Laurie shook his head.He tossed the mobile into the Merc'sglove box, and looked up just in time to see the traffic wardenbearing down on him.He flashed her a smile, revved the engine andpulled out.Blood Moon?What had Arnie said—over my undeadbody?That was pretty funny in retrospect,though Laurie had been too distracted to get it at the time.Arniewould stamp up and down making the glassware rattle, denounce thebrain-drain Hollywood machine that lured good stage actors fromBritish shores.
But Arnie was gone.If Laurie wished to be lured or drained,he could do so unhindered.The traffic was clearing a little now:he edged the Merc through a hairsbreadth gap between two taxis andborrowed the bus lane as he sailed past Westminster Abbey, enjoyingthe sudden free movement.He didn't wish, of course.He had justlanded the theatrical role of the decade, and theBlood Moonfilms wereidiotic, the kind of thing Clara would have adored and made him sitthrough with her until his hair and teeth fell out from the toxiceffects of it.Still, it was nice to be asked.To be noticed fromthe far side of the planet by one of its wealthiest productioncompanies...He'd reply later, he decided, sailing out acrossLambeth Bridge.The answer would be no, but if he was going to behis own agent from now on, he had to make sure such approaches metwith a civilised response, better than a form note from Hamlin& Co tersely informing the aspirant that Mr Fitzroy was bookedfor the rest of the decade, and probably through panto season2024.
Yes, hecould see advantages to running his own show.He could seeadvantages in a car, even in London.The satnav began to issueinstructions, but Laurie knew Streatham, having done a short runwith the community theatre there.He unplugged the device andchucked it into the back seat.He could think of a much betterway.
***
Lauriestood alone on a bleak South London street, looking at theboarded-up restaurant across the road.Ever since he'd had the ideaof finding the darozha for Sasha, he'd been fixated on that.Gunarihad been an abstract, no more than a means to an end.
Therewas nothing abstract about the figure leaning in the doorway now,its crew-cut skull almost touching the top of the frame.Out ofLaurie's fifty potential Gunaris, this was certainly the right one.He hadn't altered a stitch; still looked as though he should beheading up a neo-Nazi march, his tight leather waistcoat helpingthe impression along.He was unshaven, blond stubble glintingmetallically in the sun, and dragging on a cigarette as if his lifedepended on it.What had happened to him after the raid on theBirchwood camp?John Kucharski had told Laurie that none of theRoma travellers had been detained.Laurie didn’t even know ifGunari associated him with Mama Luna’s death.
It was too late to worry about it now.After glaring blanklypast him up the street, Gunari was starting to focus.He shaded hiseyes, and Laurie lifted a hand in an attempt at a casual greeting.He didn’t feel casual.Not like a top-flight young actor justsummoned to Hollywood fame, that was for sure.His spine was stillsweat-damped from the stress of getting lost in a redbrick maze ofterraces just like this one—yes, he knew Streatham Green, but notits hinterland dormitory suburb—and trying to park a bright-redsports car inconspicuously by the treeless, wasteland kerb.A groupof kids had been eyeing her up before he’d even got the roofproperly shut, not a problem he’d have had if he’d come here on theTooting Bec Tube.Well, she was insured, and in the hands of thecar gods now.Laurie had his own problems.“Latcho, Gunari,” he called.“Not sureif you’ll remember me, but—”
Something small and muscular shot out of the hallway behindGunari.It passed him at knee height and cannoned out into theroad.A near-miss with a speeding taxi didn’t even slow it up.Itlaunched itself at Laurie, gargoyle face contorted in asnarl.
The best way to take such a hit was to roll with it.Zagadidn’t leave him much choice.Age hadn’t mellowed her, and Lauriewent down hard on the tarmac, shielding his face with one arm.“Zaga,” he gasped.“Latcho, Zaga.Good girl, goodgirl.”
Thebulldog switched tactics.She quit trying to chew his face off andbegan to lick it frantically instead, her breath enough to striphis skin from the bone.A shadow fell across Laurie, who paused inhis defensive manoeuvres long enough to look up.
“Dog remembers.”
Gunariwas grinning almost as widely as Zaga.He stood in the road, handsplanted on his hips, clearly enjoying the scene.“Uh-huh,” Lauriemanaged hoarsely.“Don’t suppose you’d get her off me, wouldyou?”
“Maybe.Dog has good memory for faces, once eaten.Me, I need ahint.”
“Birchwood camp, two years ago.I came to you when—”
Gunari grunted.Then he let loose a great roaring laugh.“You!Little Sandru Petrica’spolone!”
Laurieknew what that meant now.The last person to use the name had beenholding a knife to his throat, and he found he didn’t mind it fromGunari.All a matter of perspective, he supposed.He nodded.Gunari, still chuckling, gave Zaga a poke in the haunch with onesteel-toed boot, and the dog went placidly to sit beside him.“Poorlittle rich boy.I remember.Your pa didn’t kill you,then?”
“No.He died.”Laurie watched Gunari’s face cautiously, waitingfor the links to form.But to his surprise, the grinning masksoftened.Shock?Sympathy?Laurie couldn't read him.He took thehand Gunari held out and got up, dusting grit out of his clothes.“It's okay,” he said.“He wasn't any loss.Did you have to closeyour restaurant?”
“Close?”
“It's all boarded up.”
“Boards are because of stupid kids and riots.At night, boardsdown.Kenna Gunari does grand trade.”
“Oh.Good.”Laurie found himself stuck for conversation.Hecouldn't introduce his mission out here in the street, and Gunarishowed no signs of inviting him in.Zaga was still panting anddrooling on his foot.Glancing at the restaurant's unpromisingfrontage, Laurie noticed an orchid in a bowl in the first-floorwindow, and an unexpectedly fashionable set of curtains.“Do youlive here?In the flat above the shop?”
Gunari released another of his short, startling roars oflaughter.“In flat?Dark, cramped, like hen in coop?No, I rentflat to stupidgajewho like to tell friends they live with gypsy.Who thinkfashionable to live here on shitty street with no trees.No, youcome with Gunari.I show you where I live.I show you.”
Lauriefollowed him.He had little choice, since Zaga was herding him,nudging his ankles with her bony brow.Gunari led him through adark hallway, whose peeling paint and fusty smell did not preparehim for the gleaming kitchen that opened off from it.Laurie had aglimpse of copper pans hanging from ceiling racks and an array offormidable-looking meat cleavers and knives.Then he was stumblingout into the light again, Gunari striding proudly in front of him.“Here,” he said.“Like Mama Luna.Not like gypsy—like Romatravelling man.”
The grimlittle terrace backed onto a sweep of waste ground.The rows behindhad been demolished for some project never brought to fruition, andbeyond their rubble lay the Clapham railway lines, a chaos ofparallels gleaming in the sun.Here, within the limits of thetumbledown barbed-wire fence that informally marked off oneproperty from the next, Gunari had set up camp.
Laurie tried not to look too hard.If his caravan was the sameone Sasha had pointed out as being Mama Luna's, he didn't want toknow.It sat among swaying nettles and long-stalked ragwort whosegolden heads nodded hypnotically in the breeze.Therewasa breeze out here,unlike the barren stillness of the street.He could see why Gunaripreferred it.“It's nice,” he said honestly.“Plenty ofspace.”
“And bathroom andkhaziindoors, so best of both worlds.Your world andmine, eh, polone?”He clapped Laurie between the shoulders, hard enough to knockthe breath from him.“Now.You not here to book stag party, eh?Whyyou come to see Gunari on his shitty street?”
“It's about Sasha.We...I, er...”Laurie shook his head.Thiswas ridiculous.Like every other gay man or woman in a world wherestraight was the default assumption, he declared his sexualitythree or four times a week to total strangers, in shops, offices,among his new colleagues backstage.Isthis for your girlfriend, sir?No.My boyfriend.It didn't matter, except that of course it did,and Laurie never missed his cue, never wavered in firmness orlowered his eyes.Why did Gunari's mocking ice-blue stare faze himso?“We live together now.He hasn't been well lately.He can'tsleep, and he talked about the stuff your...that Mama Luna gave mewhen I came to the camp.The darozha.”
“Oh.”Gunari grunted.He seemed disappointed, as if he'd beenexpecting a different request entirely.“Darozha?Okay.Igive.”
“Give?No, I'll pay for it.”
“Is nothing but leaves and herbs.And darozha we do not sell.Agajodoes notunderstand.”
