his beer almost in one swallow, tossed back the vodka shot, and ordered a pair of replacements straight away. His nerves were jangling. He needed to relax, but he couldn’t. The minutes passed. He knew he was early, but historically most of the friends turned up before six. Though he tried to convince himself they were often later, it did nothing to dispel the fear that he was about to spend the evening alone.

Then Bob arrived, his face pinched and strained, hurrying across the room just as Ari had done, not looking around him. Bob managed a small smile and ordered a beer, Corona, the same brand Ari was drinking, but without the vodka chaser.

‘Don’t really know what I’m doing here,’ Bob muttered. ‘Just couldn’t stay away, I suppose.’

‘I’m glad you’ve come, anyway,’ said Ari.

George was next, handsome as ever in a tan bomber jacket over a cream linen collarless shirt. But Ari could see the tension in his eyes as George stretched out his arms for a hug, and his fingernails had been bitten almost to the quick. Ari was certain he’d never seen them in that state before; George’s nails had always been well manicured and immaculately presented, just like the rest of him. No one in the group, it seemed, was immune to the pressure and anxiety which Ari was beginning to feel quite crushed by.

George hugged Ari hard and spoke into his left ear.

‘Well done, mate,’ he said. ‘You were dead right, you know. This could do us all the power of good.’

Ari smiled edgily, unsure how to respond. He decided, probably unwisely, on what he too late realized was a rather pathetic stab at the old banter.

‘No Carla then?’ he queried.

George frowned. ‘Don’t you ever know when to stop?’ he asked.

‘Sorry,’ replied Ari, mentally kicking himself.

This was an evening requiring tact and compassion, mutual understanding and shared sympathy. The last thing it needed was a cheap and flimsy attempt at humour.

The rest arrived within minutes; almost, to Ari’s surprise, the entire remaining group. Tiny and Billy first, then Greg and Karen. That only left Michelle to make up the full complement, but Ari had never really expected her to come. He knew she must be hurting mentally and physically, her shattered nose and swollen face doubtless still aching and sore, her state of mind wounded and fragile. Perhaps more to the point, she had made it clear she had no wish to show her damaged features to the world.

And so there were seven of them. Seven diverse people who had once been such good friends, albeit somewhat casual friends, suddenly quite uncomfortable with each other. Hardly anybody spoke at first. There was the kind of awkward silence at the table that had never existed before. They were all too aware of the curious stares and mouth-behind-hand whispers of other diners in Johnny’s that Sunday evening.

Their fate, because that was surely what it had become, was common knowledge now. Most of the other regulars at the restaurant must have been aware of what was going on. News travels fast and comprehensively in Covent Garden, an area of London which retains so much of the village about it, in spite of being at the apparently racy heart of a cosmopolitan city. And there’d been substantial media coverage. The story of Marlena’s brutal murder and Alfonso’s arrest had been in all the papers. Not only had he already been charged with two serious offences — the attack on Michelle and Marlena’s murder — but there were hints of more to come. Even the most cautious and bridled press of the après Leveson era had found ways to make it tantalizingly clear that a rare and tasty tale of yet-to-be revealed intrigue lurked beneath the bald statements of police and prosecution.

Ari thought there were more people in the restaurant than usual at that time on a Sunday. There were certainly more people that he didn’t recognize. He wondered if he and the others had become macabre tourist attractions, if there were people in the restaurant who’d been drawn in by the lure of a visceral thrill from seeing those touched by a high-profile murder.

Ari glanced around that familiar table at six strained faces, and had no doubt that he looked every bit as strained. He suspected everybody wanted to talk about Alfonso, to discuss whether or not he really could be a murderer. But nobody seemed to want to broach the subject which was surely at the forefront of all their minds.

It was Ari who had called them together. Fuelled by false white courage, he’d more or less summoned them. He was unsure now if he’d been right to do so. At the very least he should have listened to Bob and chosen a different venue. But now they were here, Ari felt it incumbent on him to lead the way, to help them talk to each other again, to at least attempt to get things back to how they had been before. Not that it ever could be the way it had been before. But, perhaps, Ari thought, he and his friends could attempt a new beginning.

‘I–I just wondered how everybody was?’ Ari enquired eventually, starkly aware of what a lame remark that was.

Greg jumped straight in. ‘Personally I’m bloody marvellous,’ he snapped. ‘I don’t suppose the boys miss their dogs at all, we don’t ’ave to worry about Marlena any more, and Michelle’s new nose’ll probably turn out to be better than the old one.’

Ari looked down at the table. The other four men sat open-mouthed, staring at Greg. Karen placed a hand lightly on her husband’s arm.

‘Sorry,’ said Greg.

There was another silence. Then one of the waiters, not chatty like they usually were at Johnny’s but clearly embarrassed and every bit as stilted and awkward in his behaviour as the seven friends sitting round the table, arrived to take their order.

Food was duly chosen, albeit with little enthusiasm, and more drink ordered.

Then Billy spoke.

‘Actually, Tiny and I do have a bit of good news,’ he said.

Oh yes, remembered Ari. Billy had mentioned that on the phone. Ari glanced at Billy questioningly. Hopefully almost.

‘About the dogs...’ began Billy.

‘Oh yeah, been stuck back together and resurrected, have they?’ asked George.

Tiny winced.

‘For fuck’s sake, don’t you start, George,’ said Karen. ‘I thought we were here to talk, to listen to each other, to help each other understand...’ Her voice faltered and she broke off, fighting back the tears.

‘I think we might be here a long time for that,’ muttered Bob.

‘Tell us then,’ said Ari, still looking hopefully at Billy.

‘Well, you know we arranged a post-mortem examination on our Daisy and on George’s Chumpy, after the police said there was no point. Turns out they were wrong. From our point of view, anyway. We finally got the results. Our vet’s been away...’

Billy glanced at George. ‘Sorry, George, we were going to call you. Then we thought, well, we’d be seeing you tonight, better to tell you in person, and everybody else too.’

‘OK, go on then,’ said George sulkily.

‘The post-mortem showed that the dogs were killed by a lethal injection, an overdose of barbiturate — the same way vets put animals down. They were only mutilated after they were dead. Chances are Daisy and Chump died peacefully in their sleep. So we know now they didn’t suffer. Isn’t that great?’

‘I think “great” may be a bit of an exaggeration, but it is a relief to know they didn’t suffer, or not the way it seemed they had anyway,’ said George.

‘Yes, it must be,’ said Karen. ‘I know how I’d feel if it was our Westies.’

Bob looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t understand it though. Why would anyone evil enough to do all the other stuff that’s happened show mercy to a couple of dogs?’

‘And a funny kind of mercy at that,’ said Tiny. ‘Poor little devils are still dead.’

‘Yes,’ Bob continued. ‘But someone went to the trouble of killing them painlessly and then making it look as if they’d been tortured to death. Why? To frighten the rest of us? To make George, Tiny and Billy suffer even more?’

‘Who knows?’ said Tiny. ‘Anyway, I suppose we have to accept now that it wasn’t a someone. It was Alfonso.’

‘He never did like dogs,’ said Karen. ‘I’ve heard him grumble about dogs pooing all over the streets and their owners not clearing up after them.’

‘Long way from that to dismembering ’em,’ said Greg.

Tiny winced again.

There was yet another silence. Alfonso’s arrest was the subject they had all wanted to discuss but couldn’t bring themselves to. It remained difficult for any of them to find the right words.

‘I still can’t believe it,’ said Karen eventually.

‘Me neither,’ responded Billy. ‘But I spoke to Michelle yesterday, and she said the word at the nick is that he’s definitely guilty. The evidence against him is overwhelming.’

‘But what does she think?’ said Greg. ‘I mean, she was mugged. Punched in the face at close quarters. Has she told anyone whether she saw her attacker’s face? Did she think it could have been the Fonz? At the time, I mean. Did you ask her that, Billy?’

Billy’s attention was momentarily diverted. Johnny had abruptly stopped playing the piano, midway through a melody. The silence in the restaurant, interrupted only by one or two half-strangled gasps, was deafening.

Billy glanced across the room.

‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’ he said. ‘She’s here.’

Michelle was indeed making her way across the room. Johnny had stood up and taken a step towards her, his face full of concern. She ignored him. Her stride was uncertain and she even bumped into a chair as she approached the Sunday Club table.

But it was the sight of her face that had caused the other diners to gasp. The whole of it was swollen and discoloured. Her nose was twice its usual size, multicoloured and twisted. It wasn’t so much broken as smashed. Although the friends knew that to be the case, none of them had seen her since the attack. The severity of the damage therefore came as a tremendous shock.

Ari recovered first. He jumped to his feet, reached out to Michelle with both arms and hugged her.

‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ he said. ‘We’re just so glad to see you, darling, aren’t we, guys?’

Everyone around the table murmured agreement and words of greeting.

‘I changed my mind,’ said Michelle, sitting down heavily on the chair Ari pulled out for her. ‘I suddenly wanted you all to see what the bastard did to me. To see the state I’m in.’

Karen, the only other woman at the table, understood at once.

‘It’s awful, darling, horrid, but you will get better,’ she said.

‘Not without major plastic surgery,’ countered Michelle.

‘I’m sure there are surgeons out there who’ll make you as good as new,’ Karen persisted. ‘Even prettier than you were before, you’ll see.’

‘Don’t fucking patronize me, Karen,’ Michelle snapped.

‘I wasn’t, darling, honestly...’

‘We all feel for you, honey,’ said Bob. ‘And we’re so glad you’ve come.’

‘Yep, I thought you’d enjoy a freak show,’ said Michelle.

Karen placed her hand over Michelle’s. ‘You know that’s not how we see it,’ she said. ‘We feel for you — we’re your friends.’

‘I thought Alfonso was my friend,’ said Michelle. ‘And he did this to me.’

With her free hand she gestured towards her ruined face. Above the shattered nose her eyes were narrow bloodshot slits in mounds of discoloured flesh. One seemed to be permanently watering from a corner.

Are you sure it was Alfonso?’ Greg seized the opportunity to ask the question he’d voiced earlier. ‘Did you think it was him at the time?’

‘That’s not the point, and of course I’m bloody sure,’ said Michelle. ‘He’s been charged with assaulting me, hasn’t he? And murdering Marlena. I’m a copper, remember, I know exactly how good a case has to be before someone gets charged with murder. The police and the prosecution service don’t get that wrong — well, hardly ever, whatever the bloody public think.’

Michelle’s voice had risen. Not only were all of the friends staring at her but everyone else in the restaurant too.

‘Evidence,’ she continued, banging her hand on the table. ‘When you charge someone with murder it’s because you’ve got fucking evidence. That’s why Alfonso’s banged up in Brixton nick. Fucking evidence.’

Her words were not exactly slurred, but there was something wrong with the manner of her speech, her diction not as clear as usual. Karen wondered at first whether the blow to her face had affected Michelle’s ability to speak clearly. But Ari, being more familiar with the effects of drink and drugs, suspected otherwise.

‘Look, don’t upset yourself, we all want to help you,’ he began, trying to sound as soothing as possible.

‘Don’t upset my fucking self! You all want to fucking help, do you?’ Michelle spat out the words, her voice louder than ever. ‘How can anyone fucking help? I’ll never get a man now, never have a fucking baby...’

Tears formed in her narrowed eyes and began to run down her face. Her mouth twisted in anguish. The men around the table were almost squirming with embarrassment. Tiny reached for Billy’s hand. Bob and Greg exchanged bewildered glances. Ari wished the meticulously distressed floorboards of Johnny’s Place would part and swallow him up. Indeed swallow the lot of them up. He now regretted having organized this meeting, this impossible attempt at a reincarnation of a past which was gone forever.

Karen stood up, walked round to Michelle’s side of the table and wrapped both arms around her.

‘It will be all right,’ she persisted. ‘It will be. We will get through this. All of us. And most importantly we will look after you, make sure you get through it.’

Michelle began to sob loudly. All eyes in the room were now fixed upon her. The tears did not last long, less than a minute certainly, but it seemed like forever to the rest of the group.

Then she stopped crying, as suddenly as she had begun, and sat up straight in her chair, obviously making a huge effort to regain her self-control.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Whisky mixed with painkillers, I’m afraid. Quite a cocktail, eh? I knew I’d had too much of both. I knew I shouldn’t have come. On the other hand, the only reason I’m here is courtesy of the whisky and the pills and the Dutch courage they gave me. Now all I’ve done is make a fool of myself.’

‘No, you haven’t. And yes, you should have come, you really should,’ said Ari. ‘I mean it.’

Michelle smiled wanly. ‘Order me some coffee, will you. Strong coffee.’

Ari asked a waiter for a double espresso, which was delivered with alacrity. No doubt the staff were eager to see the restaurant return to something approaching normality. Johnny was playing the piano again with a loud thumping rhythm, far removed from his usual sensitive touch on the ivory keys. You could feel the tension in the air, no longer just at the Sunday Club table, but throughout the restaurant. Ari wondered what it would be like not to feel anxious any more. Indeed he wondered if he would ever stop feeling anxious. He suspected the rest of them around the table were going through the same thing, and like him they had forgotten what it was to wake up in the morning without a feeling of apprehension at what the day might bring.

Michelle drank the coffee in one go and asked for another.

‘Tiny and Billy were just telling us a bit of good news when you came in,’ said Ari, who, having instigated an occasion which was in danger of turning into a circus, was desperate to maintain at least a semblance of ordinariness.

Michelle uttered one high-pitched shriek of mirthless laughter. But there was to be no repeat of her earlier hysterical outburst.

Instead she fixed a cool stare on the boys. ‘Really?’ Her voice was enquiring but icy.

Tiny fidgeted. It was left to Billy to repeat the account of the post-mortem results.

Michelle did not respond. Ari supposed that given what she had been through, and indeed what they had all been through with Marlena’s murder and Alfonso’s arrest, the fate of two dogs was of small concern. It had seemed curiously significant to him though.

Billy carried on speaking, as if he didn’t know how to stop, filling the silence.

‘There’s more.’ He turned to face George. ‘Did you know that your Chumpy was poorly, George?’ he asked.

George shook his head, as if puzzled.

‘Apparently he had cancer of the liver.’

‘He never showed any signs of being ill,’ said George.

‘Well, he soon would have done,’ Billy went on. ‘According to the autopsy, Chump would have died within weeks. I don’t know whether that helps, but I thought you’d like to know.’

George stared at Billy for several seconds before answering.

‘Thanks, mate,’ he said eventually. ‘I think it does help a bit. Yes.’

‘At least you know he didn’t have long to live anyway. That’s the problem for Tiny and me: Daisy was so young, barely four years old. We feel we should have protected our little girl, been able to save her.’

Michelle continued to stare at Billy in that icy way.

‘And do you think maybe you should have protected Marlena?’ she asked, her words clearer now, her voice quieter. She seemed suddenly quite calm. Ari found that even more disconcerting.

‘Maybe even protected me,’ Michelle went on. ‘Or is it just the bloody dogs you’re concerned about?’

Billy flushed. Tiny squeezed his hand. His voice too was very quiet when he spoke.

‘You know better than that, Michelle,’ he said. ‘Billy and I would have done anything in our power to protect you and Marlena, to save her life, to prevent your attack. And we are well aware that losing our dog must seem a very small thing compared with all that’s happened to you. Of course we realize that it pales into insignificance compared with the loss of human life. Any human life, but particularly our friend, dear Marlena. But Daisy meant a lot to us, and we were just glad to learn she didn’t suffer the way we thought she had. That’s all.’

Michelle’s face softened. ‘I’m sorry, Tiny. I do understand really, it’s just hard to...’ She broke off, started again: ‘Like I said, I shouldn’t have come. I’m going to leave now. I’m so sorry.’

And with that she rose abruptly from the table and half ran towards the door.

‘But you haven’t eaten anything,’ Ari called after her.

‘At least let me take you home,’ shouted Bob.

Michelle stopped in the doorway and turned to face them all.

‘No, no, I want to be on my own,’ she said. ‘Just leave me alone.’

Johnny stood up from the piano. ‘I’m putting you in a taxi,’ he said firmly.

The remaining friends watched in silence. They all knew Johnny would do that for any of his clientele whom he felt needed help. But Michelle was special to him, no doubt about that, and he had made no secret of how upset he had been by what had happened to her.

Johnny put a protective arm around Michelle’s waist. She did not protest. He steered her towards the stairs, where she turned and glanced towards the Sunday Club table one last time.

And then she was gone.