In the lift he felt Beryl looking at him. "What?" he said.

"Nothing," she said. "Just that for a short, balding guy without regular employment, you sure get a lot of kisses." "I had a deprived adolescence," he said. "Come here."

Twenty-Eight.

Unlike the lifts on Ra.s.selas, which moved so slow a man could write a couple of chapters of his memoirs between floors, the Kimberley's. .h.i.t the ground too quick for the embrace to develop into anything. But there was a moment outside Beryl's flat when a kiss that started as Good night was rapidly transmogrifying to h.e.l.lol Then Beryl gently but firmly pushed him away.

"Rain check, Joe boy. You did good tonight. You don't want to mess it all up by sleeping in in the morning."

"You seen the time?" he said. "It is morning!"

But she was right. He went home, set every alarm clock in the house, climbed into bed and fell into a sleep which was instantly disturbed by the telephone ringing.

"Just thought I'd make sure," said Beryl.

He looked at his bedside clock. Three hours had pa.s.sed. He felt worse than he had before.

A hot and cold shower put him on the road to recovery and the Full British Breakfast left a pa.s.sable imitation of normality.

The streets were unnaturally quiet as he made his way to the Oto house. Luton was obviously groaning under a gigantic communal hangover. Leaning on the gate post outside the house was a familiar figure.

"You look terrible," said Starbright. "You're too old to be up all night celebrating, boy!"

"Don't the Welsh recognize New Year then?" said Joe.

"Don't be silly. Can't recognize what you've never seen before, can you?"

Starbright was obviously in sportive mood.

Joe said, "You'll be glad to know, that business, we've got it sorted."

Thought we had it sorted yesterday," said the Welshman suspiciously.

"We were wrong," said Joe. "It wasn't Mary and Schoenfeld. In fact, they're the good guys. It's Doug Endor."

Starbright chewed over this for a while but, rather flatteringly, required neither evidence nor explanation. Finally his face cleared.

"That's all right," he said. "Never did like that slimy b.a.s.t.a.r.d. It'll be a pleasure to rearrange his face."

"Fine," said Joe. "But not till after the race, promise? Don't want to upset Zak."

He saw he'd found the magic formula and headed up the path.

Mrs. Oto opened the door to him with a big smile.

"Joe, come on in. You're our first-foot, we had a nice early night last night what with the race and all."

Joe hesitated, saying, "Shouldn't I be tall, dark and handsome with a lump of coal or something?"

"Not going to quarrel over a lump of coal, are we?" said Mrs. Oto. Which when Joe worked it out was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to him.

He went in. She gave him a kiss. Henry Oto appeared and shook his hand. Eddie, on his way up to his computer said, "Hi, Joe." And last but by far the best of all, Zak herself came running down the stairs and when she heard Joe was their first-foot, insisted on kissing him also.

This felt like it might turn into a good year.

She said, "Come upstairs. I've got something for you."

He took the opportunity as they ascended of pa.s.sing on the good news.

"It's all OK," he said. "It's all taken care of. I'll save the details till later, but there's no threat, you can run as fast as you like, so long as you whup the rest of them."

And now came a surprise which was that she didn't show any.

"Yeah, that's great, Joe. Doug told me yesterday but it's good to have it confirmed."

"Doug?" he said stupidly.

That's right. Like you asked him to, that's what he said. He didn't jump the gun, did he?"

"No, no. Just told you it was all sorted, no more problem, is that right?"

That's it." She was looking at him puzzled and he forced a smile.

"So what's the routine?" he said heartily.

"Few exercises this morning, nothing heavy. Light lunch about midday. Get down to the track couple of hours before the race. Nice gentle warm-up. Last long suck at the old Bloo-Joo to bring my energy level back to top line. Then out in front of the fans, take the cheers, get them all inside me, forget about the people, focus everything I've got on what's to come, ready steady go, and run like h.e.l.l!"

"Sounds easy," said Joe. "Maybe I'll try it. You said you had something for me?"

That's right. Here we go."

She handed him an envelope. He opened it. It contained two tickets to the mayor's reception that evening.

"Hey, these are for VIPs," he protested.

"Joe, you're my VVIP," she said. "Where would I be without you? This is your evening as well as mine in many ways. Promise you'll come."

"I promise, I promise," said Joe, who'd have promised to sign the pledge if she'd asked him with that smile.

But his concern about Endor's tactics was strong as ever. He left Zak's room and knocked at Eddie's door. The boy invited him in.

"Eddie, do me a favour. Those bets you tracked down the other day, can you check if they're still on?"

"Easy peasy," said the boy. "First time takes time. After that, you know the way."

It took a few minutes all the same.

"Still there," said Eddie. "Plus there's a lot more money."

"Laid on Zak losing?"

That's right."

This made things even more puzzling. OK, so Endor had decided he was so close to being rumbled, his best move was to play innocent, bluff it out. And OK, so it might not be easy to withdraw a bet once made. But this putting more money on, that was crazy. Unless it wasn't Endor?

He found himself looking with renewed suspicion at Mary when she turned up with Abe, then scolded himself. No one could be that devious. Could they?

He told her what had happened and was glad to see that either she was as taken aback as he was, or the greatest performer since Gary.

"He's a devious b.a.s.t.a.r.d, we'll need to watch him," she said.

"If he's around to watch," said Joe, thinking that in the same circ.u.mstances he personally would be long gone.

On the way to the Plezz he watched Zak carefully to see if there was any sign that she'd been got at again. When they got out of the car, he let her stride ahead and whispered to Starbright, Tick up her locker key. Check out that it's OK, no little messages."

"You think there might be?"

"Just a precaution," a.s.sured Joe.

The Welshman hurried away. Joe caught up with Zak and thought of some excuse to delay her, but found he didn't need it. As they entered the building the first person they saw was Douglas Endor.

"Zak, my girl, you look gorgeous. Happy New Year."

He kissed her cheek then grabbed Joe's hand and shook it enthusiastically.

"And you too, Joe. Happy New Year."

This is crazy, thought Joe, looking at his friendly, smiling face. Either this guy's got religion or he's on something.

They stood for a few moments while Endor described a party he'd been at the previous night which had ended with his two snooker proteges playing a challenge match on the munic.i.p.al bowling green.

It was a good story and Zak went on her way, laughing.

That's the way to do it, Joe," said Endor. "Some people need hyped up. With Zak, I never mention the race, just tickle her fancy with a joke or two. If she goes off laughing, I know that chances are she's feeling good enough to win."

This was getting too much.

Joe said, "Mr. Endor, it's over."

"Mr. Endor? Doug, Joe. Thought we'd got that settled. What's over?"

The game. We know what's going on. Zak knows there's no danger any more."

"Yeah, I told her. You asked me to, remember? You done a really good job, Joe. I know it's Zak who's paying you, but I'd like to give you a little bonus."

He put his hand into his inside pocket. If he pulls money out, I'll have to hit him, thought Joe unhappily. It was his experience that people who got hit usually hit back. But it wasn't bank notes, Endor produced, but a pair of the ornately engraved invitation cards to the mayor's reception.

"Hottest ticket in town," said Endor. "Can't make it myself and it seems a pity to let them go to waste. Bring your best girl."

He walked away with that jaunty, bouncy step which told all the world, Here comes the most successful guy you 're likely to meet in a long day's walking.

What the shoot's going on? wondered Joe, putting the invites with the others. Either I got it all wrong or this guy's a runner for the Best Actor Oscar.

It was deeply worrying. From what Mary had said, Endor made big bucks but he spent as big as he made, and most of his bets if they were his bets would be in electronic money. Once he lost, however, the bookies would look to see it turn into hard cash. And if it didn't... he recalled one of Aunt Mirabelle's more fearsome exhortations Better you owe money to a Chinese bookie than you risk the wrath of the Lord. He doubted if his aunt had had much experience of the profession, but anything that came even a distant second to her angry G.o.d was best avoided.

He went along to the viewing cafe and ordered a whole pot of black coffee. The place was bustling with early arrivals, but he found a table to himself at the highest level right under the big TV screen. ITV was carrying the meeting and from time to time they flashed up shots of the Plezz with hyped-up trails of the excitements to come. There was a recorded interview with Zak on screen when Beryl plumped into the seat beside him.

"Gets everywhere, don't she? But she is beautiful," said Beryl.

"Yeah."

"Hey, you could try, not as beautiful as you, my love, or some flattering c.r.a.p like that," said Beryl.

"Yeah. Sorry. Where's Desmond?"

"Where you think? Up at the counter, my sister's buying him some junk food. So why're you looking so miserable, Joe? Thought this would be Sherlock Holmes's finest hour."

"You reckon? When he solved a big one, didn't the villain usually snarl, Curse you, Holmes! and jump over a waterfall or something?"

"Something like that. What's up? Endor not obliging?"

"No. Maybe villains don't act that way any more. Maybe they're like politicians. You get found out, you just move over to a better paying job in the City. I mean, what would you do if you found out your carefully planned and highly profitable crime had been blown?"

"Well, I guess I'd move on to Plan B, and it would be even worse. Hey, my love, you going to eat all of that? You make yourself sick, I'll hose you down with ice-cold water, you hear?"

She was addressing her young son, who came towards them carrying a tray laden with burgers, a banana split, and a gla.s.s of liquid so blue it was almost fluorescent.

"No, it's OK, you can eat anything so long as you drink your Bloo-Joo, that's what Zak drinks and it makes you real healthy," declared the boy solemnly. "See."

He looked up at the TV screen where the interview had broken for the commercials, first of which was Zak once more, puffing the virtues of her favourite drink. It ended with her taking a long pull at a bottle, getting down on a start-line and sprinting off into the distance.

"Give herself indigestion if she does it like that," observed Beryl. "And you'll give yourself indigestion if you eat all that. Joe, give the boy a hand here."

But Joe was on his feet. He ruffled the boy's hair and said, "I expect you can manage by yourself, eh, Des? Me, I've got work to do round here. Beryl, thanks. She's no way as beautiful as you, believe me."

He stooped, kissed her cheek and moved away purposefully.

"Work?" said Beryl's sister, who'd just arrived in time to see Joe leave. "You don't mean he's got himself a job at last?"

She was allied with Aunt Mirabelle in refusing to believe that being a PI was a suitable job for a man. Where they differed was that she reckoned that any alliance with Joe would drag Beryl down, while Mirabelle was convinced it would be his salvation.

"I think he may have," said Beryl, touching her cheek. "But I wish I knew what it was!"

It was a good meeting with many fine athletes and some stirring contests, but for the vast majority of the spectators, it was all hors d'oeuvres in preparation for the main course. At last the moment came. The simple appearance of Zak Oto on the track produced an eruption of applause which far out-decibel'd even that given to the most popular winners so far. She turned a full circle, acknowledging it. Then she shut it off. It was a visible act, like turning off a light, and the roar of the crowd faded in response to the intensity of that self-focusing. Watching her remove her tracksuit was like watching a priestess disrobe for some arcane ceremonial. She was all beauty, not just of feature and shape, but of purpose. Beside her the other athletes looked awkward, angular, flat-footed almost. Not that they were. This was no fixed fight, no mismatch in which the contender knocks over some has-been in the first round as part of a triumphal progress to the big time. Here were champions, record holders, Olympians. And for the first part of the race they ran like that, with Zak always in touch, but never closer to the front than third or fourth, and there was just a touch of anxiety in the encouraging roar of the crowd. Then with two laps to go she emerged, so swiftly, gracefully, effortlessly, that at first it was as if the crowd didn't notice, or couldn't believe what they were seeing. One moment she was nowhere, next she was in front, and with every flowing stride she was going further ahead. The roar of the crowd climaxed, encouraging no longer, but triumphal, celebratory, warm with love and intoxicated with delight, and a touch self-congratulatory also in the knowledge that this wasn't just a here and now event, this was one for all time, this was one to savour around future firesides when you would win the envious respect of fellow sports lovers by the simple declaration I was there.

It came as no surprise to anyone when on the huge electronic Scoreboard there flashed the message WORLD INDOOR RECORD!

Joe, standing high up at the back of the steep tiers of seats overlooking the finishing line, had cheered himself hoa.r.s.e. Below on the track Zak was being embraced by Abe Schoenfeld.