Shift (19 page)

“Benjo what?” I asked.

He handed the paper back to Aubrey. “No idea. Not many of my customers bother with surnames here. Or names at all, for that matter.”

Aubrey folded the picture up and slipped it inside her jacket, looking disappointed. A first name wasn’t much to go on.

“Why don’t we just go to Abbott with this? It would be so much easier,” I said. Not to mention the fact that we wouldn’t have to be interrogating scary casino owners.

“No,” she said sharply. “We’ve only just started.”

“If you wanted to know where to find this man,” Shipley said, “you could ask Rosalie.”

“Rosalie? Don’t tell me, she’s a hooker with a heart of gold right?” This was getting more like a bad detective movie by the second.

“She’s a hostess,” Shipley snapped. “And as sound as they come.”

“You think she’ll know this Benjo guy?” Aubrey said.

“Maybe. I remember one night she was talking about a job she’d just walked out on. She ordered a double gin to try and block it out. But said that she didn’t think there was enough drink in the world to wash away his stink.”

“That’s definitely him,” I said.

“And where could we find this Rosalie?”

“I’m right here, darling,” said a voice from behind us.

She was a couple of years older than me, with golden brown skin, dark, wavy hair, gathered up into a loose bun, and large chocolate eyes that looked familiar, although I couldn’t place from where. She wore a tight pencil skirt and heels that were even higher than my mum would wear, but which Rosalie carried off without a hint of my mum’s wobble. The words High Class came to mind. She smiled.

“You’re the croupier?”

“And would you like to play?” she said, her voice dripping with suggestion.

“Can we have a word?” Aubrey asked, nodding towards one of the booths.

We took our seats and Shipley brought us over some drinks; Aubrey had ordered a beer, Rosalie sipped on a martini and I’d stuck with a Coke.

“So, how can I help you?” Rosalie said, sucking on an olive.

“We’re looking for this guy,” Aubrey said handing over the photo.

Rosalie visibly shuddered and swallowed hard, like she was trying to stop herself being sick. She quickly recovered her poise. “Mr Greene. I had hoped I would never see him again. What do you want to know?”

“You know him then?” I said, stating the obvious as usual.

“I wouldn’t say I know him. We had a business arrangement. One which I… I had to renege on.” Her voice was like maple syrup: sweet, dark and smoky. “Why are you looking for him?”

“Just after some information, is all.”

“Well, little ones, let me give you some advice. I would not go after Mr Greene without some back-up. I only got out of our arrangement thanks to the help of a little friend.”

“What friend?” Aubrey asked.

Rosalie raised her knee above the table and, with a hiss of material, she slowly hitched her skirt up to reveal the top of a stocking. Rather than a garter belt holding the stocking in place there was a thin leather holster. And nestled in that was a small pistol. She tucked her leg back under the table and brushed her skirt back into place.

“But you’re a Shifter,” I managed to say when I got my voice back. “I thought that guns were kinda redundant.”

“Not always, sweetie. Shifting, as I am sure you know, is about finding the little point of pressure that leads to the best possible reality. And sometimes my Jennings .22 is just the pressure a girl needs.” She shrugged an elegant shoulder. “Besides, why waste energy Shifting when you can just pull a trigger?”

“So you shot Benjo?” Aubrey asked.

Rosalie sipped at her Martini and licked her lips. “I’m afraid to say I did. Not that it had much of an effect. That tiny bullet of mine might still be lodged in his flesh, for all I know. But it helped me make a point.”

A silence settled over the three of us as we examined our drinks. Were we seriously trying to find someone who didn’t even notice when he was shot?

“Where can we find him?” Aubrey asked.

“Are you sure you want to?”

“Not really,” I said.

Aubrey threw me a look. “Yes, we want to find him.”

Rosalie sighed and looked down at the photo lying in the middle of the table. She dragged it towards her with a perfectly manicured finger and turned the photo over. Then she reached into her small black handbag and pulled out a bright pink lipstick, scribbled something on the page, and slid the paper back. She twisted the lipstick back into the holder and put the lid back on.

“But don’t forget,” she said returning the lipstick to her bag. “Bring back-up.”

Aubrey nodded and finished her drink. “Thanks for your help,” she said and slid out of the booth.

I hesitated for a moment, watching Rosalie. She tilted her head and looked at me, an amused smiled playing about her lips.

“Why?” I said.

She looked surprised. “Why what, darling?”

“Why do you do…” I hesitated. “What you do?’

“Ah, you mean why, when I can undo every decision, would I moonlight as an escort?”

I flushed and nodded.

She drew me in with a bent finger and whispered. “Would it help if I told you I never actually sleep with any of my clients? There are other ways to show them a good time.” She winked.

I coughed, my throat suddenly very dry.

Rosalie laughed, a surprisingly girly laugh. “Although for the right price I might be persuaded to change my mind.” She tapped my hand. “And should you ever make enough money, make sure you come and see me.” With a flick of two fingers she produced a slim business card. Aubrey snatched it away before I had a chance to reach it.

“Thanks again,” Aubrey said, grabbing me by my collar and pulling me away.

I heard Rosalie laugh as we left.

Afaded sign on the front of the building read Grouber & Sons Upholstery. The windows were either boarded up or smashed.

“Seriously, no one would actually live in there,” I said, looking at the abandoned factory. “Even him.”

“Just wait,” Aubrey said.

She’d been saying that ever since we arrived at the address Rosalie had given us. We were sat in the window of a café on the other side of the street and had been watching the building for hours. I was on my fourth cup of coffee and feeling twitchy.

“I reckon Rosalie was having us on,” I said, twisting a wrap of sugar in my shaking hands. The wrap burst open, spilling sugar all over the table. The waitress leaning over the counter rolled her eyes at me.

“Wait,” Aubrey said this time with real urgency. The door to the building jerked open and Benjo Greene squeezed through the doorway. It looked as if it took a lot of effort. He got one leg through and then had to struggle to get the other one free. I ducked away from the window, afraid that he might see me.

“Oh my god,” Aubrey said.

“What? What?” I asked, panicking.

“He’s so fat.”

“I told you.”

“But I mean, like, huge.”

“I know. You see why I never wanted to run into him again.”

“He’s crossing the road,” she said.

I risked a peek over the table. Benjo stepped off the pavement, not even bothering to look. A truck screeched to a halt in front of him and I didn’t blame the driver. I reckon in a collision with Benjo the truck would have come off worse.

“Please, please don’t come in here,” I prayed as he reached the other side of the road. I ducked back under the table and hid. I didn’t care about the weird looks I was getting from the waitress. She could tut and roll her eyes as much as she liked. Let her deal with him. A shadow passed over the window, blocking out the light, and then it moved away. Aubrey kicked me and I crept out. Benjo waddled away down the road, ignoring the people who stopped to stare as he passed.

“Come on,” Aubrey said standing up.

“You’ve seen him now, can’t we go home?”

Aubrey drained the last of her mug and headed for the door.

“Come on,” I said racing after her. “You’re not really serious about going in there?” I pointed at the crumbling factory. “What if he comes back?”

“He walks at a metre an hour. We can be in and out before he’s even turned around.”

“But what if it collapses on our heads?”

“Do you want to find out what’s going on or not?”

“If I said ‘not really’ you’ll give me one of your looks, right?” She gave me one of her looks anyway. I sighed. “All right then.”

We darted across the road in a break in the traffic. Aubrey stepped up to the front door and tried the handle. It didn’t open.

“Shame,”’ I said, not really meaning it.

Aubrey wasn’t put off. She gestured with her head for me to follow her down the alley running alongside the factory.

Crumbling crates were stacked on top of each other, each stamped with the factory’s logo. Aubrey started climbing up.

“Hang on. I should probably go first,” I said, years of chivalric conditioning giving me a nudge.

She turned and looked at me. “Because you’re a boy?”

“Well…”

She shook her head and took another step up.

“Rock, paper, scissors?”

She stopped mid climb. “You want to play rock, paper, scissors to see who goes first? With me?”

“Oh, yeah. I guess you’ll just Shift if you lose.”

She jumped down to the ground again, grinning. “Go on then. I promise I won’t Shift.” She clinched her hand into a fist and stretched it out.

“On three?” I said.

She nodded.

“One.”

I focused my mind, thinking about the three options I had. Just because she’d promise not to Shift didn’t mean I couldn’t.

“Two.”

I’d go with paper. No one ever thinks you’ll go with paper. But if I was wrong, then scissors it was. I held both choices in my mind, so it would be simple thing to flip to the alternative.

“Three!”

I flattened out my hand readying my mind to undo the decision.

Aubrey had a single digit raised. Her middle finger. I guess the bird beat everything.

“OK. You go first,” I said, slipping my hand into my pocket.

She shook her head. “Boys,” she said, and resumed her ascent.

The wood cracked under her weight. I flinched, expecting her to fall to her death at any second. But like a cat, she leapt from crate to crate and pulled herself up on the windowsill. She kicked the board covering the window and it fell through to the other side with a crash.

“Wait,” I said, just as she had slipped one leg through the empty frame.

“What now?” she snapped.

“I want to think about this. Properly consider what we’re doing. So that when it all goes wrong I can Shift and never have bothered going through that window. That’s how it works, right? As long as it’s a real decision?”

As an answer, Aubrey disappeared through the window.

“Right, as if I have a choice!” I said and climbed up on the crate.

My journey to the top wasn’t as graceful as Aubrey’s. I had to Shift three times to stop myself from falling and I was sporting a large graze on my arm by the time I made it through the window. Something crunched wetly under my feet as I landed on the floor on the other side. I’d just stepped into a box of rotting Chinese take-away. I shook my foot free, resisting the desperate urge to squeal. My free foot then crunched through the carcass of a chicken. I looked up. The entire factory floor was covered in empty food packets, crumpled plastic bottles and decaying food. Flocks of flies buzzed happily around the discarded remains.

The room stretched out and up, about thirty feet by thirty feet. You could hold a decent game of five-a-side football in here, if it wasn’t for all the machinery in the way. What I assumed had been mechanised looms were now dustbins while fraying ropes and rusting chains swayed in a draught. The old factory, which would have once hummed with industry, now lay silent, apart from the buzzing of flies and the crunch of plastic.

Aubrey picked her way across the floor and started rifling through an old wooden desk.

“Found anything?” I whispered after a few minutes, really hoping she had and we could leave. She didn’t reply. I followed her path, dodging pizza boxes and cardboard take away containers, and tried again. “Anything?”

“Just looks like stuff from the factory,” she said showing me a pile of yellowing pages. She closed the drawer. “I wonder where he actually lives?”

“Call this living?” I wiped an unidentifiable sticky substance off my hand.

“Over there,” Aubrey pointed at a cast iron staircase that spiralled up to a mezzanine level.

“Wa…” I didn’t even have time to finish before Aubrey was climbing up it, two steps at a time. I glanced at the door out onto the street, said a silent prayer that Benjo was still heading in the opposite direction, and followed her, careful not to touch anything. I was starting to get really jumpy. Every creak and groan of the old building made me start, certain we’d been caught.

From the walkway at the top of the stairs I could see across the whole of the factory floor. Only a low guard rail, running around the edge of the platform, stood between me and the concrete floor twenty feet below. My head started spinning. I didn’t think I suffered from vertigo, but maybe it was the height combined with the fear that was making me feel faint.

Aubrey laid a hand on my shoulder and I jumped, grabbing onto the rail to steady myself. “Relax,” she said. “Anything goes wrong and you can Shift, just like in training.”

“Sure, but in training there was less chance of me actually being killed,” I said, reluctantly letting go of the rail.

Something banged loudly from below. We both hit the ground, pressing ourselves into the wooden boards of the upper level. Slowly, Aubrey dragged herself to the edge of the platform, while I stayed still, not even breathing.

“It’s nothing,” she said, standing up. “Just a pigeon.”

A large grey bird was flapping around the roof, making the ropes and chains clang against each other. It settled on one of the large beams and started preening itself.

“I’m just going to lie here for a bit,” I said, rolling over on my back and waiting for my pulse to slow down after the shock. The roof had once been all-glass but now was covered over with corrugated sheets of iron, blocking out the elements.