The Mozart Conspiracy Read Free Page B

glass with a cloth.
    ‘How’re you doing, Joe?’
    Joe smiled through his heavy beard. ‘Doin’ rightly, thanks. Same as usual?’
    ‘Why not?’ Ben said.
    Joe grabbed a spirit glass and filled it from the bottle of Black Bush that hung behind the bar.‘You’ll be through that one soon,’ he said, gazing at the level in the bottle.
    The pianist started up again. The battered old upright was missing most of its finish and badly in need of a tuning, but it sounded good under his fingers. He was doing a pretty good rendition of Jerry Lee Lewis boogie-woogie, keeping up a thumping stride rhythm with his left hand as his right churned out lightning blues scales.
    ‘Not bad, is he?’ said Joe. ‘One of your lot, from the look of him.’
    Ben turned round on the bar stool. ‘Yeah, as a matter of fact he is.’
    ‘Pity. I was thinking of hiring him. Might bring in a bit o’ trade.’
    Ben knew his name, too. Private Oliver Llewellyn. He was tall and slender, and his black hair was cropped short in a severe buzz-cut. He was too busy at the keyboard to notice Ben sitting watching him.
    A pretty young blonde of about twenty was leaning against the side of the piano, gazing admiringly as Oliver’s fingers shot up and down the keys. He suddenly played a fast downward run that terminated in a series of shimmering jazzy chords as Jerry Lee Lewis gave way to Oscar Peterson.
    ‘You’re fantastic, so you are,’ the girl breathed. ‘You’re not really a soldier, are you?’
    ‘Sure I am.’ Oliver smiled up at her, still playing. ‘SAS.’
    ‘You’re kidding,’ she said.
    ‘Nope,’ he replied. ‘I never kid. SAS. Sexy-Attractive-Sophisticated. That’s me.’
    She giggled and thumped him playfully on the shoulder, and he kept playing with his right hand while he slipped his left arm around her waist and tugged her towards him. ‘There’s plenty of room on this piano stool for two of us,’ he said. ‘Come on, I’ll teach you a duet.’
    She sat up close next to him, her thigh pressing against his. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.
    ‘Bernie.’
    Ben grinned and turned back to his drink, exchanging a knowing look with Joe. Private Llewellyn didn’t waste time.
    The doors swung open and four guys walked in and took a table in the middle of the room. They were in their mid-twenties, surly, overconfident. One of them went to the bar for pints of lager, ignoring Ben’s friendly nod. One of his friends, the big overweight one with the pasty face, twisted heavily in his seat and called over to the girl as Oliver was showing her a simple duet. ‘Bernie! Get over here!’ His narrowed eyes shot a long glance at Oliver’s back.
    Bernie broke away from the piano and got nervously to her feet. ‘Got to go,’ she whispered to Oliver. Oliver shrugged sadly and launched into a Chopin Nocturne.
    Bernie sat down with the four lads. ‘Fuck were you doing with him ?’ the fat one demanded, staring at her hard. ‘Can’t you see what he is?’
    ‘Just having a giggle,’ she said quietly. ‘Leave him alone, Gary.’
    Oliver stopped playing. He grabbed the half-finished pint from the top of the piano and drained it, glanced at his watch and walked out of the bar. Bernie craned her head and gave him a wistful smile as he went by.
    The four guys exchanged looks. Gary raised his eyebrows and jerked his chin at the door. ‘You wait here,’ he growled at Bernie. He pushed his chair back from the table. The four of them slurped down the last of their beer and stood up. They headed for the door. Bernie looked worried. ‘Gary…’ she started.
    ‘You-shut-your-hole.’ Gary pointed a stubby warning finger in her face. ‘This is your fault, you slag. I told you not to hang around with them fuckin’ soldiers.’
    The four of them filed out purposefully.
    Ben had been watching. He sighed. He set his glass on the bar and slid down from his stool.
    Outside in the alleyway, the four guys had already caught up with Oliver. They