Where the Devil Can't Go Read Online Free PDF Page A

amateurish-looking, enclosing two names, obviously foreign: Pawel and Ela .
    “Gives you a head start on ID-ing her,” the cop said, setting the body back down with surprising gentleness.

THREE
     
    The rectangle of plastic snapped open as the last coin clinked through the slot, and Janusz stooped to his peephole. Beyond it, in the centre of a dimly lit windowless room, a slender naked girl writhed around a floor-to-ceiling pole under a shower of multi-coloured lights.
    Every trace of her body hair had been shaved or plucked away, making her nakedness absolute, apart from a single stud in her navel. The girl’s movements, timed to the grinding rock music, had a natural grace, but her made-up face was expressionless and her gaze focused on some distant point. Her long fingernails struck the only incongruous note – painted not the usual scarlet, but jet-black.
    Janusz watched just long enough to make sure it was Kasia, then straightened and checked his watch, frowning, and tried to block out the alkaline reek of old semen in his cubicle. The music came to an end, only to be followed by another, smoochier number. Cursing softly, he glanced up at the ceiling and reached into his pocket.
    He could still hear the smoke alarm wailing as he leant against the club’s rear wall enjoying his smoke – his fourth, or maybe fifth, cigar of the day – he couldn’t remember. The last punter, a paunchy guy in his forties wearing a chalk-stripe suit, stumbled out of the fire exit, head bent as he finished fastening his fly. Noticing the big man in the old-fashioned trench coat, he straightened, and pulling out a pack of cigarettes, asked for a light.
    Janusz sparked his lighter, although the guy had to bend forward to reach the flame. Then, blowing out a stream of smoke, the punter planted his feet apart and jabbed his chin over his shoulder, “Did you see the bird in there?” he asked, with a man-to-man chuckle. “I’ll bet that’s a road well-travelled.”
    Janusz’s face remained impassive, so the guy didn’t notice his right hand clench reflexively into a fist, nor realise how close he was skating to a broken jaw.
    Janusz took an unhurried draw on his cigar. “I wouldn’t know,” he said. “I just work here sometimes.” The guy gave him an assessing look, trying to work out the accent – posh-sounding, but some foreign in there, too.
    “Yeah? You a bouncer then?” Janusz shook his head. “Work behind the bar?” Another shake. Then Janusz looked the guy in the face properly for the first time.
    “Look, it’s supposed to be hush hush,” he said, “but what the hell, today’s my last day in the job.” He ground his cigar stub on the wall and discarded it, then leaned closer. “I rig the hidden cameras in the peepshow booths,” he said in a conspiratorial murmur.
    The guy stared at him: “Cameras? I’ve never seen a camera in there.”
    Janusz shrugged. “That’s because I’m pretty good at my job.”
    The guy’s face was going red now: “So you’re telling me...they film the customers while they’re watching the shows?” Janusz dipped his head sideways in regretful assent. “Why the fu...?” the guy’s voice held a mixture of anger and foreboding.
    “It’s a live feed to the internet,” said Janusz. “Apparently, a lot of people will pay good money to watch guys...you know...” and with an economical gesture he demonstrated the activity he was too polite to put into words.
    Now, the guy’s mouth was opening and shutting like a Christmas carp, and Janusz wondered if he was going to have a stroke or something. “It’s a...It’s a... disgrace,” he croaked. He waved a finger up at Janusz, “I’m going to...” and then brandished it at the back door of the club, “I’ll report them to...” Then he wheeled around and went off down the Soho alleyway, still ranting and waving his arms.
    Just then, the girl emerged from the club, wrapped in a black towelling dressing gown. She peered at