The Face (Harry Tyler Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

token show, same as always. “Thank you cuntstable ,” said Mickey Fenn as the door slammed shut.
    “See ya, orifacer,” piped up his acne-faced sidekick. “Eat shit and die, ya Filth.”
     
     
    Geraldine Bielfeld topped up her glass out of sheer boredom and stared at Tony Golding’s stomach. They had been sleeping together for what, six months? And he must have put on at least a stone. Tony was dull and self-important, but a partner in the law firm of Edmonds-Sachs & Co where she worked as the senior partner’s PA. On their second date he had bought her a
£
300 bracelet. Geraldine had slept with him that night. Now Tony was telling her that his wife was getting suspicious.
    “I told her not to be silly,” he chuckled. “I said, ‘Why would I want to leave two women sexually frustrated?’” Geraldine smiled, but Tony’s “joke” wasn’t that far from the truth. “Pony Tony”, was her private nickname for him. God, he was a lousy shag. Geraldine was 29, Tony Golding was 46. He had already told her he would never leave his wife, which was information Geraldine had been thoroughly relieved to hear although she had feigned hurt until he’d bought a Karen Miller designer suit. His generosity had long since evaporated, though. Look where he’d taken her now! A naff comedy club in Camden Town where some fat middle-class student type was on stage talking about her periods. How could she get out of this one?
    The guy on the next table seemed as unimpressed with the comedienne as she was. “Fuck me, how long can that live out of water?” he’d said when she walked out and he had maintained a running commentary ever since. As Tony wobbled off to the gents, Geraldine heard the guy cruelly jibe, “A pig born that ugly would have demanded plastic surgery.”
    She laughed out loud, caught his eye and was mesmerised. What a hunk! He winked, and Geraldine actually felt herself blush. The woman he was with, an attractive but overly made-up  blonde, noticed it too but didn’t seem to mind. How was Geraldine to know she was a £500-a-night escort girl?
    Tony returned but he was talking on the phone to another partner. Business, business, business. Geraldine excused herself and went to the bar. She took out a Peter Stuyvesant. A lighter appeared from nowhere. “Allow me.” It was the funny guy.
    “Shit this, innit?” he said.
    Geraldine smiled. “I thought you were quite entertaining, though.”
    “Wanna move on somewhere, get a bite to eat mebbe?”
    She looked into his face. The eyes were like a magnet. She had never seen eyes that blue. “Yes, I think I’d like that.”
    “Can you lose fatty?”
    “No problem. What about your, uh, friend?”
    “Who? Maddie? Don’t mind ’er, she’s me sister.”
    “Really? No, I don’t think I want to know. Give me five minutes to feign a headache, and I’ll meet you outside. He wants to see the headline act so he won’t be a problem. I’m Geraldine. What do I call you?”
    “Johnny, darling, Johnny Baker. They call me Johnny Too.”
     
     
    As soon as the police had pulled away from the Ned Kelly, Pyro Joe and Dougie The Dog burst back into the bar from upstairs and the whole place erupted into antique chants of “’Arry Roberts is our friend, is our friend, is our friend. ’Arry Roberts is our friend – he kills COPPERS!”
    Joey popped open two bottles of champagne and within minutes he was performing his party piece, knob out, lighted cigarette tucked under the foreskin. Slobberin’ Ron bolted the door and dimmed the lights for a lock-in. This was going to be a late one. A few miles away, unaware of the excitement, Johnny Too’s taxi arrived at its destination. Geraldine had wanted to go to Stringfellow’s because she’d never been. She was surprised when the doorman not only recognised Johnny but treated him like visiting royalty. “I done a bit of business with Peter once,” he shrugged, by way of explanation. “Back when the gaff was