Free Zero Alternative by Luca Pesaro Page B

massive man from the last time he had been around, an expensive evening only a few nights before, and smiled. The queue parted, letting them through. Grudgingly.
    ‘Have a good time, sir,’ the bouncer rumbled, opening a red velvet rope into the Gentlemen’s Club.
    Walker nodded and hurried through the foyer into a poorly lit, cavernous room. A few dozen men were scattered around the lowered floor, most sitting in small groups at tables and alcoves, others enjoying the views alone. The bass beat thrummed in the semi-darkness and he headed for a gleaming copper bar in the farthest corner, Steph just behind him. He grabbed one of the stools and leaned on an elbow, his head spinning softly.
    A gorgeous black girl in her early twenties – wearing a sheer top with nothing underneath – smiled at him. ‘Anything to drink, sir?’
    ‘Double vodka on ice, and a glass of still water.’ Walker turned to Steph, who nodded. ‘And a Gin and Tonic, thanks.’ He handed the girl his American Express Black. ‘I’ll be running a tab.’
    As he waited, Walker glanced to the nearest of three stages where a few good-looking women were dancing sinuously to the rhythm of some African music. Suffused lights shone on the central one, a redhead Russian-type doll with enormous breasts who was in the middle of a striptease.
    ‘Been here before, Steph?’
    ‘Only once, after Bonus Day last year. It’s a bit expensive for me, we tend to hang around the cheaper places down Shoreditch.’ The Frenchman looked around, his eyes widening at the sheer amount of scantily clad beauty on display. ‘But this is awesome, much better than Spearmint Rhino.’
    There were scores of women scattered around the club, some pole-dancing, others just walking the floor between tables or sitting in the smaller nooks, sharing a drink with clients.
    ‘Best lap-dancing club in London, and not as strict as most.’ Walker sipped his vodka, thendrained a glass of water and asked for another. Though it was only a Monday and the nightclub seemed quieter than usual, the quality of the girls was still outstanding. You could find anything, from skinny Eastern Europeans to voluptuous African-American types. Any hair and skin colour, eyes of all conceivable shape and tint, and quite a few bodies to die for.
    A tall plump girl with dark hair approached them, wearing a skimpy bikini-top underneath a fishnet shirt, her heavy breasts in danger of bursting out. She stopped in front of Stephane and smiled at him coyly. ‘Good evening, guys, would you like a private dance?’ Her high voice lilted with a strong French accent. Steph swallowed and looked at Walker.
    ‘How much?’ Walker asked.
    ‘Fifty pounds for ten minutes, seventy for the two of you.’
    ‘Ehrr.’ The Frenchman squirmed, stuck.
    Walker shook his head and decided to rescue him. ‘What’s your name, darling?’
    ‘Chantelle. Please, I feel sooo lonely tonight.’
    ‘Not for me, but maybe my idiot friend here…’ He glanced at Steph, who was nodding quickly.
The call of the wild, bloody French people
. Walker sighed and signalled to the bar girl. ‘Put it on my tab, love.’
    Chantelle gave a little hop, one of her large breasts almost spilling out. She took Steph’s hand with a big smile. ‘Great.
Allons-y
.’
    The Frenchman stood, almost dropping his drink before looking at him. ‘Yours, thanks – but I really shouldn’t leave you alone…’
    Walker gestured at the roomful of women. ‘I’ll survive, don’t worry. See you later.’
    The showgirl was studying Steph – must have realised he was not a regular. She pulled him away and started talking in a lower voice. ‘By the way, no touching, monsieur. It is strictly…’
    Walker lost the rest of the conversation as the music grew louder for a few moments before quietening down again. He finished his vodka and stood up before some other girl could approach him. Quiet nights made for an easy market: worth having a look around. Glancing at