Free A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller by PR Hilton Page B

to live off Ruth and her generous nature. So beggars couldn't afford to be choosers, not this time.
    The White Cat Club stood a little way off from The Italian Club on Charring Cross Road. It wasn't a large club and looked more like a shop with a little sign above the front entrance, something you would only think of entering as either a last resort or a means to stay dry if it were raining. The inside, however, was a different story. The club was much bigger than the outside suggested and the room spread out in two tiers, with a stage at the very back. There was a generous amount of tables and a handsome dance area, which was flanked by a long low bar. Just tucked inside the entrance was the cloakroom.
    Jenny waved another girl over, as soon as she caught sight of Royle walk in. Jenny Crosby linked his arm carelessly and walked him across the dance floor. Couples were moving slowly, seemingly indifferent to the music playing from the bar area. The stage was empty, a small Jazz drum set crouched panther-like, ready to strike behind the microphone stand. Thick wooden speakers stood to attention on either side of the stage. Smoke curled in thick wisps around the ceiling and a stale smell of alcohol, tobacco and desperation formed an atmospheric cloak falling about the head and shoulders of the place.
    To the rear of the stage was the small office. Knocking three times, pausing, and then knocking twice, Jenny pushed the heavy wooden door open. Before they could go in, a man came out quickly. Royle noticed he had blood running down his sleeve and a bloodstained handkerchief wrapped around his hand. He passed them in the briefest of moments and the woman didn't appear to notice anything wrong. Inside and with the door closed once again, Harry saw a dark haired man sitting behind a highly polished wooden desk. He wore a dark suit and had his hair slicked back. He sported a pencil moustache and looked a little like a professional dance instructor. The man smiled at Royle and waved Jenny back out of the door. In the corner of the room, two men leaned up against the wall. They looked to Harry's eyes to be like twin ex-heavyweight boxers, washed up, but still deadly, in matching dark suits. Both men bore the marks and scars of past beatings, obtained perhaps in a moment or two of now tarnished glory. The man behind the desk continued smiling in a failed attempt to exude charm. His manner was both oily and grim at the same time. He was wiping blood not only off a thin bayonet but also off the surface of the desk.
    "Mr Ro, sorry Mr Trent, it is a pleasure to meet you. I believe we can be good for each other, what do you say?"
    Harry, glanced at the heavies and back at the man behind the desk. He took the briefest moment to decide on the best course of action and answered a second later.
    "I'm sorry, but I don't know you and as for helping each other, well only time will tell on that one, anything else, well you and the boys can always try me if you like?"
    Harry, couldn't manage even a weak smile, the thugs in the corner had him more than a little nervous. He tapped his foot in a steady rhythm on the wooden floor, which echoed in the confined space, and folded his arms across his chest. The other man's smile turned into a grin and beaming he waved the two other men out of the room. With a shuffle of shoe leather, a stray curse and a click of the door catch, they were gone. Alone in the room, the man behind the desk stood. He wasn't a big man, but he was a self-assured one.
    "Royle I like you. You have balls and I do like that. You gave the boys a run and that's good. Could you take em? Don't answer. Me I think maybe you could. But that don't matter one bit, they think you could and that matters. The foot tapping had em rattled, me I saw their eyes. That and the arm crossing. Me, me you don't fool. I've had moments of uncertainty and moments of fear, you feel the shakes coming on and you either show em and they see a chink in your armour,