Untouchable (LGBT - SciFi - Romance)

Chapter 20

Alan Stewart moved through the streets towards the Sahara as quickly as he could. He ran when there was no one to see and walked briskly when there was. He reached the Sahara less than ten minutes after receiving Robin's call, only pausing to tie a scarf over his head and face before entering the club.

Everything seemed as usual when he entered, music playing, men talking and drinking. It appeared no one had yet discovered the body in the back. He spotted Robin sitting at a table near one of the cubicles with two drinks in front of him. He circled around as casually as possible and sat down, picking up one of the drinks as if he had just been away for a short break.

Robin Lang flinched involuntarily when he saw the mask. For a second he thought Master had come after him, that he had only been pretending to be dead, but then he heard Alan's voice.

"Drink up!" Stewart told him, "I'll get us some more in a minute." He drained half his plasglas. "What are you having?"

Lang stared blankly at him.

"Smile!" Stewart whispered harshly, "We're here for a drink, not a wake. You need to be seen here acting normally, until someone finds the body. Then you can be as official as you like."

Lang gave a sickly smile and gulped his drink. He struggled to pull himself together. While he had been waiting for his friend's arrival, he'd had plenty of time to remember why Alan was possibly the last person he should have called. He hadn't even apologised properly to him yet.

"Thanks for coming," he said as he leant across the table. "I know I don't deserve your help."

"Don't thank me! I'm not doing this for you," Stewart interrupted coolly. "I'm doing it for Max."

Lang whitened. "Even so. I'm still grateful, and I know I owe you a huge apology. I – I should have known better. I'm sorry, Alan, really sorry for everything."

"That's perfect, Robin," Stewart said with mocking approval. "We can say you wanted to see me to apologise, and thought we might as well check this place out again, see if anything jogs my memory. Two meteors with one rocket, so to speak."

"I wasn't‒!" Lang cut off his protest mid-word and started again. "I did mean it. I don't expect you to forgive me, but I am sorry!"

Stewart swallowed the hurt, angry words he wanted to say. Now was not the time, not when Robin looked like he was only just hanging on to his self-control as it was. Instead, he stood up and ordered two more ales from the bar. They weren't on duty, and he wanted the barman to remember the presence of a tall man, before the body was discovered.

"So did you find anything out, before ...?" he asked in a low voice, when he returned, changing the subject.

"Ron Pearce. That's the name of the other man," Lang replied gratefully.

The name meant nothing to Stewart. "Do you know anything about him?"

"Lots of rumours, no facts. He has the reputation of being a very ruthless businessman, involved in various shady mining deals but never actually breaking the law ‒ at least not where he can be seen doing it!"

"He lives on Capella?"

"Not really. He has an apartment here, but his principal residence is a villa on Moonta. I hear he owns a small island there."

Stewart was starting to feel worried that no one had found the body. How long did they leave people alone in those rooms? He didn't want to go out the back to check up, but perhaps he would have to. Could he pretend he wanted to hire one of the rooms himself? He got up to use the facilities, to establish that he had been in and out of the main room, and suggested Lang do the same when he returned. It would ensure his hands were sterilised at least.

While he was waiting for him, he thought of a plan.

"I'm sure they've found out who you are by now. Let's go up to the barman and you can ask if it's possible to see the room Max was held in. Offer to pay if necessary. At least that should get us entry into the back part."

Lang considered the suggestion. "What if it's occupied?"

"We'll have another drink and wait. But I'm hoping with any luck they'll mistake me for the dead man, and at least go and investigate."

Lang found himself nodding, with the black scarf around Alan's head, even he would have had difficulty telling them apart until they spoke. He thought Alan's shoulders were wider, but the other man often wore a cloak to broaden his.

"Okay, let's do it." He stood up and approached the barman, Stewart trailing behind.

"Evening," he said pleasantly. "I'm Captain Lang. As I'm here, I'd like to see the room where my son was attacked. I'm willing to pay the going rate."

The barman considered him with flat brown eyes. "You know it's been cleaned since?"

"Of course." He waited patiently. The barman's eyes flicked towards Alan Stewart and widened as he took in the size of him. "Weren't you here earlier?" he asked.

Lang answered for him. "We've been here for awhile, having a few drinks. Is the room free or not?"

The barman must have triggered an unseen com unit as an older, thickset man appeared smoothly behind them, dressed in a dark grey uniform. "I'm Smith. Can I help you, sers?"

"Captain Lang here would like to see the room where his son was attacked, Room 5," the barman explained quickly, "Would you take them through? Oh, and check on Room 8," he added casually.

~~~

Lang hadn't been aware the rooms were numbered, but he would have bet a week's pay that Room 8 was the one that he had entered with Master earlier that evening. He was careful not to look at Stewart. It appeared his plan was working. Both men turned and followed Mr Smith as he led them towards the door to the back of the club.

Smith opened the door and nodded to the man standing guard inside. He wore a turban, as had the guard the time before, and loose fitting trousers with an embroidered waistcoat. The guard gave Stewart a sharp look, then his eyes focussed briefly on Robin Lang's bare face before resting on Smith.

"I'm just taking Captain Lang down to Room 5," Smith explained. "Then I'll check Room 8." The guard nodded slightly in agreement. Lang could feel his gaze following them down the passage.

Smith unlocked the door to Room 5 and ushered them inside. "I'll be back in five minutes," he told them, evidently eager to see what was happening in the other room. Both men took the opportunity to examine the area, but they were only half concentrating ‒ most of their attention was for any sounds of alarm coming from Room 8.

A faint, muffled exclamation was all Lang needed. In a flash, he was out of the room and heading towards the only other open door in the passage.

"Anything the matter?" he asked from the doorway. He could see Smith bent over the figure of Master, still lying on the floor where he had left him. Without waiting for an answer, he pushed forward, kneeling down to check the body's pulse, trying to put his hands in the same places he had touched before.

"I'm afraid this man is dead," he looked soberly up at Smith, who had straightened, his face frozen in an expression of dismay. "Do you know who he is?"

Smith licked his lips nervously. "You must realize ‒ most of the men who use these rooms are masked. I never saw his face before, but the man who booked this room called himself Stewart, Alan Stewart."