The Lover's Children

Chapter 90 – Solstice – Part 23

JAMES

Michael sniffs. “That could have gone better.”

“Yes, it could.”

Klempner remains silent.

Ahead of us, a woman lounges by a corner, cradling a cigarette, blowing smoke into rings as she

watches first one way, then the other, then back again. Her dress, clingy and brief, glitters black under

the lights. Tall heels display excellent legs.

From around the corner, a car appears, slowing to a crawl. She steps out, chin lifting, one hand set on

her cocked hip. But the driver ignores her, passing and with a scowl, she drops back to her lounging

spot.

Charlotte and Natalie quicken their pace, Natalie raising a hand to flag the woman’s attention. Michael

and I match their pace.

“We should drop back a bit further,” says Klempner.

“I want to hear what they’re saying,” says Michael

“So do I, but we don’t want to scare off the women.”

Ignoring him, Michael and I keep walking. As we come into earshot, they’re already talking. “So, who

are you? Social services or something?” A little further along, another pair of women watch,

expressions wary.

Charlotte protests. “No, I…”

The hooker sizes her by eye. “Or are you from that new church place at the end of the block.” The

hooker blows smoke in her face. “I don't need my soul saving, sister.”

“I’m not anything like that. I’m just trying to…”

“Beat it.” She inhales, blows. “Some of us gotta work. Shortest night of the year. So, go back to your

own side of town, why don’t you. Wherever that is.”

Charlotte slumps, looking close to tears. Natalie takes her arm again, looking back over her shoulder at

us. “C’mon, let’s go get something to eat and talk it over.”

“Just what we fucking need,” mutters Michael.

*****

Whatever Charlotte’s good intentions when we started this, it’s not working out and her confidence is

clearly taking another hit.

Arms wrapped around herself, she hunches. Natalie says something to her, eye-flashing me to stay

back. Shorter than Charlotte, she grips her by the shoulders, looking up into her face, speaking quickly

and earnestly, but too quietly for me to hear what she’s saying.

Klempner cocks his head, assessing. “Words of encouragement, you think?”

Michael nods. “I’d say so, yes.” His expression is tight, his voice controlled.

What’s he not saying?

“What?” I ask. “What is it?”

He shakes his head. “She's upset. This is having the exact opposite effect to what we intended. We're

not learning anything. And Charlotte’s being rejected by the very people she thought she empathised

with.”

Klempner snorts. “Ironic, wouldn't you say? Jenny’s being measured by what she’s wearing. If there's

one thing she doesn't give a damn about, it's clothes.” Michael’s eyes narrow, but Klempner continues,

“That friend of hers has it in hand. Let’s stay out of the way while they talk.”

Klempner’s making sense. After a minute or so, Charlotte nods and straightens up. Natalie throws a

look our way, head-pointing a cafe a little further along.

They’ve drawn attention and hostile looks follow them, but the pair have only walked a few yards, when

from across the street, bottle in hand, a drunk exits a bar. Swaying as he stands, he looks one way

then the other, dismisses the hooker that just gave Charlotte the brush-off, but then spots Charlotte

herself.

Beside me, almost imperceptibly, Klempner stiffens. “Could be trouble.”

Swaggering across, the drunk beelines Charlotte. Closer up, he’s badly flushed, definitely unsteady on

his feet. “You…” He’s loud with alcohol… “How much for a blow?”

Charlotte’s voice is steady as she rakes him with her glance. “Not available. Try someone else.” She

gestures up and down the street at the watching women. Some of the watchers strike poses, trying to

attract the drunk’s attention. Others simply look curious.

The drunk doesn’t take the hint. “So why ya here?” His words are slurring.

“I'm looking for someone.”

He swings one way, then the other. “You’ve found me. I’ve got cash. How much?”

Charlotte’s words acquire an edge. “I said, no. I'm looking for someone.”

“Who for?” His voice grows louder, female heads turning from all directions to watch the entertainment.

“There’s no one here.” He lurches forward, yelling. “My money not good enough for you?”

“I’ve said no,” she snaps. “That’s enough.” Charlotte turns to walk away, but the drunk grabs her from

behind, wrapping both arms around her in a bear-hug…

Christ!

Michael charges forward, pushing past, almost bowling me over as I stagger back. I heave forward

again, but Klempner’s ahead of me…

It’s a couple of dozen steps, a few seconds to cross the distance…

… And there’s just enough time to see…

… Charlotte stamps backward onto her assailant’s foot. Face contorted, screaming drunken fury, he

loses his hold on her. He lunges back, but she’s already twisting to face him, grabbing him by a thumb

en-route with one hand, wrenching down as she turns. The other hand strikes, heel first, into his solar

plexus. Winded, silenced, he coughs out air and drops, gasping. As he goes down, Charlotte’s knee

comes up, smashing onto the chin and knocking him to the side.

She lurches forward, following up, but Michael’s there, grabbing her by the shoulder and pulling her

back. “It’s done.”

Charlotte whirls on him, face furious but, “You got him,” he snaps. “Self defence is one thing. Beating

up the stupid bastard gets you arrested.”

She opens her mouth to snarl some reply, but then stops, staring around as, from all directions, come

hoots and screams of applause. Whoops and yells echo down the street, the assembled women

cheering and shouting. Running in, they slap her on the shoulders, punch her on the arm. “Good on

ya!”

“Got the bastard!”

“You show them, girl!”

With a wail of sirens and a flash of blue, a squad car squeals in and a pair of uniformed cops pile out,

marching up close. Hands on hips, “What’s the trouble?” says the nearest. The other lurks behind,

practising his Dangerous expression.

Klempner fades into the background, but Michael remains calm. “No trouble, officer. Not that hasn’t

already been dealt with.”

The cop surveys Charlotte’s still-gasping assailant, views Michael with displeasure, visibly taking in the

broad shoulders, the heavy build, his muscular physique. “You going to tell me it was self-defence?”

“Yes, but not mine. This lout assaulted my wife here. She defended herself.”

The cop takes in the assembled hookers, then Charlotte, and smirks. “Your wife?” Michael stiffens and

the smirk fades. “Yeah, well, I guess you’re a lucky man…” He glances down at Charlotte’s stricken

attacker. “… but I’m supposed to believe she did that?”

But the women cluster around… “You’d better believe it.”

“Best thing I saw for ages…”

Another punches the air. “He went for her, and she took him out!”

The cop stares around at Charlotte’s vocal witnesses. “Ooo…kayyy… So, it was you. What

happened?”

Charlotte’s voice would freeze the rocks off a snowman. “He didn’t want to take no for an answer. He

went for me, so I took him down.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

His gaze scrapes Michael. “Where were you?”

“Just over there.” He aims a finger to a spot about twenty feet away. “But she moved faster than I did.

And as you can see, my help wasn’t necessary.”

“Hey!” The woman in the glitter-dress shoves in, crowding the cop’s space. “You saying we can’t

defend ourselves? All the sickoes and freaks on these streets. If you don’t get rid of them, what we

s’posed to do?”

Nonplussed, he tugs a notepad from a pocket. “Who are you?”

“Lorelei. What’s it to you? I saw what happened. Bastard attacked her. She defended herself.”

He stares at Lorelei, but she stares back, stares him down. Finally, stepping back, in a clichéd move,

he takes off his cap, scratches his head then, to Charlotte, “You want to press charges?”

She defrosts slightly. “No, not really.”

The cop dithers. Michael morphs to charming-and-respectable mode. “Why don’t you arrest him on

drunk-and-disorderly and put him in a cage overnight?” he suggests. “Then these girls get some peace

and quiet. They’ve had enough trouble for one evening.”

The cop regards ‘The Girls’, in their array of lycra, leather and exposed skin. “Trouble?”

“No one was making any trouble here until this clown arrived.”

The cop cocks a sceptical brow, but Michael’s corn-fed respectability is striking home.

A wheezing sound comes from ground level. “Fucking bitch. Fucking ginger bitch. I’ll fucking finish

you…” The drunk, still prone, punches out at nothing, coughs, gags, then spews…

Charlotte steps back smartly, well away from the splash zone. I lay a warding hand on her arm, but it’s

not necessary. Silent, lip curled, she waits.

“Alright, that’s enough.” The pair of cops haul the drunk to his feet. “He can spend the night in the

cooler.” They drag him, protesting incoherently, into the squad car. At the last moment, he spews again,

this time fountaining vomit over the back seat. A cheer rises from the ranks of the women, quickly

quelled as Michael shushes them.

But as the car pulls away, the cheer rises again, the girls clustering around Charlotte. “Brilliant!”

“How d’ya do that? Can ya show me?”

Lorelei regards me with cool eyes. “And you are…?”

I keep it short. “Friend of the family.”

Klempner peels himself out from the shadows. The glance passes to him. “And you?”

He thumbs at Charlotte. “Her father.”

Lorelei’s brows rise. “Her father?”

He brushes imaginary dust from his sleeves. If it weren’t Klempner, I’d say he was preening. “That’s

right.”

Her mouth twitches. “She’s something, ain’t she.”

A gleam in his eye, Klempner strokes a hand over his hair. “Isn’t she?”

“So…” Lorelei lifts her chin… “What was it you wanted to know?”

At last!

“We’re looking for…” Klempner reaches for his phone, tapping through menus… “… this man…” but

before he can bring up his photo, the screen flashes with a call.

***** This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

KLEMPNER

Incoming call. I check the screen.

Will Stanton…

Looking for a progress report perhaps?

Got good news for him, then…

I tap in. “Yes, Commissioner. What can I…?”

“Klempner, there’s been another murder.”

*****