Catacombs of Terror! Read Online Free PDF

around tables. Talking deals, plans, violence to be meted out. What was it the girl in the Star had said about my job? Insalubrious. I’m good with words. A quick learner. This place was insalubrious. For sure. I had trouble spotting Colin. It was over a decade since I’d seen him last. The Kafka I knew, ten years ago, was a skinhead with his head in a book when it wasn’t butting a cop. I scoped the joint and caught nothing answering that description. But then I saw him. Haircut that looked like it cost money. Clothes, ditto. Well, ten years. Everything is subject to change. He was nothing like the Kafka I remembered. He was practically unrecognisable. But I recognised him. Yeah, well. I’ve got a memory for a face, at least. If nothing else. If nothing else at all.
    “Colin,” I said, sitting down next to him. The guys he was with looked at him, asking questions with their eyes.
    “Martin’s an old friend,” he said, perhaps a little too quickly. A little too nervously. “Haven’t seen him for years.”
    The guys got up.
    “Well, have . . . fun,” one of them said, “reminiscing. Or whatever.” They went across the room, giving me a backward glance wrapped round a sneer.
    “Nice folks,” I said to Kafka. “Friends?”
    “Acquaintances. I’m doing a story on—well, unsavoury local characters. Vice stuff, petty crime, protection . . . . They’re keen not to be associated with that kind of thing, but they’d like a certain other individual to feature highly in my exposé. So, um, we’re working out a . . . deal.” Colin looked flustered. I looked faintly disgusted, and let him register my expression.
    “Nice. Very nice. I’ve always been a fan of the free press. Unbiased. Reliable. That sort of thing. But I’m not judgemental about people. I mean, I like criminals. They keep me in business. Well, anyway. You can get back to that sometime soon. I won’t detain you unnecessarily. How are you? Long time now. A very long time.”
    “It’s . . . good to see you, Martin. You look, well, you look bad. You look . . . like shit. I suppose you want something?” His fluster was turning to anger.
    “Be nice, Colin. This hostile attitude is very last week, and I think we should be friends. It’s true I want something. I’ve been told that I may be arrested after the weekend, and I’m sure you remember how I helped that from happening to you once upon a time.”
    I was sweetness itself. I was calm, cool, and collected.
    “Martin. Okay. What do you want? How on earth can I stop you from getting arrested? I mean, what have you done?”
    “I’ve done nothing. Well, nothing bad. Not recently. Nothing like murder. And that’s what I’m apparently going to get fingered for. It’s some kind of setup. I have a vague idea who may be behind it, but I think that I’m maybe wrong. Something is going on. Something very ugly. For some reason I’m involved. And I need to know what that something is and why I’m being picked to play patsy. Am I wrong to want to find these things out? Or am I right?”
    Kafka looked at me carefully. His eyes glittered behind his glasses. Perhaps he was sensing a story. He was a hack now, after all. “Okay, Martin. Okay so far. It’s true I owe you a favour. How would you like me to help you?”
    “I want you to get me some information. It’s simple. Do you have a pen? A notebook? A memory?”
    Kafka gave me a glare that was now only five percent anger. I’d say it was eighty-five percent annoyance. The rest was boredom, or one of boredom’s close relations. A mention of murder doesn’t have much impact these days. Yeah, well.
    “I have those, Martin. Particularly the last. What information do you want?”
    “Well, there’s an archaeological dig at Charlcombe, which is a country valley north of here. About a mile or two. If you could get me some details on that, I’d be happier than I am right now. I’m interested in that dig, for some reason. I’d like to know who’s