The Damnation Game Read Online Free PDF

the exchange. He wants to watch me talk my way out of a job, Marty thought; he could see the anticipation written all over Somervale’s face. Well, damn him, he wasn’t going to have the satisfaction.
    “It’s not a problem—” Marty said flatly. “Or if it is, it’s mine.
    I’m still getting used to the fact that she won’t be there when I get out. That’s all it is, really.”
    Toy was smiling now, an amiable smile.
    “Really, Marty—” he said, “—I don’t want to pry. I’m only concerned that we understand the full facts of the situation. Were you to be employed by Mr. Whitehead, you would be required to live on his estate with him, and it would be a necessary condition of your employment that you could not leave without the express permission of either Mr. Whitehead or myself. In other words you would not be stepping into unconditional freedom. Far from it. You might wish to consider the estate as a sort of open prison. It’s important for me to know of any ties you have that might make such constraints temptingly easy to break.”
    “Yes, I see.”
    “Furthermore, if for any reason your relationship with Mr. Whitehead was not satisfactory; if you or he felt that the job was not suitable, then I’m afraid—”
    “—I’d be back here to finish my sentence.”
    “Yes.”
    There was an awkward pause, in which Toy sighed quietly. It took him only a moment to recover his equilibrium, then he took off in a new direction.
    “There’s just a few more questions I’d like to ask. You’ve done some boxing, am I right?”
    “Some. A while back—”
    Toy looked disappointed. “You gave it up?”
    “Yes,” Marty replied. “I kept on with the weight training for a while.”
    “Do you have any self-defense training of any kind? Judo? Karate?”
    Marty contemplated lying, but what would be the use of that? All Toy had to do was consult the screws at Wandsworth. “No,” he said.
    “Pity.”
    Marty’s belly shrank. “I’m healthy though,” he said. “And strong. I can learn.” He was aware that an unwelcome tremor had slipped into his voice from somewhere.
    “We don’t want a learner, I’m afraid,” Somervale pointed out, barely able to suppress the triumph in his tone.
    Marty leaned forward across the table, trying to blot out Somervale’s leechlike presence.
    “I can do this job, Mr. Toy,” he insisted, “I know I can do this job. Just give me a chance—”
    The tremor was growing; his belly was an acrobat. Better stop now, before he said or did something he regretted. But the words and the feelings just kept on coming.
    “Give me an opportunity to prove I can do it. That’s not much to ask, is it? And if I fuck it up it’s my fault, see? Just a chance, that’s all I’m asking.”
    Toy looked up at him with something like condolence in his face.
    Was it all over then? Had he made up his mind already—one wrong answer and the whole thing goes sour—was he already mentally packing up his briefcase and returning the Strauss, M. file into Somervale’s clammy hands to be slotted back between one forgotten con and another?
    Marty bit his tongue, and sat back in the uncomfortable chair, fixing his gaze on his trembling hands. He couldn’t bear to look at the bruised elegance of Toy’s face, not now that he’d opened himself up so wide. Toy would see in oh yes, to all the hurt and the wanting, and he couldn’t bear that.
    “At your trial …” Toy said.
    What now? Why was he prolonging the agony? All Marty wanted was to go to his cell, where Feaver would be sitting on the bunk and playing with his dolls, where there was a familiar dullness that he could take refuge in. But Toy wasn’t finished; he wanted the truth, the whole truth and nothing but.
    “At your trial you testified that your prime motivation for involvement in the robbery was to pay off substantial gambling debts. Am I correct?”
    Marty had moved his attention from his hands to his shoes. The laces were undone,