The Hunger Read Online Free PDF

her.
    The nice man has two things you never see in Soho: a sober mind and a conscience.
    I’m getting a shit blow-job in the toilets.
    The nice man calls the police.
    The police arrive.
    They bash the wrong door down.
    Then they bash the right door down and find Suzie.
    The officer says: Are you all right?
    Suzie says: Lincoln forgot about me. He gets forgetful sometimes. He’s older than me.
    I snort a line off the Wrap’s head.
    My phone rings.
    I see good, inaccessible coke in the Wrap’s hair.
    I get angry.
    It’s the officer telling me he’s found Suzie.
    The next day I pay £125 for a new door. That pisses me off. I have a drink. Then a line. Then I feel pretty good about it all.
    The new door is knotty pine.
    I like knotty pine.
    Esurio has been reading Tony Robbins. He thinks it’s good for me to know these things. He says:
    —It’s not what you do, Lincoln. It’s what you
learn
from it.
    —Oh, fuck off. What can I learn from all this shit?
    —How to do it better next time, Lincoln. It’s all about personal development, Lincoln, personal development.
    11 p.m.
    Somehow I get to the Bankers’ Party.
    I can barely stand.
    I think I’m standing tall as a Giant Redwood.
    I almost fall over.
    I’m pleased with how in control I look.
    In between benders I’ve made many calls and The Club is full of bankers. The Boss is happy. Rik comes up to me and says:
    —Great party, Linc. Can you get me eight girls in the booth?
    I call the Floor Manager over. He sends eight Wraps into the booth with Rik, Steve and a couple of other Bankers I don’t know. I hate not knowing Bankers. No one wastes more on Wraps than
Bankers. I walk over to the booth and give them my card. They give me theirs.
    On the main stage, three girls are dancing. Esurio is lying on the floor of the stage looking up in-between their legs. As they slide up and down the poles, he blows air up at their pussies. The
Wraps look down to see where the air is coming from and one of them puts a stiletto straight through Esurio’s forehead. I wince. Esurio smiles. The girls look puzzled and enjoy the air.
    The Boss has a rule:
Never ask a girl to dance for you when you’re in The Club. The girls are for the punters, not for you. Especially you, Lincoln
.
    I don’t like that rule, so I ignore it. One of the girls is stunning. When they have finished dancing, I ask her for a private dance in a booth next to the stage. As she spreads her legs I
want to take my cock out.
    The Boss has another rule:
Arms must be outstretched while the girls dance. Touching the girls is strictly forbidden and will result in immediate ejection from The Club. Especially you,
Lincoln.
    I don’t like that rule either. There are cameras in every booth. I scan the top of the booth until I find the one in mine. I turn and Esurio is beside me. He takes the handkerchief out of
my jacket pocket and covers the camera:
    —Now you can do what you want with her, Lincoln, anything you want . . .
    A few minutes later I’m standing at the bar talking to a Director of Consumer Affairs of one of the great British banks when I see Esurio tapping his jacket pocket and frowning. I try to
ignore him. He gets even more agitated. I continue to ignore him until he strides up to the bar. He is furious.
    —You’re a disgrace, Lincoln!
    —What the fuck are you talking about?
    —This, Lincoln! This!
    He stretches his hand out and prods my jacket pocket. I hate being prodded. I want to headbutt him. He doesn’t care. Elegance matters more to him than personal safety.
    —Your handkerchief, Lincoln, where is your handkerchief?
    I look down. Fuck! I left it in the booth. He keeps going at me:
    —How many times have I told you, in our line of work appearance is everything? You may be a wreck on the inside but it’s the outside that matters, Lincoln, the outside. It’s
the outside that people believe in and, quite frankly, I’d be ashamed to be seen with you without a handkerchief. You have no