Dead Beat

The other two looked uncertainly at each other, but the tough little Eurasian got to her feet and retorted angrily, 'Stuff your money up your arse. We don't like pigs round here, whether they're private pigs or ones in uniform. Why don't you just fuck off back to Manchester before you get hurt?' She turned to her companions and snarled, 'Come on, girls, I don't like the smell in here.'

The three departed, teetering on their high heels and I picked up the photo and my card with a sigh. I hadn't really expected much co-operation, but I'd been a bit surprised by the vehemence of their reaction. Clearly the pimps in Bradford had drilled their employees in the perils of talking to strange women. I was going to have to do this the hard way, out on the streets and in the pubs till I found someone who was prepared to take the risk of talking to me.

I left the cafe and went back to move the car. I didn't feel happy about leaving it parked in such a quiet street for any length of time. I'd look for a nice big pub car park fronting on the main drag for a bit more security. As I started the engine, I was aware of a flash of movement at the edge of my peripheral vision and the passenger door was wrenched open. Bloody central locking, I cursed silently. My mouth dried with fear, and I thrust the car into gear, hoping to dislodge my assailant.

With a flurry of legs and curses, a woman threw herself into the passenger seat and slammed the door. I almost stalled in my surprise. 'Just keep fucking driving,' she yelled at me.

I obeyed, of course. It seemed the only sensible thing to do. If she was carrying a blade, I wasn't going to win a close encounter inside my Nova. I flashed a glance at her and recognised one of the women who'd been in the cafe. But she gave me no chance to ask questions. At the end of the street, she shouted at me to turn left, then right. About a mile from the cafe, she stopped shouting and muttered, 'OK, you can stop now.'

I pulled in to the kerb and demanded, 'What the hell is going on?'

She looked nervously behind us, then visibly relaxed. T didn't want anybody to see me talking to you. Kim would shop me soon as look at me.'

'OK,' I nodded. 'So why were you so keen to talk to me?'

'Is it true, what you said back there? You're not after Moira for anything?' There was a look in her pale blue eyes as if she desperately wanted to trust someone and wasn't sure if I was the right person. Her skin looked muddy and dead, and there was a nest of pimples round her nose. She had the look of one of life's professional victims.

'I'm not bringing her trouble,” I promised. 'But I need to find her. If she tells me she doesn't want to make contact with her friend, that's fine by me.'

The woman, who in truth didn't look much older than nineteen, nervously chewed a hangnail. I was begi

'Absolutely not. Do you know where I can find her?' I wound down the window and gulped in fresh air as unobtrusively as possible.

The girl shook her head and her bleached blonde hair crackled like a forest fire. 'Nobody's seen her for about six months. She just disappeared. She was doin' a lot of smack and she was out of it most of the time. She was workin' for this Jamaican guy called Stick, and he was really pissed off with her 'cos she wasn't workin' half the time 'cos she was out of her head. Then one day she just wasn't around no more. One of the girls asked Stick where she'd gone and he just smacked her and told her to keep her nose out.'

'Where would I find Stick?' I asked.

The girl shrugged. 'Be down the snooker hall most afternoons. There or the video shop down Lumb Lane. But you don't want to mess with Stick. He don't take shit from nobody.'

'Thanks for the advice,' I said sincerely. 'Why are you telling me all this?' I added, taking thirty pounds out of my wallet.

The notes vanished with a speed Paul Daniels would have been proud of. 'I liked Moira. She was nice to me when I had my abortion. I think she maybe needs help. You find her, you tell her Gina said hello,' the girl said, opening the car door.

'Will do,' I said to the empty air as she slammed the door and clattered off down the pavement.

It took me ten minutes to find the snooker hall off Ma

As I looked on, a burly white man with tattoos snaking up both his bare arms came over to me. 'Hello, doll. You look like you're looking for a man. Will I do?' he asked jocularly.

'Not unless you've had your skin bleached,” I told him. He looked confused. 'I'm looking for Stick,' I explained.

He raised his eyebrows. 'A nice girl like you? I don't think you're his type, doll.'

'We'll let Stick be the judge of that, shall we? Can you point him out to me?' I demanded. It seemed like a waste of time to tell this ape that I was neither nice, nor a girl, nor a doll.

He pointed down the hall. 'He's on the last table on the left. If he's not interested, doll, I'll be waiting right here.'

I bit back my retort and headed down the aisle between the three-quarter-sized tables. At the end of the room, there were four competition-sized tables. A chunky black man was bending over the last table on the left. Behind him, in the shadows, was the man I took to be Stick. I could see how he'd earned the name. He was over six feet tall, but ski

At the edge of the light, I stopped and waited till the man at the table made his stroke. The red ball he'd been aiming for shuddered in the jaws of the pocket before coming to rest against one cushion. With an expression of disgust, he moved away, chalking his cue. The thin man walked up to line up his shot and I stepped forward into the light.

He frowned up at me, and I met his eyes. They were like bottomless pools, without any discernible expression. It was like looking into a can of treacle. I swallowed and said, 'George from Leeds said I should talk to you.'

Stick straightened up, but the frown stayed in place. 'I know a George from Leeds?'

'George from the Hambleton Hotel. He said you could help me.'

Stick made a great show of carefully chalking his cue, but I could tell he was sizing me up from under his heavy eyebrows. Eventually he put his cue on the table and said to his opponent, 'Be right back. Do not move a fucking ball. I have total recall.'

He strode across the hall and I followed him as he unlocked a side door and entered a stuffy, windowless office. He settled down in a scruffy armchair behind a scratched wooden desk and waved me to one of the three plastic chairs set against the wall.

He pulled a silver toothpick from his pocket and placed it in his mouth. 'I'm not like George,” he said, the traces of a Caribbean accent still strong in his voice. 'I don't usually talk to strangers.'

'So what's this? A job interview?'