Looking for Trouble Read Online Free PDF Page B

want to go to school.’ Her lower lip trembled.
    ‘Well, you’ve got to. I’m going to work,’ I slung back the covers and grabbed my dressing-gown, ‘Ray’s going to college and you’re going to school.’ To eliminate further discussion, I picked her up and thundered downstairs, Tom at my heels. She was still giggling as Ray shepherded them out the door. An improvement on most mornings.
    Over breakfast, I considered whether to ring Mrs Hobbs. I’d promised to be in touch early in the week. Best to wait until I’d met JB. Hopefully, there’d be more to report.
    I got the bus to town. Parking was a nightmare and I didn’t want to push my luck too many times by doing it illegally.
    From Piccadilly Gardens it was about five minutes walk to the station. The long curving ramp had nose-to-nose taxis edging up and down and a constant procession of people moving along the broad pavement. I walked up to the station concourse and back a couple of times. No luck. I hovered outside the Blood Donor Clinic for a while, scanning the steady stream of people for a lanky man, of mixed race, with a cap and a dog.
    An hour had passed. Maybe I was too early. If JB had somewhere safe and warm to sleep, perhaps he’d stay there well into the afternoon. If yesterday had been a good day, maybe he’d not appear at all today. If I stayed where I was much longer, the Clinic people would take me for a nervous donor and come out to see if I needed a little encouragement to face the needle. I shuffled along a bit to a tool shop. Spent a while looking at the weird and wonderful machines in the window. Ray would be in seventh heaven here. Lathes, saws, chisels. A carpenter’s treasure trove.
    My attention was diverted for a while by a cacophony of horns from the taxis. One of the drivers had abandoned his cab, thereby preventing everyone else from moving up closer to the station, and the next fare. The horns blasted out in disharmony for a full three minutes. Passers-by grinned at the scene. It smacked of continental cities. We British rarely use our horns communally. At last, a portly man emerged from nowhere and ran towards the vacant cab. He started it up, the horns fell quiet, the queue resumed its progress up the ramp.
    Another walk up to the station. Piccadilly trains run south, down to London, Oxford, Rugby. You can tell. The station’s much more upmarket than Victoria, where all the trains run north, bound for the hills and borders. Piccadilly sports a Tie-Rack, a Sock-Shop, chemist, florist, newsagent, several eateries. A fresh-ground coffee shop. Wooed by the scent of coffee, I ordered an expresso and pastry. It was noon. I was bored.
    I set off back for the bus. Halfway there, I came across a young girl seated in the doorway of a Pool Hall. A small, tattered sign stated she was homeless. Pale face, rats tails hair, cheap, thin clothing. She was plaiting bracelets from brightly coloured wool. The sort that are imported by Traidcraft from Third world countries.
    I put a pound in her hat.
    ‘Ta.’ She glanced up and smiled faintly.
    ‘Excuse me, have you seen JB?’
    ‘Huh?’ She squinted against the brightness of the sky. She looked very young.
    ‘JB Got a dog, flat cap.’
    ‘Yeah,’ she bit through the wool with her teeth, ‘you just missed him. He’s gone for chips.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Plaza, by the buses.’
    I knew the place. Open all hours, cheap take-away. I ran all the way. I got a stitch and my heart beat too hard for comfort. A couple of women waited to be served. No man, no dog.
    ‘You just serve a bloke with a dog?’ I called to the guy at the hatch.
    ‘Don’t do dogs, Miss,’ he grinned, ‘we do hot dogs.’ He cackled at his own joke.
    ‘Wears a cap,’ I persisted.
    ‘Dog does?’ More laughter. I gritted my teeth.
    He nodded. ‘You just missed him.’
    I dodged between buses over the road to the gardens. The benches were full of people lunching in the open air. Formal flower beds were ablaze with