Saving Billie Read Online Free PDF Page B

even finished his drink. I topped mine up with what he’d left and went into the bistro with the two-thirds full glass. I ordered a steak and salad, no fries, and eked the drink out over the meal. Bob Armstrong had softened up since his days as an independent, but he’d never been short on guts and the genuine fear in his attitude surprised me. It sounded as though he wouldn’t mention our meeting to anyone at his place of business, but I couldn’t be sure. Anyway, I was glad I hadn’t talked about Billie’s kid.

4
    I t was a good night for a walk and a think, and it’s always good to avoid being breathalysed. The car was safely parked and locked and there wasn’t anything worth stealing in it. If someone wanted my sweaty gym gear and salty swimmers they were welcome. I was due for new stuff anyway.
    At one time, Wednesday would have been an unusual night for a party like the one at Clement’s, but these days corporate types work seven days a week and have clocks around them set to London, Tokyo and New York time and a week has taken on an entirely different shape. For us lesser mortals, Thursday still means late night shopping and activity beyond the usual in the streets. I walked down Darling Street to Victoria Road and negotiated my way down to pick up the Crescent. I thought about cutting through Jubilee Park but decided against it. People do private things there at night and I respect their privacy. The Wigram Road hill is a good calf muscle stretcher and I was thinking I might reward myself for my virtue by having a quick one at the Toxteth hotel.
    I tried to remember when I’d last been in Campbelltown and couldn’t. I knew I’d never been to its outer suburbs and decided I’d do a web search on Liston before I went out there. Couldn’t hurt. I was halfway up the hill when I became aware of something unusual. It wasn’t much—a feeling that a car light behind me wasn’t quite right, a half-heard idling car motor. I didn’t turn round but my senses were alerted and before I got to Glebe Point Road I knew there was a car, hanging back, slowing, letting others pass, following me.
    I stepped up the pace, crossed over Wigram Road and used the pedestrian crossing over Glebe Point Road. Then I walked briskly past the couple of trendy shops and into the Toxteth. If someone wanted to talk to me they could do it here. If they wanted to do something else they could whistle for it. This was my turf, and I could make it home in ways only someone who’d lived here for twenty years would know.
    I went in by the Ferry Road door through the pool area with its swanky blue baize tables. Three of them. Two youngsters, looking barely old enough to be in the place, were smoking, drinking and knocking the balls about— misspending their youth and enjoying it. I went into the bar where there were padded chairs and settees, plus stools and classy framed sporting prints on the walls. I bought a scotch and went back to watch the pool players. A mistake. Three men in suits entered the pub—Rhys Thomas and two others, both very big.
    They moved quickly and purposefully, Thomas blocking the Ferry Road door to the street and one of the biggies standing in the wide opening between the pool area and the bar. It’s wide, but if he’d spread his arms he could just about have covered the distance.
    I put my glass down, and picked up a cue and a ball. The one wearing the smartest suit took two fifties from his wallet, handed one to each of the kids and gestured with his thumb.
    â€˜Out!’
    They left. He replaced Thomas by the Ferry Road door and Thomas advanced towards me. I moved to put a table between myself and him.
    â€˜You made me look foolish in front of my employer, Hardy,’ Thomas said.
    I mimed being hard of hearing. ‘What was that?’
    It threw him for a second and gave me a chance to snap the cue under my foot, making it a more