DEATHLOOP Read Online Free PDF Page B

window for quite some time. He was aware of life going on all round him, people in and out of rooms, piercing laughter from the water cooler, a couple of comments about a television programme from the night before and a lot of indecipherable chatter. Zack felt detached from it all, isolated, a small rowing boat out at sea. Even when head honcho, Geoff Turner came in, his head jutting out at that weird angle from his neck, his cheeks red and puffed up, his eyes darting, scanning for trouble when there never really was any, Zack failed to muster the right amount of deference somehow.
    A couple of people asked him if he was all right. He told them perhaps he was coming down with something: it was possible. The stock reply was that there were quite a few bugs doing the rounds and he should take it easy, the usual office drivel. Then the phone rang, insolent, intrusive. Eventually he picked up.
    “Zack?”
    “Indeed it is.”
    “It’s Clarissa”
    “Yes, Clarissa, hello.”
    “Are we still on for tonight?”
    “Tonight?” he asked, as though the concept of night following day was one that had passed him by entirely.
    “I need to speak to you,” she said.
    Of course, it was Wednesday, and the first in the month. They had this ritual Clarissa, Sam and Zack, they met at Bellini’s in Covent Garden, all smoky glass windows, brilliant white table cloths, and disparaging waiters but with discretion guaranteed.
    “Yes, of course,” he said, but for the first time ever Zack would have liked to have chickened out.
    “Are you all right?” she asked, an echo of guilt in her voice.
    “I’m absolutely fine,” he lied.
    “You left your jacket here, I’ll bring it.”
    “You do that, Clarissa, and I’ll see you later.”
    Both Clarissa and Zack stared at their phones as they put them down as though somehow they would tell them more than they already knew, and what they both already knew was this: things would never quite be the same again between Zack, Sam and Clarissa, but what they could not possibly have known at that moment, was how much of an understatement that notion would turn out to be.
    An hour later, back at his vantage point, Zack noticed the bright red of Susan’s mackintosh as she darted through traffic to cross the street. On the pavement opposite at a better angle, she looked up to his window, a hand shielding her eyes. Even from this distance Zack sensed her neediness that had finally done for her, at least done for her in his eyes. She waved. She’d seen him and waved then she beckoned, impatiently.
    Zack left his office and headed towards the lift. By the time he had reached street level Susan was pacing outside the revolving glass doors. It was a little too close for comfort for Zack, who tried immediately to lead her off in another direction but Susan would not budge.
    “Susan, please don’t do this,” he said, glancing round for any potential witnesses to their encounter.
    “Don’t do what?”
    “If you want to speak to me then fine, but don’t come here. This is where I work.”
    “Oh I see, ashamed of me now are you?”
    What an inappropriate comment Zack thought, it implied they were still together but they were not together, and they never would be again.
    “What is it?” said Zack, “what do you want?”
    “You said we’d talk, that we’d meet and talk.”
    “I don’t think I said that exactly.”
    “Yes you did.”
    “Look… I made a mistake,” he said, noting how Susan looked hopeful suddenly, “I mean… I could have timed it better.”
    “Yes, you could,” she said, “and not timed it at all.”
    Zack could see her looking deep into his eyes as though in search of something. Should he tell her that there was nothing there and there never had been? That he was simply a male of the species: vacuous, selfish, predatory and self-serving, without depth or insight, and certainly with very little in the way of altruism. Susan was really beginning to irritate him now. How had