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I followed her. It was easy to do. A real expert doesn't need invisibility glamours to tail people without being spotted. Most people just don't know what to look for, even if they were suspicious in the first place. Alva Vale showed no sign of realising she was being followed, or even that she had considered the possibility, but moved in that furtive way that so many individuals adopt when they don't want to be noticed - which stands out like a sore thumb to anyone who is watching for it. Alva ducked in and out of the transit tubes, the unrelieved black of her garments standing out in the crowds of flamboyantly-dressed revellers. She knew exactly where she was going. At least she had ditched the artfully veiled hat and donned a headscarf. I hung back, as far as I dared, allowing the press of the crowds to conceal me in plain sight. I didn't really need to follow her at all. I already knew where she was going. The Starfield Club. I watched her stalk to the front of the short queue of would-be club-goers, one of the rotund bouncers first moving to intercept her then, recognition assisted by Alva sweeping off the concealing headscarf, beckoning her inside and ignoring the glares from the queuing clubbers.
I turned on my heel and went home to my apartment. The day had taken its toll on me. The tonic that David had given me had worn off hours ago, leaving me sore about head and body. I undressed carefully, showered swiftly, poured myself a very small nightcap, toasted myself in the mirror and swallowed the whole tot in one lump. I was asleep as soon as my head touched the pillow.
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I didn't follow her inside. There were too many people there who would recognise my face, and they might treat me less gently than before, which would risk alerting Alva to her tail. Besides, I was beat. Later, I would realise I could have saved myself a lot of pain and frustration if I had thought to ask myself exactly who she was meeting in the Club.
Part 39