Mortal Taste Read Online Free PDF Page A

now. Mark realized after a moment that this man wasn’t washing his hands. Mark didn’t turn to look at him but he glanced up into the big mirror above the washbasins to see if this silent companion was combing his hair.
    He wasn’t. He was completely motionless, studying Mark’s actions; when his eyes met Mark’s in the mirror, the lips below them relaxed slowly into a smile. There didn’t seem to be much mirth in it, but Mark himself couldn’t see anything to laugh at. He suddenly had an earnest wish that someone else would come into the room.
    He forced an answering smile at the man and said, ‘Quiet in here, isn’t it?’
    The man nodded. Mark wondered if this fellow had done something to ensure that they would not be disturbed. He’d seen people in films put ‘Out of order’ notices on doors when they went into toilets. Perhaps this man had—
    â€˜Quiet’s the way we want it, for what we have to discuss.’ The man’s voice was low but clear, with an accent that did not belong to these parts: London, perhaps? It added harshly, ‘It won’t take long,’ and the lips around it curled in a smile that was now openly contemptuous.
    Mark wanted to say something insulting, to dismiss the man and flounce out of the room. Could men flounce? He didn’t think they could. In any case, his tongue seemed suddenly frozen and he didn’t think his legs could even attempt a flounce. He did the best he could by turning away from the washbasins and the face of the man in the mirror and went over to the roller towel on the wall. He was aware of the man at his side, but he put off looking at him for a long time, rubbing his fingers against the cotton of the towel until he thought it must disintegrate.
    Eventually, he had to stop and turn sideways, as the man had known he must. He was lighting a spliff as Mark focused upon him again. The sweet smell of the cannabis seemed suddenly to fill the room. The man held it out for Mark, and Mark took it, put it between his lips, as if compelled by some hidden force. He wondered how the man knew that he had smoked cannabis.
    Mark took a long pull at the spliff, letting the smoke fill his head, his lungs, his whole being. All resistance to the man and whatever he wanted seemed to disappear; he felt as he inhaled that he no longer wanted to hold out. But the stuff couldn’t act as quickly as that, could it? Perhaps he just wanted to give up a struggle he knew he could not win.
    The man’s voice seemed to come not from beside him but from several yards away as he said, ‘It’s good stuff, isn’t it?’ He waited for Mark’s nod of affirmation, for another pull on the spliff, before he said, ‘There’s plenty more where that came from.’
    Mark nodded. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that there should be more of this on offer. He felt his mind relaxing in that knowledge. A small part of his brain still wondered what this man wanted with him, but it seemed easier not to fight him, not to summon up resistance which would have no effect. He said slowly, ‘I expect there is. Plenty more.’ Then he grinned, for his remark seemed to him highly sophisticated.
    The man smiled again at him, more indulgently now. He had dark hair, cut very short, and a small gold earring. He took another spliff from his pocket and stuck it in the breast pocket of Mark’s shirt, tucking it carefully out of sight, patting the pocket a little when he had finished. Then he said, ‘You could have all the pot you wanted, you know, free of charge.’
    Mark smiled. ‘And what would I have to do for that?’ He felt quite clever, negotiating with this man of the world, showing him that he knew nothing came for nothing.
    The man smiled, seeming to acknowledge Mark as an equal, recognizing that he was dealing with a shrewd customer here. ‘Offer us a little help, that’s all.