Pecking Order Read Online Free PDF Page A

their hands in turn. The End.
    Eric picked up one of the larger comics. 2000 AD, In orbit every Tuesday . He opened it up and studied the highly-produced, full-colour images. A policeman with a name tag of ‘Dredd’ emptied his pistol into a futuristic-looking car. Bdam, Bdam, Bdam, Bdam, Bdam! “Drokk that was close,” he said to himself, swerving his motorbike to avoid a hover bus, the car full of dead criminals crunching into it. The violence was far more graphic, explosions of blood flew from gaping gunshot wounds.
    He picked up the last one. Karn Age . More picture stories involving detailed depictions of violence and death. Some in which justice was meted out by representatives of the law. Others where retribution was dealt by supernatural sinister figures. At the back of the publication he carefully read the mass of adverts for muscle-building supplements, premium rate telephone lines, spy equipment, air guns, replica weapons and male-enhancement surgery. Then he shook out the mass of loose inserts – scratch cards that guaranteed a win, garish entry forms for exotic prize-draws and other pieces of junk.
    Discarding the two larger publications, he opened up the Commando ones once again, their complete lack of advertising suiting his purposes far better. He began to flick through them, underlining with a red pen key words and phrases.

Chapter 4
     
    She knocked again, louder this time. A mumbled reply and muffled movement from beyond the door. ‘Come on boys, time you two were up!’ she called, opening the door so that light form the landing flooded the dim room. Spiky hair contracted back under a duvet like a sea anemone reacting to the shadow of a gull.
    She walked briskly over to the window and pulled the curtains back. The last vestiges of darkness were eradicated and in the second bed on the other side of the room came the sounds of a yawn being stifled.
    ‘It might be the start of year school holidays, but you’re not wasting the entire day.’ She gently shook the bump in the bed to her left and the spiky hair re-emerged from under the covers, ‘Toby! I said, come on.’
    Squinting eyes looked up at her. ‘Oh Mum, you’re worse than matron. At least she gives us a lie in on Sunday mornings.’
    ‘Morning Oliver, did you sleep well?’ she asked the other boy who was now propped up on his elbow.
    ‘Yes, fine thank you, Miss Wicks.’ Voice clear and well spoken.
    ‘Good I’ve got bacon and eggs cooking downstairs. You can eat it in your pyjamas. And no dallying, I want to be at the Safari Park before lunch.’
    She headed back down the stairs to the kitchen and the two boys slowly emerged from their beds. ‘You’ll want slippers on, the flagstones in the kitchen are freezing,’ said Toby.
    Once they’d retrieved them from their trunks they padded down the stairs, name tags visible on the back of their pyjama collars. As they entered the massive kitchen, Oliver took in the heavy wooden beams spanning the ceiling. Mrs Wicks was standing at a red Aga set into a huge open hearth at the other end of the room. ‘Wicked – my mum really wants one of those cookers, but Dad won’t let her.’
    Mrs Wicks turned round smiling. ‘You should tell him you’ll save a fortune in heating bills.’
    ‘My mum tried that one already. But apparently it would be too much trouble fitting into our house.’
    ‘Oh, where exactly do you live, Oliver?’
    ‘Holland Park, west London.’
    ‘How lovely,’ she said, lifting the copper frying pan from the metal plate. ‘Well, sit down, it’s ready.’
    The two boys took their places at the oak table. Already laid out were two place mats. Oliver noted the gold rims on the plates and fake ivory handles on the cutlery. But Toby’s mum was too close for him to take the piss.
    Toby had already poured himself a glass of orange juice. He took a mouthful then grunted to his friend, holding the jug out.
    ‘Eggs, Oliver? They’re free range, laid this