Underbelly (81 page)

Conrad came to see Grey late at night, offering him a cheque to cover lunch, which Grey declined, inviting him in with no hard feelings.

“
Fancy a game of cards?” Grey said, a little tired but prepared to sit up for a while.

“
Not tonight. You said you’d talk if I came to your room.”

“
Conrad. I…You know of Winston, I told you about the Alieus – what befell Laura was along those lines and I’m not prepared to say more than that. She was murdered, but the killer’s dead and all the loose ends are tied up,” Grey lied. Jemima Harding, who he knew would be gloating, was a loose end that they couldn’t handle.

“
I don’t want to give you a hard time because you were closer to her than I was. I’m disappointed that you feel you can’t tell me exactly what happened. I can be discreet if I want to be. I don’t need protecting from the truth.”

“
The truth is nasty in this case. She didn’t get to die peacefully like Germaine. I can tell you how she died, but not why. Can you settle for that?”

“
I want more information, ideally everything. I don’t know why you have to make a mystery of it. I’d sooner know why than how, but I’ll settle for how, for now.”

Grey told him the gruesome details of her death, without naming names or mentioning any supernatural powers. Conrad asked Grey for a beer after hearing the unsavoury manner of her demise, Grey having one too, and Conrad said, “I thought that you wouldn’t tell me because you wanted to keep her to yourself. I know that was wrong, you’re looking out for me. You swear the person who did that to her is dead?” Conrad said, considering vengeance if they were not.

“
Yes.”

Conrad sensed a lie and said, “Do you swear on Germaine’s memory?”

“
The person who inflicted lethal injuries on her is dead. There was another who tore the body apart. She was barely alive at that stage. And don’t ever make me swear on her memory again,” Grey said angrily.

“
It produced a different answer though, didn’t it?” Conrad responded fierily. “That second person is the killer then.”

“
I’ll never tell you who that is, so forget about it.”

“
Who are you protecting? Me or him?”

“
I don’t want to quarrel. She’s gone, Conrad.”

Conrad cooled down and left Grey’s apartment in the early hours. Laura was gone – he’d tried to contact her and had found nothing, no spirit voices at all, a vacuum, which only lasted for a few hours and gave him an idea of what an ordinary mind was like, something he’d forgotten. Grey wished he had never told Conrad that she was dead, understanding why he was frustrated with him. If one of his friends had known details of Germaine or Laura’s deaths that he didn’t and wouldn’t tell him it would have riled him to breaking point. There was never a point to telling anyone half a story.

Grey went back to working in the kitchen at the Overton hotel, partly for money but mainly to break up the monotony of his day. Conrad left to spend some time on his family estate in California with things remaining frosty between them, and Grey found that New York, a city he’d loved a few months ago, was losing its lustre. Keokuk appealed, only that wasn’t really an option unless his parents moved, which seemed unlikely. When another letter arrived three days later from John Shepherd again, this time offering him $700, Grey decided to write back, offering his services for $50 for a two hour show. He knew that he had to start performing again eventually and expected that a small private show would not prove too demanding, a way of easing himself back into it. There would be no one to watch him at the wings, no one to make him feel better if it went wrong, but he wouldn’t let this thought stop him from performing. He repeated over and over to himself that he was lucky to have had her love and support for the brief time that they were together as he gradually accepted that it was better to have loved and lost than having never known love at all.

It was quickly arranged that Grey would perform a show for John Shepherd and his small party on Saturday evening at a hall in Greenwich Village, which John Shepherd paid to hire out. Grey arrived early and was surprised to see that John Shepherd had already arrived with three friends two hours before he was due to perform. John Shepherd was in his early 50s with a brown, greying beard and Grey did recognise him from his last show and he proved most genial, unlike his friend Jason Whale. He was around the same age as John but his countenance was clouded, John explaining to Grey that his friend was a cynic and he was sure that his performance would change his views.

“
If you find this objectionable I can respect that, Mr Whale. I don’t want to distress you so you might be better off not attending,” Grey said, making it clear that he wasn’t offended by his disbelief, his concern being that he didn’t want to upset him with practices that might bother him.

“
I don’t believe in the occult, period. My friend here tells me that you’re most persuasive,” Jason said sharply.

“
It’s your choice, but with it being a small show like this we can talk things through as we go along, and you can leave at any time,” Grey said, glad when they left him to himself to prepare for the show. John had seemed harmless, as had the two younger men he had introduced him to, both very quiet, but Jason seemed the sort of man who would accept his invitation to talk things through and try and tear him down mid-performance. Grey had a practice and contacted several spirits, none of which had heard of the four men – if that happened during the show he would make Jason’s case for him.

When it came time for the show Grey took to the stage and went into autopilot initially as he attempted to find his way, explaining the way his powers worked as he scoured for relevant spirits.

I’ll go and see George as early as next week, Del, if you can come up with something I can do if I can’t contact any spirits who know them.

I could suggest many things, but you know that you’ll play it straight and tell them that you’ve drawn a blank.
Del thought that his best option would be to ask his audience questions and use their answers to make something up, but he knew Grey wouldn’t do that even to get himself out of a fix.

Grey managed to stretch his flannel for half an hour before he told them that he had to concentrate intently, apologising every minute that he kept them waiting. After ten minutes he conceded defeat and said, “I am in contact with spirits at the moment, only they have no connection to any of you.”

“
We’d like to hear about them,” John said, remaining as cheerful as when they first met.

“
It would serve no purpose. It would do nothing to prove my authenticity, and if none of you know them it would be wrong of me to share their stories as entertainment. I’ll refund you for this, John, and give you free tickets the next time I put on a proper show where the increased numbers should make me able to come up with more than that. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

“
Why don’t you just make something up like you usually do?” Jason said aggressively.

“
You’re right to be cynical. This profession does attract its fair share of con men. Anyway, sorry again,” Grey said, walking down from the stage and walking to John to shake his hand before he left.

“
You’re not going yet, are you?” John said, seeming flustered. “Can we talk privately first?”

“
Okay,” Grey said, following him to a back room where John didn’t have much to say, and certainly nothing that needed to be said in private. The deferential tone of the letters and the way he gushed over him now made Grey uneasy. He was a performer, and today he had been a poor one, yet still John raised him on a pedestal. Mediums were not a superior life form, and he didn’t like being ogled as a freak show...maybe there was an element of that at all of his shows. His shows were designed for the grieving, not for the ghouls. John would not accept a refund and badgered Grey to tell him when his next show would be. Grey was evasive, as he now discovered that the joy of performing was gone. It wasn’t like it was his first bad show; the difference was that at past events he was still motivated to succeed and felt an adrenaline surge. Today he had been bored and the praise and adulation was unworthy and meant nothing.

Grey reluctantly put out his cigar. The other staff all smoked butts and he’d felt like a show-off when he lit up a cigar on his break so for the next 10 hours all he had to look forward to on his breaks was the lesser attraction of cigarettes. This was to be his second night shift, and hopefully there would be more if his trial run went well. Several other members of staff had been interested in this coveted position as the pay was much higher and it was a far easier shift. Tonight he was planning on sneaking some magazines downstairs because for most of the night he sat alone by the phone, and bar rustling up the odd sandwich for the guests he’d been left to his own devices, which suited him fine. The security guy who joined him on his breaks was sufficient company until the morning.

Grey didn’t start work until 10 and two of the kitchen hands poked their heads into his office and quizzed him as to how he’d found his first night shift. Grey knew that Manning had wanted the position and he had made a fuss when Grey received preferential treatment yet again. Grey knew what they wanted him to say and he was pleased to disappoint them; he wasn’t going anywhere. His gut instinct failed him yet again with Manning, whom Grey had initially classified a brick, only to learn he was a complete snake. At least he had been correct about Shaw, who accompanied Manning and also seemed adamant that Grey had stolen Manning’s job.

“
So you think you’ll be sticking around this time?” Manning quizzed him, huffing as he spoke, visibly aerated at Grey’s audacity.

“
Yep, for the foreseeable. Compared to day shift it’s a doddle, money for nothing,” Grey said, goading him a little. The petty power play and politics that some of the others indulged in held no interest to him, yet he had been through too much to let these two think he was cowed and ashamed at ‘stealing’ this position from more deserving candidates.

“
That’s your specialist area,” Manning said critically.

“
What’s yours, sour grapes? Get over it. I thought your shift was over. I’ve got work to do,” Grey said dismissively.

Manning looked to his friend incredulously and Shaw took the hint and backed him up. “He’s been slaving away in the kitchens for five years and you waltz in and pick your hours and duties. He’s got two young kids to provide for.”

“
And a wife. She hasn’t run off like yours,” Manning interjected.

Grey felt a rush of blood and was sorely tempted to stand up and deck him. He took a deep breath and looked down at his desk and said through gritted teeth, “You two should leave now.”

“
Why, what will you do, call your friends in high places? We should all be so lucky,” Manning complained. “With your antisocial skills you should be the one kept in the back and it should be me providing for our guests nocturnal needs.”

“
I didn’t get this job on merit or length of service. That sticks in your throat, I get that. If you come in here talking to me like that again there’ll be something else stuck there too. Fuck off.”

“
Leave it,” Shaw said to his friend. “He won’t last long.”

They left, though Manning stared daggers at Grey before he departed and Grey dared him with a glare to say another word. When they’d gone he said to Del,
Fucking liberties. You try and be a nice guy and get on with everyone and you get shat on for it.

Halleluiah. Is my advice finally sinking in?

I reckon it is. I was hoping they might carry on ‘cause I was looking forward to busting them up. That must be your influence,
Grey joked.
Jimmy Grey is a talker, not a fighter.

Changes are afoot. You’re a helluva lot quieter lately. It goes deeper than the grief.

Am I getting billed for this analysis, Dr Hoon? Germaine was what almost lit the touch paper. I know people talk everywhere, but it infuriates me to think they’ve been talking about her. So she’s not in our suite anymore. That’s none of their business.