The Loo Sanction Read Online Free PDF Page B

ragged greatcoat over to the crystal bar. “He wasn’t lost after all. This, good my love, is Jonathan Hemlock, about whom you have heard me say nothing. And this vast cow, Jon, is Lilla—my personal purgatory. Laphroaig, I suppose?”
    Lilla twirled her cigarette holder into the air in greeting. “How good of you to pay us a visit. Mr. MacTaint has never mentioned you. While you’re at it, my dear, you might bring me a little drop of gin.”
    â€œFriggin’ lush,” MacTaint muttered under his breath.
    â€œCome. Sit here, Dr. Hemlock.” Lilla thumped dust out of the divan seat beside her. “I take it you’re connected with the theatre?”
    Jonathan smiled politely into the drooping, overly made-up eyes. “No. No, I’m not.”
    â€œAh. A pity. I was for many years associated with the entertainment world. And I must admit that I sometimes miss it. The laughter. The happy times.”
    MacTaint shambled over with the drinks. “Her only dealings with theatre were that she used to stand outside and try to hustle blokes too drunk to care what they got into. Here you go, love. Bottoms up, as they used to say in your trade.”
    â€œDon’t be crude, love.” She tossed back the glass of gin and smacked her lips, a motion that jiggled her pendulous cheeks. Then she clapped a ham-sized hand onto Jonathan’s forearm and said, “Of course, I suppose it’s all changed now. The old artists have gone, it’s all youngsters with long hair and loud songs.” She relieved herself of a shuddering sigh.
    â€œIt’s worse than you think,” MacTaint said, drooping into a damask chair and hooking another over with his toe so he could put his feet up on it. “The law doesn’t allow you to carry sandwich boards advertising the positions you specialize in. And curb service on rubber mattresses is definitely not in.”
    â€œFuck you, MacTaint!” Lilla said in a new accent that carried the snarl of the streets in it.
    MacTaint instantly responded in kind. “Hop it, you ha’-penny cunt! I’d kick your arse proper for you, if I wasn’t afraid of losing me boot!”
    Lilla rose with tottering dignity and offered her hand to Jonathan. “I must leave you gentlemen. I have letters to do before retiring.”
    Jonathan rose and bowed slightly. “Good night, Lilla.”
    She made her way to the door at the far end of the room, sweeping up a bottle of gin as she passed the bar. She had to tack twice to gain the center of the door, which then gave her some difficulty in opening. In the end she gave it a hinge-loosening kick that knocked it ajar. She turned and waved her cigarette holder at Jonathan before disappearing.
    Jonathan looked questioningly at MacTaint, who bared his lower teeth in a grimace of pleasure as he dug his fingernails into the ingrown stubble under his chin. “She drinks, you know,” he said.
    â€œDoes she?”
    â€œOh, yes. I found her out there in the yard fifteen years ago,” he explained, shifting the scratching to under an arm. “Somebody’d beat her up pretty badly.”
    â€œSo you took her in?”
    â€œTo my eternal regret. Still! An occasional spat is good for the glands. She’s a good old hole, really.”
    â€œWhat was this number she was doing for me?”
    MacTaint shrugged. “Bits of old roles she’s done, I suppose. She’s more than a little mental, you know.”
    â€œShe’s not the only one. Cheers.” Jonathan drank off half his whiskey and looked around the room with genuine appreciation. “You live well.”
    MacTaint nodded agreement. “I don’t move many paintings anymore. Only one or two a year. But what with no income tax, I do well enough.”
    â€œWho are those painters outside?”
    â€œDamned if I know. They come and they go. I keep the place warm and light, and there’s always