He hovers over the final pages, sucks air between his teeth. “The third is a new account, only a few weeks old. The customer is a young woman, Julia Dyson. She’s opening a clothes store in the city-centre.”
Klempner moves closer. His voice level, “What kind of clothes?”
James accompanies him. “Have you met this Julia? Does she have a partner of any kind?”
Marchant scans the order, sounding thoughtful. “It’s going to be a teens fashion boutique. Clothes, jewellery, accessories… And no, I’ve not met her. The account was opened over the phone. I couldn’t say about any partner. It was only Julia herself I spoke to. But everything squared up, trade references, bank account and so on. She ticked all the boxes.” His voice trails away.
“I bet they did,” says James. “Do you have the address?”
“Yes. And we made a stock delivery only yesterday. She’s planning a Grand Opening next week.” His voice turns distant. “Julia invited me and my wife. Said I should bring my daughter along. You know… Special opening offers. Cinema tickets for the first dozen customers. That kind of thing.”
Klempner taps on the glass. “A piece of advice, Mr Marchants. Don’t go. And don’t let your daughter go either.”
*****
Michael
The street hums with activity. This used to be part of the old docks. Once ramshackle and unloved, it is buzzing again. A one-time customs house is being refitted to a block of eight townhouses overlooking the waters. Crumbling quays and moorings have been rebuilt and a marina is growing up around them. Even an old rope factory, surely the longest building in the City has been renovated and repurposed, James incorporating it into a new library and arts centre.
Our target address lies at the far end of the docks: apartment blocks, brand new buildings that have risen from the ruins of the old city; stores and shopping malls on the ground floor, accommodation on the floors above.
Shoe shops and budget clothes vie with DIY stores, white goods, liquor, antiques and jewellery. Harried-looking parents herd teenagers towards pizza parlours and burger bars. Overalled workmen nurse beers and hot-dogs. Be-suited men and women sit at tables over coffee, croissants and sandwiches. Younger kids clamber over a pirate-themed play area.
To the far end, a covered arcade forms the start of the mall. In mid-renovation, the long passage is only half finished, the floors part-laid with marbled tiling. The first of the new shops are just opening, their re-fitted frontages polished and glamorous. Lights glow, ad boards flash and everywhere, the smell of new paint clings.
Klempner checks the address. “That’s it. You want to call Stanton? Let him know we’ve found them?”
James, unspeaking, nods, tapping a message into his phone. Within seconds, something Pings back.
“They’re on their way,” he mutters.
“You want to wait for them?” I ask.
James hesitates, looks to me, then Klempner.
“Your daughter. Your call,” he says.
James shoves the phone back into his pocket. “Fuck that.”
A sign above the store reads, Style4U. There’s more, but unfinished; a ladder propped against the wall, dust sheets, paint and thinners around the base. The sound of drilling hums out from beyond the brightly lit glass frontage.
At the door, Klempner nods me and James in, but hangs back himself, watching outside, one hand hovering inside his jacket.
But inside, nothing could seem more innocuous: the shop half-fitted with racks and shelving, a labourer in jeans and fleece, wearing a leather workman’s belt hung with hammer and screwdriver. His back to us, as we watch, he drives home the screws of a chrome wall-mounted hanger bar.
James’ colour is high, but he seems to have himself under control. He meets eyes with me, jerking his chin to the workman.
I wait until he’s finished with one screw, reaching for the next from his belt. “Hi, is Julia around? Or Luke?”
He turns then raises his gaze ceilingward. “Upstairs, I think.”
“Both of them?”
He nods in friendly fashion. “I think so. Can’t be sure. Busy, y’know…” He head-points the rack he’s working on.
I shove hands in my pockets, stroll around, trying to look casual. “It’s looking good. When’s the opening?”
“Next week, I think.” He scratches his head, grimacing. “I’ve got my work cut out getting it finished. Mind you…” He flashes brows, grinning. “They’ve promised me a family discount if I bring my daughters to the opening. It’s my youngest’s birthday next week. Nice treat for her, eh?”
“Mmmm… I suppose. Anyway, we’ll go straight up. Out back is it?” I aim a finger toward the rear of the store…
“Er, yes, but it’s private up there.”
“Oh, that’s fine. Luke knows us.”
Klempner strides in, pushing past. “Shall we go…”
James nods and follows. I pause. “Just a hint. Those daughters of yours, don’t bring them near this place.”
*****