Zip Gun Boogie by Mark Timlin Read Free Book Online Page A

fierce. He’ll keep the wolves at bay.’
    Don looked at me and pulled a face. It wasn’t my night for compliments for sure. ‘I think I can manage,’ I said.
    â€˜Chas will be driving,’ said Ninotchka.
    â€˜I shouldn’t,’ said Don.
    Ninotchka switched on the charm, full blast. ‘I’ll be all right, I promise.’
    â€˜I don’t know what Mr Lomax will say.’
    â€˜You leave Mr Lomax to me.’
    â€˜OK, miss, but…’
    â€˜No buts, you go on home.’
    â€˜I’m on ’til one. I’ll wait until then.’
    â€˜If you want, but I doubt that we’ll be back.’ I could see I was in for a long night.
    â€˜I’ll wait, miss.’
    â€˜All right, Don. Help yourself to what you want. Have dinner.’
    â€˜Thanks, miss.’
    â€˜It’s nothing. Coming, Nick?’
    I nodded. I felt like the dog.
    We went down to the foyer by lift. It was a much grander affair than the one from the car park, with a uniformed attendant, one of those old-fashioned wheels to operate it, and enough gilt inside the car to sink a ship.
    As we entered the foyer a middle-aged man in a grey suit and holding a grey peaked cap jumped up from where he was sitting and made a bee-line for us. ‘The car’s outside, Miss Ninotchka. Where are we off to tonight?’
    â€˜All over,’ she replied. ‘I feel in a party mood. Meet Nick, he’s looking after me tonight.’
    â€˜No Don?’ asked Chas.
    â€˜No. I’ve given him a holiday.’
    Then it was Chas’s turn to give me a good screw. This little firm certainly took their responsibilities seriously. He seemed to find me a little more reassuring than Don had. ‘All right, Miss Ninotchka, just as you like.’
    I trailed after them outside to the black stretch limo that sat at the kerb. Chas smartly opened the rear door, and I followed Ninotchka into the back of the car. Chas got behind the wheel and Ninotchka touched a button that rolled down the glass divider between the driver’s cab and the passenger compartment.
    â€˜Remember that restaurant we went to the other night?’
    â€˜Which one?’
    â€˜The Korean.’
    â€˜Sure.’
    â€˜Let’s go.’
    Chas started the car, put it into gear and pulled slowly away. Ninotchka let the divider roll up again. She smiled at me and dipped her hand into her bag and came out with a DAT cassette. ‘I’ve just got the final mix of one of my songs on the album. Wanna hear it?’
    â€˜Sure.’
    She slid the tape into the player mounted in the bulk-head of the car. ‘It’s an old Marc Bolan song,’ she said. ‘See if you recognise it.’
    The speakers clicked and the song started. I recognised it. It wasn’t one of his best, but it was good. Ninotchka’s voice was well up in the mix, there was a manic guitar break, and a steady, catchy, high-pitched riff from a Farfisa organ drove the song along. She laughed when the track finished. ‘That’s great,’ she said. ‘What do you think?’
    â€˜Great,’ I agreed.
    â€˜Could be our new single,’ she said.
    â€˜It’ll be a hit.’
    â€˜I hope so. I used to know him.’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜Bolan.’
    â€˜Did you?’
    â€˜Yeah. He had a hit in the States with Bang a Gong and a whole bunch of us formed a glam-rock band in LA. The lead guitarist and I came over and found Marc. He was a funny little guy. Pretty as hell but really weird, but in a nice way, y’know?’
    I nodded.
    â€˜He took us out to dinner one night. It was a disaster. He always wore these little-girl shoes. He got them from Anello’s. They were leather, with little heels and fastened with buttons. He told us that the English mod girls used to wear them in the sixties. He had about a hundred pairs, all colours. Trouble was, they had leather soles and heels. They were real slippy.