Free Zip Gun Boogie by Mark Timlin Page B

him?’
    â€˜He’ll be around,’ said Lindy.
    â€˜Not if it was him,’ I said. ‘But I’m sure we can find him, if we look really hard. On that night, did you notice anything strange?’ I asked her. ‘You know, before he got sick.’
    â€˜No. I was blasted. I didn’t know what the hell he was doing.’
    â€˜And he got ill around three?’
    â€˜Yeah. I was right next to him in bed when he started thrashing about, you know.’
    I could guess.
    â€˜You saved his life,’ I said.
    â€˜A regular little Candy Striper,’ she said sarcastically.
    â€˜You still did it,’ I said. ‘He owes you one.’
    â€˜He’ll pay,’ she said. And on that note I left it.
    â€˜Thanks, Lindy,’ I said. ‘You’ve been a big help. I might need to talk to you again. Is that all right?’
    She nodded. ‘I visited him yesterday,’ she said.
    â€˜Sure. Roger, let’s go.’ And I put my glass on the table with the rest of the empties.
    We left the suite and went back to the lobby. Ninotchka was at the desk with Don in close attendance. He looked at me like I’d just called his mother a rude name. Ninotchka looked on top form in a short strappy dress and a beaten-up denim jacket. ‘Nick,’ she said, ‘I thought we were going shopping.’
    Lomax gave me an old-fashioned look. It pissed me off. ‘What’s stopping us?’ I said, and offered her my arm. ‘See you later, Roger.’ And Ninotchka and I left.

9
    D on followed us. Obviously I wasn’t going to be trusted as Ninotchka’s sole bodyguard again. Considering I still couldn’t remember getting back to the hotel the previous night, or morning, or whatever, I wasn’t that surprised.
    At the kerb outside, Chas was leaning on the wing of his limousine. I was beginning to get used to travelling in style, door to door, and fleetingly wondered how I would feel if I was ever forced to queue for a bus again.
    Chas sprang to attention when he saw us and opened the back door of the car. He smiled as he greeted us. ‘Good afternoon, miss. Sir.’ Then to me: ‘Fully recovered, I hope, sir?’
    â€˜Just about.’
    â€˜Don’t tease him, Chas,’ said Ninotchka. ‘He wasn’t himself last night.’
    I wondered who I was then, but said nothing and followed her into the long passenger compartment of the car.
    Don got into the front passenger seat and Chas got behind the wheel. He lowered the glass partition that separated us. ‘Where to, miss?’ he asked.
    â€˜Knightsbridge, opposite Harrods. That little shop we saw the other day, remember?’
    â€˜Of course, miss,’ he said, and the partition rolled up again and we set off.
    It only took a few minutes to get to Knightsbridge and it’s surprising how good London looks on an early summer’s afternoon through the smoked glass of a Cadillac sitting next to a beautiful, famous woman with her arm linked through yours. I can highly recommend it.
    The car drew up opposite Harrods and Don nearly broke a leg getting the back door open for us. I let Ninotchka get out first and the sight of the curve of her bottom as she bent forward didn’t hurt either. I joined her on the pavement. We were outside the chrome and marble front of a shop with a sign above the door that read fronzoli . Inside the window was a single navy blue blazer elegantly draped over some white-painted scaffolding poles. Nothing else. No price tag. Nothing. ‘Nice,’ I said.
    â€˜Not bad,’ said Ninotchka. ‘Let’s see what else they’ve got.’
    All three of us went into the shop. Ninotchka and I in the lead, Don two paces behind scouring the landscape for someone to beat up.
    The atmosphere inside was hushed and reverent, with just the breath of a string quartet whispering through hidden speakers to interrupt the calm. The decor was minimal