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“Sounds like a plan.” Solomon leaned forward in his seat and pointed. “And there’s the club.”

It was busy. James could see people in the windows, a couple of smokers outside on the pavement, and two women talking to each other in the doorway before George drove around the corner and then pulled in to the first free parking spot.

“Give us twenty minutes,” Solomon told him, “then start circling this block until you see us.”

“You sure you don’t want me to come in with you?” George asked.

“Having a quick way to get gone is more useful,” Solomon said.

James agreed, although George was bigger than both of them, and he’d certainly make getting into Sutcliffe’s office easier.

They climbed out but instead of heading around the front of the club, Solomon gestured the other way, and James realized he’d gotten the lay of the land sometime before this evening.

He approved.

Solomon led him to a narrow alleyway that ran along the back of the buildings fronting the main street, and when a young man stepped out of a door a little way along, James could hear the wail of a saxophone coming from inside.

The young man was smoking and leaning against the wall when he and Solomon reached him, and he eyed them warily.

“I don’t want no trouble,” he said.

“Then we’re on the same page,” Solomon said with a smile, pulling the door open and holding it for James to precede him.

He stepped into a narrow hallway, and he caught a glimpse of a kitchen to his right, and a passageway ending in a staircase to his left.

“Up the stairs?” he asked Solomon when the door swung closed behind him.

“Might as well give it a try,” Solomon agreed.

The saxophone had been replaced by some quick-fingered jazz piano, and a soft throaty singer, and James wondered if Gabriella would like to come to a place like this.

He thought he might like it if he wasn’t going to beat up the owner.

He suddenly grinned at the thought, and so the man who stepped into his space as he reached the landing above blinked in surprise when he saw James’s expression.

“What you laughing at, eh?”

“Nothing,” James said, his smile broadening. “We’re here to speak to Sutcliffe.”

“Mr. Sutcliffe don’t take evening appointments.” The man stepped back, widened his stance, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Didn’t say we had an appointment.” Solomon was suddenly beside him. “We said we’re here to speak to him. Whether he wants to speak to us or not.”

“What is it, Benson?” A man spoke from behind the guard, and James realized he was quite short.

“Sutcliffe.” James angled so he could just see past Benson to the passageway beyond. “This is about a certain house you own in Notting Hill.”

“Are you joking?” Sutcliffe pushed Benson aside so he could see them both. “Do you know the mess you’re starting with me?”

James looked into Sutcliffe’s hard, pitiless eyes, and suddenly knew this was a man who always thought he could hire more muscle, and bigger thugs.

A beating, or a stand off, wasn’t going to intimidate him. It might have the opposite effect.

He slowly drew out his warrant card. “Do you know the mess you’re starting with me?” he asked.

Sutcliffe actually recoiled.

Like he was brandishing a cross to a vampire, James thought.