Necroscope: Harry and the Pirates: and Other Tales from the Lost Years Read Online Free PDF Page B

brutality and all that rubbish, and I’d be the one to end up in the dock. And—” he turned to stare at Harry, “—so would you, Mr. Keogh.”
    The louts had got to their feet and were limping painfully away. The constable called after them, “You two: I know you, Jim Carter, Kevin Quillern, and I saw what happened here. Any loose talk, accusation, complaints from you two, you’ll answer for it in court, believe me. So consider yourselves fortunate, and now bugger off and quick about it!” Far less threateningly, he then turned to Harry and the young couple, saying, “Do please excuse the bad language, though it wasn’t nearly as bad as theirs!”
    “Can we get on our way now?” the young man asked.
    “After you’ve told me your names,” said the policeman. “In case it later turns out that I need them.”
    “Alex Munroe,” the other replied. “I’m from Easingham. And this is my fiancée, Gloria Stafford, also from Easingham.”
    “Good enough,” the policeman nodded. “You can go. I’m only sorry you’ve been troubled.”
    The girl turned to Harry. “You’re very kind and brave, Mr. Keogh, to have stepped in like that. Thank you very much.”
    “Er, you’re welcome,” said the Necroscope. “But really, it wasn’t much. I mean, I didn’t have a lot to do.”
    Barely anything, in fact,
said Sergeant, receding from his mind and body.
    As the young couple moved off, the constable said, “Do you mind telling me where you learned to do that—your karate, or whatever it was?”
    Harry had to think fast, but why tell lies? “My instructor was an ex-Army PTI,” he said. “He died in an accident some time ago.” And giving Sergeant his due: “He was a Black Belt in some disciplines and exceptional in many more. As for my own skills: well, for what it’s worth, they’re all down to my knowing him.”
    “He obviously taught you well,” said the other. “I wish I was half as good! What were you doing up here?”
    “Just walking,” Harry answered, with a shrug. “Heading for Hazeldene. A bit of nostalgia, perhaps? I used to play there as a child.”
    As they set off back towards the parked car, the constable volunteered, “I’m Jack Forester—the lesser half of local law enforcement. The greater half is the senior officer I share the workload with. Actually, today is my day off—but I had nothing better to do.”
    And Harry thought,
What, no home life? Nothing outside of your work? Now
that
is dedication! Or is it something else?
But he nodded and out loud said, “I can remember the police station being close to my old school—Harden’s Secondary Modern Boy’s—down towards the viaduct.”
    “Yes, and the school is still there,” said Forester. “But the police station is only a police post now. We still get some petty crime—sometimes not quite so petty—but when it’s big stuff the detectives or reinforcements drive in from Hartlepool or Sunderland. It’s all down to communications really. You see, Harry, in villages like Harden the computer age has put many of us out of business, and I suppose I’m fortunate to still have a job! . . . I take it it’s okay to call you Harry?”
    “By all means,” said the Necroscope. And more boldly: “May I ask why
you
were out here, er, Jack? I mean, with your binoculars and all?”
    Glancing at him through narrowed eyes, Forester said, “Oh, Iwas just keeping my eyes on things, you know . . . ?” And quickly changing the subject: “Look, I’m taking the old farm track past Hazeldene right now, so if you’d like a ride . . . ?”
    Harry shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I think I’ll enjoy the walk.” Actually, and if he wanted to, he could get to his destination long before the policeman, but that wasn’t something he was about to mention.
    “Suit yourself,” said Forester, getting into his car. “And let’s hope you have no more trouble from local louts, eh? But I should warn you, these days we have more