Dead Men's s Boots

‘I haven’t managed to find any Myriam Kale memorabilia,’ he said. ‘Turns out East End gangsters are easy compared to sexy American assassins-for-hire. A few things came up, but they all smelled like scams. I’m still looking. But since you’re going to where she lived, maybe you’ll pick something up along the way. In which case, throw it to me when you’re through with it and I’ll find it a new home.’

So Chesney’s Kale piece had come from some other source. I decided not to mention that: Nicky was touchy enough already without being told that someone else had outscored him. ‘I’ll do that, Nicky,’ I said blandly. ‘In the meantime, could you check something else out for me?’

‘Well, I’m always at your disposal since, obviously, I don’t have a fucking life,’ Nicky observed dryly, flicking a cold glance at Juliet.

‘Can you find out where all these guys are buried?’

‘Yeah, sure. That’s easy. Why, you want to put some flowers on their graves?’

‘I want to find out if there’s any connection here to John Gittings’s list of London cemeteries. If there’s a pattern – if they all ended up in the same place—’

‘Yeah, I get it, Castor. The thing about the flowers? Joke. Is your mobile tri-band?’

‘I don’t have the faintest idea. But the battery’s flat in any case.’

‘Fine.’ Nicky gave it up, getting to his feet and shoving the untouched wine away with a disgruntled air. ‘So you get yourself a stack of dimes and call me. I know you don’t travel much so I probably ought to make it clear that dimes are what Americans use for currency. Have a nice flight, the both of you. I’ll see you when I see you.’ He was about to walk away, but then turned and held out his hand, palm up. I almost shook it, misinterpreting the gesture, but he clicked his tongue impatiently. ‘The bullet casing. You go through the metal detector with that in your pocket, there could be all kinds of humorous misunderstandings.’

I gave it back to him. ‘Thanks for everything, Nicky.’

‘You’re more than welcome.’ There was something in his tone, in his face, that I couldn’t read. ‘You want to pay me back, then keep me in the loop. I want to see how this comes out. By the way, someone else knows you’re coming.’

He threw it out with carefully measured casualness, playing for the double take.

‘What? What do you mean, Nicky?’

‘When I got your names off the airport data system, there was a nice little tripwire set up there. I saw it because› sa;

‘A tripwire?’

‘Yeah. Like, a relay. So if your name came up on any flight, someone gets told.’

‘My name? Or Juliet’s?’

‘Just yours, Castor. Anyone wants to know a demon’s whereabouts, they just have to stick their nose into the wind.’

Nicky walked away without waiting for an answer. ‘I hurt his feelings?’ Juliet asked. She wasn’t contrite, she was just asking for the sake of information: something to add to her database of human foibles.

‘You shoved his face in his own mortality,’ I said. ‘Nobody likes that much.’

‘He’s already dead.’

‘Doesn’t make it any easier to live with.’

A few moments later, the tannoy told us that our flight was ready to board at Gate 17. I just about had time to finish my whisky. Nicky’s wine remained on the table behind us, untouched.

In the departure lounge, Juliet stood at the window and watched the planes taking off. She seemed fascinated, and it made her oblivious to the covetous stares she was collecting from the male passengers sitting around her. I hadn’t thought about it much, but this was her first flight.

Joining her at the window, I told her about some of the side effects she could expect to encounter. She wasn’t troubled about the changes in pressure and what they might do to her ears. ‘I’ll adjust,’ was all she said. She seemed to be looking forward to the experience.

We boarded at the tail end of the line because Juliet preferred not to join the crush until the last moment. Our seats were just forward of the toilets at the very back of the cabin, in what would once have been the smoking seats – and explaining the concept of smoking seats to Juliet took us all the way through the safety lecture. She was amused at the fences and barricades that humans had built around their pleasures: but then she was amused at the whole concept of deferred gratification. Demons, she said, tended to work more in terms of reaching out and grabbing.

‘Well, any time you feel the urge,’ I gallantly didn’t say.

She took an almost child-like interest in the take-off, swapping seats with me so that she could look out of the window and remaining thoroughly engrossed right up until we were in the air.

But after that her mood changed. She seemed to withdraw into herself, somehow, her expression becoming cold and remote.