The Lost Ballet

  Chapter 75 – Protection

  The next day, the practiced and slightly suspicious eyes of the Ps detected guns under Gwen’s and Roger’s shirts. Oh, shit. They were having SO MUCH FUN, and now something bad was going to happen. Three days till opening night, and now this. They were so close. Peter wanted to tell the rest of the team that the Junes were packing again, which meant trouble, but Pater convinced him not to. He said, don’t worry the others. And besides, who do we want protecting us. Them. The Junes. Trust them. Peter said, ok.

  Roger went to center stage and sat down on the synthe bench next to The Whosey. The Whosey liked it much better when Gwen sat next to him on the bench, played around with the keys a little, her shoulders touching his, but he liked Roger just fine. Roger said, “Pete, remember when you first showed up, six months ago, you stayed at our house for a few days, till we found you the flat?” Townshend noticed Roger’s usage of the English word, and wondered what that meant. “We want you to come back there, till the show is over, hang out with us.” Now Townshend really wondered what was up. But he had come to trust the Junes, so his inquiry was modest.

  “Sure, Rog. What’s up?”

  Roger didn’t believe in hiding stuff, so he said, “Well, we think Stirg may be a little perturbed about us stealing the dancers from the Mariinsky, leaving him screwed. You’ve been around him a few times, so you know he’s not a person to take lightly. We want to make sure he doesn’t get in your face or anything. You’re the VIP around here, you know.”

  Townshend processed this statement. He was getting a compliment, and at the same time being told a former Nazi hunter with a spider web of malice in his brain might be coming to brace his ass. He decided it might be a very good idea to stay with the Junes. “Sure Rog. Thanks.”

  With that task done, and after sending a look across the stage to Gwen that told her The Whosey was her responsibility for a while, he left The Hall and walked down King Street to the offices of a private investigative firm he knew of. He was shown into a conference room where he was joined by one of the managers. He said, “I came to you because I’ve heard of your commitment to confidentiality. Is that well-placed?”

  The manager said, “We take the confidentiality of our clients very seriously, and our reputation is very well-placed.”

  “I need a little surveillance work done. Watching of a house here in Charleston, 247, reporting of the movements of an individual. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, sir, we can do that, and I can provide you with a schedule of our fees for that type of work.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I just want to know that your staff is skilled at this.”

  “They are, sir, I can assure you.”

  Roger asked for scratch paper, and on it wrote Stirg’s address. He said, “Two guys live there. One is the owner, and one is his personal assistant. I want you to watch the house, and when the assistant leaves, you follow him and tell me.”

  The investigator was staring at the piece of paper with the address on it, because it was strangely familiar. He couldn’t place it, but there was something about it. He said, “Can you give me the name of the personal assistant, and a description or photo of him?”

  “I don’t have a photo, but he’s about six two, 200 pounds, athletic, dark hair. You’ll know him when you see him at the house. I only know his first name.” Roger wrote it on the paper under the address: Nev.

  The investigator stared at the name, and suddenly knew about the address. It was the address of Mr. Nev, who twice had hired his firm to intrude into the lives of some Charleston residents. “When do you want the surveillance to begin, Mr….?”

  “June. Roger June. Immediately, please.”

  The investigator thought, what do we have going on here?