Free Remix (2010) by Lexi Revellian Page B

Come for a ride.”
    “I’m paint stripping…”
    “Five minutes.”
    I put on the helmet and climbed on the bike, bare-footed and bare-legged as I was, and wrapped my arms round Ric, smelling warm leather and feeling the bike quivering to be off like a thoroughbred. With a deep roar we left the yard, and shot down the road. He took me on the fastest circuit of Shoreditch I’ve ever made. At corners the bike leaned in until I thought we must graze the ground, but Ric knew what he was doing. It was exhilarating. I was laughing as we came back to Fox Hollow Yard. I got off, and stood admiring the bike.
    “It’s a Harley?”
    “Yeah, a Night Rod Special.”
    “Where will you keep it?” Parking looms large in the mind of any Hackney resident.
    “Street parking’s free for a bike, but I’ll find a lock-up for it. I’m going to Epping Forest. Come with me?”
    I was torn. “I would, but Saladin’s stand is covered in paint stripper. I’ll have to get it off, and I meant to finish it today. I didn’t get anything done this morning.”
    “At the weekend, then. Less traffic. We’ll get you some leathers.”
    He turned the bike. “See you tonight.” He accelerated and disappeared; I listened to the diminishing growl of the engine till I could hear it no more. I sighed and went indoors, wishing I was with him, imagining speeding along forest roads…
    As I closed the front door the office phone rang. My friends call me on my mobile, so this was either someone trying to sell me something, or a potential customer. I answered it hopefully.
    “Hallo?”
    “Is that Caz Tallis?” The pleasant, civilized voice was familiar… “This is Phil Sharott.”
    He’d looked up my number like Ric said. He knew where I lived. I felt instantly on my guard.
    “Oh, hallo.”
    “I’m sorry to bother you when you’re probably very busy, but I’m in London today and I wondered if it would be possible for us to meet?”
    “Uh…why?”
    “I’d like a word with you about Ric, if that’s okay. Without him there. Perhaps you could meet me at a bar near your workshop? I can be in Hoxton Square in half an hour.”
    I did not want to meet Phil Sharott that afternoon. Not when I’d turned down an outing with Ric, not when I should be working, and not on my own. It would be embarrassing after our last meeting. I hadn’t even said good bye to him that day; normal social conventions had gone missing soon after we were introduced. But here he was, sounding calm and urbane, heading my way and wanting to talk to me. At least he seemed unaware of my visit to Dave Calder. I thought of the five horses Ric had sold. I’d better find out what Phil had to say. A sidekick’s duty.
    “Okay, if you can make it an hour. I’ve got a job to finish. Where shall I meet you?”
    “Do you know Hoxton Square Bar and Kitchen? I’ll wait for you outside.”

    The sky was grey when I left Fox Hollow Yard, as though it might rain at any moment. Dog came with me for the walk. I was pleased to have his company, as I’d got absurdly nervous about the meeting over the past hour. I paused in the narrow alleyway that fed into Hoxton Square, and switched on the recorder I’d brought with me. I wasn’t sure it would work properly through the bag, but thought it worth a try. It would help when I wrote up my notes. As I emerged from the alley and walked down the pavement, I saw Phil’s tall figure in the corner to the right of Hoxton Bar, under cover between the charcoal brick wall and the glass etched with an enormous LUX. His elegant suit was lighter than the bricks, and darker than the sky. He moved forward, smiling.
    “Thank you for coming at such short notice, Caz.”
    His use of my name seemed wrong, somehow, though ‘Miss Tallis’ would have been ludicrous, unless, I suppose, I’d been a client of his. We didn’t go into Hoxton Bar; he led me a little way back to a cafe with railings and three tables squashed into the space outside. No one was