Night Sessions, the
“He stood in the pulpit of the Liquid Cosh dance club and looked over a couple of hundred bopping heads. The crowd was good tonight. Most of them were doing designer but enough of the old guard were here for the sweet smoke to be thick and the bar at the back to be busy. He raised his arms, poised to begin the night's session. The club's interior walls were plain: wood panelling to two metres, then whitewashed plaster all the way up through to the vaulted curves of the roof. The two long sides e...ach had a gallery, whose pillars had provided convenient spacing for tables and booths. The only decoration was an abstract, tentative pattern in stained glass in some parts of the tall pointed windows. Dave's default in such clubs was the paintbox of Catholic baroque. But tonight he felt a qualm. A Catholic priest had been murdered today. It wasn't reluctance to offend that made Dave hesitate. Nobody here would be offended. It just didn't seem right, for reasons he didn't have time to explore, because people were looking up at him, heads turning, looks becoming questioning.MoreLess
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