Death & the City Book Two Read Online Free PDF

I'm concerned.
    I wonder how long it can last.

    I arrive home with Junior, to find her games have arrived from iBay, and also my punk stilettos, which upon opening turn out to be the real thing, with silver studs and red leather soles, worth about a grand more than I paid for them, having thought I was buying very well-made Chinese designer label look-alikes. Connor will have to do something pretty special before he earns a date with me wearing those. Junior hurtles upstairs with her new accoutrements, and presently is heard shouting "Eat brains! Eat brains!" as she trains her new Zombies to come when called for dinner.
    I look in the fridge and freezer, and decide we're having pasta. I'm just organising ingredients for a chicken, pea, onion and bacon version of carbonara sauce, when head office ring.
    "You need to visit Terry Dyer's before work tonight," they say. "Maybe you could give him some dietary advice."
    "Don't tell me, it's Death by Pizza Delivery," I sigh. Terry's so predictable in his fast-food habits, it would be a miracle if anyone tried to bump him off any other way. Tanoshii Meals was only the latest in a series of food-related interventions I've had to attend regarding him. He's a walking hit-man sit-com all by himself.
    "Bang on," they reply, and give me the details. "Don't worry, only a couple more weeks, and this new tax year activity will slow down."
    "Oh, I wondered what it was about Heavy Duty," I remark. "What is it, offsetting last year's profits that would otherwise be carried over?"
    "Yeah, that's usually the case in industrial action. Creating some dead men's shoes to fill, or creating some free venues to pitch to. Or personal stuff, you never know."
    "Sometimes," I concede, thinking about Terry's three ex-wives and unpaid maintenance. "What does it come under in tax expenses? Recruitment costs?"
    "That, and Refurbishment." They chuckle. "In Dyer's case, probably Catering. Split that with Fumigation and Pest Control, and you've probably got a lump sum large enough to tempt a desperate wannabe hit-man out of his local pub."
    "If they're using a genuine Pizza Boy, that probably only cost them a Nintendo and a subscription to Playbike ," I remark. "Okay. I'll give you a ring when I get over there."
    I hang up and fill the kettle to start the pasta, trying to establish if I also feel like a cup of tea. It's a novelty to get enough notice to make a cup of tea, never mind dinner. I could get used to this. Although to be honest, I'd rather not be doing it at all.
    Today might be a good day to start thinking about change. I look out of the window for motivation, and immediately lose the thread of what was on my mind, instead wondering where the cat is. Probably out rabbitting.

    I do return to that thought as I head for Terry Dyer's on my way to work. It's not that morally I have a problem with the hard line in Law Enforcement - I happen to think it's more efficient and cost-effective than lots of expensive arrests, trials and prison, or in some territories, Death Row. Although wherever that country is that Elaine mentioned, which charges you and your family for the costs of everything from your incarceration to the bullet they execute you with as a deterrent, probably has the right idea about discouraging crime. Here we have to work around overflowing prisons, and justice systems with longer waiting lists than hip replacement surgery. So what we do is basically the next level after on-the-spot fines were introduced for littering. It's just that there are no guidelines on how to move on, how to retire without being 'retired' by someone else, possibly a better shot than you.
    And I don't have any financial or contractual obligation to complete any list, new or otherwise - when I think about it, I'm not even curious about current or future targets. They're living their lives, second by second, whether it's being counted down by someone else for them or not. Whatever they do in private or public is their