Blood Never Dies by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles Page A

me, but he was posh underneath. You could hear it. But he said he wanted to get into movies.’
    ‘Wait a minute, he came to you specifically to ask you about getting into skin movies, is that right? He approached you, not the other way round.’
    ‘Yeah, like I’m tellin’ you.’
    ‘How did he know you were in the biz?’
    He shrugged. ‘Everybody knows The Flynn.’
    ‘So how did you know him?’
    ‘I didn’t. He come up to me at this club I go to, the Forty-Niners?’
    ‘Yeah, I know it.’ It was in Kensington Park Road – Notting Hill. ‘Had you seen him before?’
    ‘Yeah, I reckon. Not to talk to, but I’d seen him in there. He was tall, fit – sort of bloke that stands out. I mean, I ain’t gay,’ he said sternly, to scotch any misunderstanding, ‘but in the business, you get to notice the way people look.’
    ‘So he comes up to you, never having spoken to you before—’
    ‘No, wait, he had,’ Tommy said, frowning in thought. ‘Coupla nights before that, he comes up and asks me if I could sell him any charlie. Well, I didn’t know who he was. Anyway, I don’t deal, only to me friends. I told him I only had enough for meself. So he asks me if I know where he can get some.’ He grinned suddenly at the memory. ‘Man, in that place? There’s more snow than Siberia. I told him to go and hang around the bogs and ask the first bloke that comes in and doesn’t have a slash!’ He laughed uproariously at his own joke.
    ‘But apart from that, you didn’t know him? So how did he know you were in the porn-flick business?’
    Tommy shrugged. ‘Someone musta told him. Like I said, everybody knows me. He asked can you make good money at it, and I says yeah, look at me.’ He made a gesture with his hands out to his sides. ‘I was wearing me good threads,’ he explained. ‘Then he says can I get him on. I tells him to go along and ask, and say I sent him. Well, he musta been serious because the next time I go in, there he is. He did good, too. He looked great, and he could act, an’ all.’
    ‘Act?’ Connolly queried.
    Tommy looked hurt. ‘Yeah, you outsiders think there’s nothing in it, just get some wood on and bang away and that’s that. But I can tell you, real porn fans can tell the difference in a minute between a good skin flick and a bad one. I mean, we wouldn’t have got to
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if it had just been a load of boring shagging. They’re real movies, with a plot, lines and everything. People love ’em. They’re classics. They’re witty.’
    ‘Yeah, I heard that,’ Connolly said. ‘You been doing this a long time, then?’
    ‘I’m a star, didn’t you know that?’ He grinned, full of himself again. ‘Want my autograph? I got an interesting way of writing it – you won’t believe how I do it. Can’t show you here, though.’
    ‘Love a God, would y’ calm down. Am’n’t I telling you, it’s Mike Horden I’m interested in. So you say he was good at the job?’
    ‘Yeah, he was top at it. He was a top geezer, too. We hung out together. We had a laugh, know what I mean? He useter come up my place and we’d have a few drinks and roll a doobie and mellow out. Listen to some sounds. He knew a hell of a lot about music – introduced me to some bands I’d never even heard of, but they were brilliant. This one—’
    Connolly was not interested in his musical taste. ‘He took drugs with you?’
    He looked hurt. ‘Weed ain’t drugs, man. Like vodka ain’t alcohol.’
    ‘Did he use charlie? E? Speed? Anything apart from marijuana?’
    ‘Not wiv me. But he asked me where he could buy charlie, didn’t he, so he must have.’
    Connolly nodded. ‘So this great guy, your pal Mike – you haven’t seen him lately?’
    ‘Not for weeks,’ Tommy said, sniffing and wiping his nose on his forearm. ‘Man, you are really pulling me down with your questions. Seventy quid’s worth of best Bolivian marching powder up my schnoz and you’re bringing me right back