Second Act

Two

Bastard! Double-crossing, dirty, filthy bastard. But whatever Claudia’s feelings towards Captain Moschus, they would have to wait. Butico was advancing across the floor towards her, menace oozing from every well-shod pore.

‘Eight thousand, I believe, was the sum I paid you for that wine.’

The very coldness of his tone forced Claudia’s mouth into a smile. Teeth, teeth, show him more teeth. Let him see you’re not afraid. ‘It’s not what you think, Butico.’ Suddenly there were no more teeth left to show.

‘Well, now, I’m sure we can come to terms,’ Butico said smoothly.

With exaggerated slowness, he flipped one length of cloak over one shoulder, then did the same for the other. Dusk might be falling, but there was no mistaking the gleam of steel on each hip.

Claudia had been a dancer before she changed her identity and dancers, by their very definition, must be light on their feet, fast and, above all, they have to be flexible. She was past him before he could blink, and suddenly she was cursing the wide open space of the quayside. Where were the sailors, the stevedores, the labourers when you wanted one? Where was the crowd she could lose herself in? Cursing her own stupidity for giving her own bodyguard the slip, she flew down the steps, cloak billowing behind like a sail. Halfway across the precinct, she heard Butico bark a command. Two heavies stepped out from behind the sacred laurel, blocking her path.

‘All right, Butico, you win,’ she said, skidding to a halt.

The heavies turned to each other, grinning smugly. That was all the time she needed. In the split second they locked eyes to congratulate themselves on their intimidation tactics, Claudia dived between their legs. A huge paw lashed out, but the eel was too fast and before they could turn, she was racing across the quayside for all she was worth. Footsteps pounded behind her. Which way, which way? The obvious course was to backtrack, follow the route she’d come by, but goddammit they were running like Olympic athletes and at this pace they would be upon her long before she reached the flower market and the crush of safety. Her only chance was to lose them by ducking and diving.

She realized her mistake almost at once. Not only were the thugs keeping pace as she ducked and dived round the alleys, Claudia was being sucked deeper and deeper into the slums. Between the tall tenements, the last of the twilight was obliterated. Moans and wails unfurled from every window. A gagging stench permeated the air, a combination of rotting meat, dog piss, sewage and despair. Many of the cobbles were missing, making every step a hazard which threatened to trip her or turn an ankle, leaving her helpless and stranded. On she ran, feeling her way with her hands. She heard screams from open windows. Fists connecting with flesh. Babies bawling, dogs baying, but loudest of all were the footsteps behind her.

Desperate now, she flung her purse on the ground, scattering the coins noisily over the stones to bring out the slum dwellers and impede her pursuers. Too late. A hand spun her round. Sent her crashing against the tenement wall, knocking the breath from her lungs. In the blackness, she saw the oaf grinning, and this time the grin didn’t fade.

‘Well, well, well! Thought you could lose us, didya?’

The second set of footsteps drew up alongside. Both men laughed. The laugh made Claudia’s blood turn to ice. ‘Touch me again and I’ll cry rape, you fat bastards.’

One smelled of garlic, the other of straw. They both stank of sweat.

‘She did say rape, didn’t she?’

Oh god, they meant it. She could see the gleam in their eyes, felt their arousal through her thick furs. Even if she screamed, who would come? One lonely scream among hundreds. One more lost soul among thousands. Unseen hands could be heard, scrabbling in the blackness for her coins, but they would not come to her aid. Within seconds, they would disappear back inside the crumbling death traps, unconcerned where the coins came from, only where they were going. Six storeys of hopelessness pressed down upon her as hands clawed at her flesh, fingers probed without subtlety.

‘Enough!’

Butico’s implacable tones cut through the howls of the slums like a scythe. The mauling stopped.

‘One thing you need to be aware of, my dear,’ he said quietly. His hand cupped her jaw. ‘No one gets away from Butico.’

He glanced up at the crumbling plaster, wrinkled his nose at the stench.

‘Now, before you so rudely walked out of our meeting, I believe we were discussing the eight thousand sesterces you owe me.’

‘I don’t have eight-’

His hand turned into a vice, crushing her cheeks. ‘Plus interest.’ He leaned over, his cold eyes level with hers. ‘You see, me, I like the good things in life. Greek sculpture. Gourmet foods. Vintage wines. You get my drift?’

She nodded as far as his grip would permit.

‘But my boys, here.’ When he smiled, Claudia felt a chill to her marrow. ‘Well, the fine arts, I’m afraid, pass right over their heads, though they still appreciate pretty things. Don’t you, lads?’

‘Sure do, boss.’ A paw clamped over Claudia’s breast and squeezed to prove the point.

‘My rate of interest,’ Butico said, releasing his grip on her jaw, ‘is thirty-two per cent.’

‘ Thirty-two?’ Terrified as she was, that was still an outrageous amount.

‘Effective the day I handed over the cash,’ he continued smoothly. ‘Which, as I recall, was exactly one month ago, bringing the outstanding balance to-’

‘Yes, yes, I can do the maths, thank you very much.’ She couldn’t. Was in no position to think, much less calculate. She just needed to claw back her dignity, regain some kind of control. Pointedly she swatted the paw off her breast, thankful her trembling hand could not be seen in the dark. She felt sick.

‘Then we understand one another,’ he said.

‘We do indeed. I pay you back, with interest, or you throw me to your dogs as a bone.’

‘No, no, no.’ Butico tutted gently, and the sound made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end. ‘Either way, I get my money back, Claudia. Whether my boys get to play with you is dependent entirely upon yourself.’

He brushed bits of crumbling plaster from his cloak. ‘Fair’s fair, after all.’

He smiled.

‘Fuck with me and they fuck you.’