The Night Mayor Read Online Free PDF Page A

tar out of the stubborn detective?’
    ‘No. Remind me.’
    ‘This is a Degas.’
    Mazurki hit me. Again. The novelty was wearing off.
    ‘Why me, big boy?’ I gasped. ‘Didn’t you hear someone call you a brainless goon a while back?’
    Mazurki picked me up by the lapels and dropped me. My knees gave out, my elbows landed hard and my hat fell off. When I was down, Duryea kicked me. I kissed carpet and didn’t get up.
    ‘This is a Mondrian. An interesting use of geometric forms, don’t you think? We’re all confined by line and space, you know. And here is one of my prizes, an M. C. Escher.’
    The real Richie Quick would have at least hit back a couple of times. Me, I got those seven kinds of tar kicked out of me. I swore to remember this the next time the crix accused me of Dreaming heroes who were extensions of myself. I kept telling myself it would come out right in the final scene. By the end of the picture I wouldn’t have a mark on me. No injury heals faster than a bruise on a private eye. But Daine’s rules weren’t mine.
    When Duryea and Mazurki gave up taking out their latent hatred of their fathers on me, I lay on the carpet trying to ignore the pain signals various parts of my body were sending to my head. I had been coasting along in this Dream, not exercising my Talent. I concentrated, reaching out to do some conjuring tricks of my own.
    In my pocket was a needle gun. One of those miniature jobs. It was in my trench-coat pocket. It was. I remembered all the component parts, saw them knitting together. The plates locked, the screws tightened, the clip rammed into the butt. Twenty shiny three-inch flathead nails lined up ready for use. It slipped off the assembly line. It was the gun I usually keep in my bedroom chest of drawers. The barrel was scuffed from the time Lissa used it as a can-opener and got mango splatter all over the desktop hob.
    Slowly, my hand crawled into my coat, inching forwards like the Beast with Five Fingers.
    I felt the needle gun with my fingertips. The metal was cold, the grip slightly warm.
    Up close. I’d have to get up, and get close. To be certain of a fatal shot, I’d have to be near Daine. Preferably, I’d get the barrel against his throat, and squeeze one off into his jugular. I’d like a Peckinpah fountain to redecorate the room.
    A four-inch barrel. Homepride symbol on the contoured grip. Gunmetal and plastek.
    I lifted my chest off the floor, and took a deep breath. Get ready to eat nails, Daine.
    Gunmetal and blue plastek. Blue! What in the hell did blue look like?
    I lost it. I wasn’t holding anything in my pocket except a fold of Burberry cloth. I collapsed again.
    ‘As a rule, Mr Quick, I abhor violence.’ Daine sat on the couch, leaning forwards to talk, hands on his knees. I knew what was coming next. ‘But in your case I shall have to make an exception. You cannot know how such uncivilised behaviour pains me.’
    ‘I’ll try to imagine it while I’m being shot to death. I expect I’ll be really upset.’
    ‘A sense of humour. That’s a rare commodity. What a pity it will be to lose you, Mr Quick. You are a man after my own heart. I like a man who jokes in the face of death. It suggests a certain flair, a certain style. Perhaps… but no, I mustn’t let myself be tempted.
C’est la vie
, is it not?
C’est la vie.
Daniel, Michael…’
    Twinkletoes and the Gorilla Man picked me up. I didn’t feel too happy being vertical. I was far gone. If they had dropped me into bed with Rita Hayworth, I’d have fallen asleep.
    Someone opened the picture window. I heard the rain. Wagner was getting lyrical, and Daine was making little conducting movements with his fingers. A cold wind swept the room, riffling magazines; my hat drifted towards a wall.
    Duryea pushed me onto the balcony. I leaned over the rail and looked down. Duryea held the back of my neck. The cars passing on the street below went in and out of focus.
    ‘Say hello to the ground,