Guy N Smith The Pluto Pact

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She had asked for it.
Slowly his brain began to function clearly again. He turned away from the
revolting, bloody corpse and went back into that stinking alcove. He didn't
even notice the smell this time. Turning on the single tap he ran water into
the cracked basin and began to wash the blood from his hands. There was
surprisingly little on his clothing: a few splatterings that would scarcely
draw attention to him. He bathed his swollen eye. The cold water was soothing,
but it seemed to have little effect on the burning within his member.
He went back into the main room, lit a cigarette, and pondered upon the course
of action he would take. In no way could he disguise the fact that he had
killed Linda Lakin. Her body would be discovered in a day or two, probably
when the landlord came to collect the rent. Richard Coyle's arrest would then
be a formality. Still, he would not make it all that easy for them.
He had no intention of returning home. In his present mood he would probably
kill his father, too. Not that that would be a bad idea, but in his
predicament it would not help.
First, he needed to visit a VD Clinic. That was what worried him most. He had
read all about venereal diseases, but there was something about his own
particular symptoms which worried him. He'd heard of guys going on for weeks
with just minor discomfort, yet this pain was like a searing heat, radiating
through the rest of his loins. Maybe it was a different type of pox.
He would head south! The thought came to him in an instant. The petrol tank of
the Norton was almost full -enough to get him to London, maybe. He'd been
there once before. Guys and girls slept rough. Nobody bothered them. They
queued up at the VD clinics. Nobody would give him a second glance. That also
went for most of the major cities: Manchester, Birmingham, and such.
'I stayed in this fucking place one day too long.' He did not look back as he
let himself out. 'Should've moved out months ago.'
He winced, almost cried out aloud, as his genitals came in contact with the
saddle. Burning, blinding pain seemed to be eating away his lower regions, as
if they were being consumed by fire . . .
He kicked the starter; it fired first time. Swaying precariously, mainly
because one eye was now totally sightless, he hunched over the handlebars, and
roared off into the early autumnal night. The journey south had begun.
Chapter 6
'Richard didn't come in at all last night. His bed hasn't been slept in.' Bob
Coyle barely glanced up from the morning issue of the Sun, and replied with
his mouth full of toast: 'So what? He's old enough. Sleeping rough probably.'
'More likely with that whore.'
'Well, I'm not going down to the police station to list him as a missing
person. He'll come home when he runs out of money and gets hungry. Kids his
age are doing the same all over the country.'
'And meanwhile, you'll pursue this obsession of yours about the world being
blown up because some ancient wizard put a curse on Craiglowrie. Fathers all
over the country aren't taking that tine, thank God.'
'That's just the trouble with the British.' He pushed his empty plate away,
stood up, and reached for his coat. He wanted to be out of the house before
Sarah came down. One bickering woman was enough at that time of the morning.'
'Going out early aren't you?' There was resentment in Jane's voice, a hint of
suspicion, too.
'I've a lot to do today.'
'Which means you'll be late home.'
'Yes, I'm afraid so.' He averted his eyes from her searching gaze. 'Don't fix
anything for me. I'll eat out tonight . . . if I get time.'
'Sometimes I almost think it would be better if you had another woman,' she
snapped. 'At least it'd make you more human. Work, work, work. And by the way,
this boyfriend of Sarah's who keeps on lavishing all these clothes and things
on her - why doesn't she bring him home? We don't even know his surname. Just
David. What are his intentions?'
'Why don't you ask him?'
'How the hell can I, when I don't know who he is. I reckon he's a married man.
Maybe Mrs Bean will have heard something.'
'The town's prophet of doom,' Coyle called back as he went out the door,
hastening at the sound of Sarah's footsteps on the landing above. 'You'll
never hear glad tidings from that source.'
The printers and typesetters were surprised to see Coyle arrive so early. He
nodded to them as he passed through the workshops, and flung himself into the
battered old chair in his tiny office. Anne would not be here for another
three-quarters of an hour. God, how he needed her, just her company. He pulled
the much depleted bottle of whisky from the cupboard, and poured some of it
into the unwashed glass. He needed time to think. It was too early to make any
phone-calls.
Something had definitely gone wrong up at Holocaust. Maybe it was just a
repetition of what happened to Wind-scale's pilot oxide plant in 1973. That
meant contamination, however slight. He wished Sarah didn't work up there.
Christ, there were obstacles at every turn.
Anne arrived promptly at nine, in time to catch him draining the last of the
whisky from the glass.
'My God!' There was concern on her face. 'You look bad, Bob. Domestic or . . .
'
'Both,' he sighed. 'Something's definitely gone wrong up at the new plant. I'm
afraid it's going to be one helluva day, today, one way or another.'
'Ajid it's still going to be one helluva night tonight.' She leaned over him,
kissing him. 'God, I wish we were both away from here. Just the two of us.
Anywhere. Away from it all.'
'That may be the answer,' he replied, staring unseeing at the wall in front of
him, 'but only for us.' [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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