Ex-soldier Birmingham-gangster bets his life on luck and illegalities, adroit wit and burning passion streaking his blood-stained fingertips as a dire quarrel commence between himself and the disturbed Dane who purloined his lover.
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MAES LONDON CLUB
IT WAS NOVEMBER AND Ines had decided—she was going to London. Her husband's bona fide apologies had made her reevaluate the situation and doubted whether or not she ought to go. Attending Anton Maes' 10th club opening was something she undeniably wished to partake in, however, with a workload filled to capacity with tasks, difficulties really, she had hesitated. Nikolaj being absent-minded and occupied with what he thought more important than Ines' planning, she ultimately decided on going on her own. Packing up her backs, Ines left for her British adventures and stayed on The Ritz Hotel located in Piccadilly.
As the night of Thursday 11th approached, darkness befell the city of London. In spite of the late hour, the streets were packed. Music sounded from afar, mixing with the cheerful roars of the rejoicing left-wing activists and all the pomp and blinding lights led Ines right to the club. Stepping out of the car, her head heaved to take in her surroundings. The buildings were tall, one towering the other and bright lights shone from above. In the juxtaposition of Germany, fashion was over the top — even for those simply out on an evening stroll or the ones on their way from work. While the women were gowned in pompous dresses, accessorized with gloves, feathers and pearls and other grandiose adornments in their gelled hair, men wore all from top hats to those of a newsboy, sported neat three-piece suits with lapels beneath long overcoats or plaid mackinaw jackets. Most rocking groomed mustaches and large grins with either a cigarette or pipe dangling from their mouths, women latched on to their arms as they waltzed down streets and disappearing into one of the many jazz clubs and cocktails bars that flourished the city. Ines thought it humorous how all this splendor in actuality was the aftermath of the subsiding war. It truly put things into perspective; how the prospect had transpired and some prospered, unreservedly profiting from the war whereas others were forced out of homes, to rot in a trench. It all came to display in this hedonistic London lifestyle.
Outside the club had a great gathering congregated, ready to burst through the doors of the newest club constructed by the strength of a hundred men and the illustrious Belgian entrepreneur. The time was only five and yet an hour was to go before the doors were opened to those who had not been invited to join the festivities sooner. Ines had been solicited and clad in her gorgeous attire, silk flowing, pearls dangling and hair neatly pulled up, the metallic woman lifted her chin, pulled up her dress and set marching.
Greeting the man keeping the masses at distance, Ines handed over her invite. Inside was the already somewhat crowded locale, London people swarming with boasting personalities, crowing laughs, rowdy attitudes. Fancy cocktails had been poured which led Ines' eyes to the bar-setting up front, locating yet another one in the further back in her brief premises study. There was a dancefloor, dim lightning and one part of the club was heaved above the rest as if to provide a vista of the grandeur; of one's achievements and it was Ines best guess at where Anton Mae might be hiding.
Offering her name and a taciturn smile to the guard standing by the spinning staircase, Ines was allowed past the demarcation and held her dress in order to not stumble down. While her eyes were focused on the steps, she took her time to appreciate her friend's achievements, gazing out at the opulence.
"Ines Lenz!"
The voice shouting in bafflement was known and she tore her sight back, finding Anton Maes stand. As per usual and dearly missed, the familiar wooden pipe dangling from his mouth was removed and he approached her with open arms and feting beam.
Giggling, Ines let her gown fall and accepted his embrace, taking no notice of the pending people he had left behind. At least not until he had galvanized her in a tight shake and her eyes recognized the furniture design.
"Or should I say Mrs. Brogaard?"
His prying eyes and charming ambiance put a larger grin on her face. "It is Lenz Brogaard, although I believe you will only ever read 'Lenz' on your amenities."
The mention and nod toward the leather furnishing had him look back across his shoulder. He almost jumped and he remembered he had additional company, all waiting patiently, exchanging few glances as they were busy taking in the pair. They patently were close business partners. "Right, right that you are! Lovely, please let me introduce you to Billy Hill, Frank Nitto, and Estelle Monroe."
Politely, Ines went to shake hands and the one names Frank Nitto moved from his seat for her to take it. Thanking him, she in return received a nod and lifted his glass to his mustachioed lips. "I do hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"No, no," assured Estelle Monroe and Ines did not overlook the hard glare she received from Billy Hill. Shifting a tad in her seat, Ines was pleased to know although the growth of her company, the furniture still was excellent quality. As her own home was not interiorized with leather and she had no more to do with production than design at this point, she admittedly had not sat in one of her own chairs and God knows how long. It, in all actuality, did have quite of a fulfilling effect on her.
"We were just going over some business—but really; this time is one for celebration! So let us do that, yes?" Walking up behind her, a hand dropped on to her shoulder. Looking up, she accepted the glass of champagne Anton offered and he took his seat opposite her. Truthfully, he was more than happy with her appearance for it allowed him to smoothly disregard to topic priorly discussed; the one in which he owed little more money than what his vault could fit, to the Chicago Outfit. Frank Nitto had made the inconvenience to attend Maes' grand opening to ensure they got just that. Anton Maes should never have allowed himself to be enticed as easily as he did. There were reasons not to get involved in such commerce, he soon would know that better than any, he had a feeling.
