The Scioneer Read Online Free PDF Page B

you
Delić?’ he asked the thin, pock-marked skinhead in shades, looking
out across the river.
    ‘Who the
fuck is asking?’
    Wez
ignored the question. ‘The Doc sent me. He asked me to give you
this,’ he said, handing over the case.
    Delić spat out a
goji berry, red juice trailing down his chin, and fixed two clammy
hands around the briefcase. He had to raise one leg against the
podium of the rainbow-painted statue in order to rest the case on
his knee and flick open the clasps. He took out the envelope and
opened it. The clear plastic strip fluttered to the weeds at his
feet. He didn’t even look at Wez when he said, ‘Now fuck off kid,’
but Wez saw the grin spreading across his red-stained
lips.

Chapter 6
    ‘Fuck it
all! I need a drink’ Lek said to nobody in particular as he bowled
through Pimlico, and walked into the first bar he saw. The Spread
Eagle was cool and dark, and felt like a refuge from the madness on
the streets. Lek was happy to be in the company of real addicts for
once – barely in the PM, and the four men leaning on the bar were
already knocking back single-malts and chain smoking while they
peered through their yellow eyes and down their red noses at the
Racing Post. They turned and looked him up and down before
returning to picking their horses. Lek didn’t feel like he could
order a gin and tonic around these men, and so plumped instead for
a pint of Guinness and a Jameson’s chaser. ‘The King!’ he said, as
he raised his shot-glass and the fab four automatically did the
same. The whisky took the edge off his paranoia instantly and he
sloped off into the snug to nurse his pint and think about his next
ten hours in London. His options were limited. Remember, he told
himself, you have to approach the problem logically,
scientifically. Without thinking, he grabbed a paper napkin from
the stack on the table, whipped a pen out of his pocket and began
writing initials and symbols, crossing some out now and again and
connecting others with arrows and equals signs. Lek tried as best
he could to express his problems as an elaborate chemical equation,
balancing the elements of time, money, friends and enemies in a
single coherent line, but by the time he had drained his Guinness,
the only conclusion he had drawn was that there were simply too
many variables to be taken into account.
    He screwed up the napkin and walked out.
    ***
    Vidmar
was alr eady seated in
the corner of Pechev’s office when Delić arrived. He cast an eye
over the outfit Delić was sporting: a sleeveless raincoat, tied at
the waist, and street socks, and sighed. It was no joke that the
Metropolitan Fashion Police patrolled London’s West End, handing
out hefty on the spot fines to anybody seen wearing anything not
recycled, reused, or made from natural materials, but for a
hardened criminal who had done time in some of the toughest prisons
in Eastern Europa, Delić clearly took these laws far too seriously.
For his part and as a nod to the rigorous FP, Vidmar had his
Saville Row tailor cut all of his garments into scraps of fabric
before stitching them back together. The effect was striking,
particularly on the otherwise immaculate gunmetal grey Argento silk
suit he was wearing that day. It looked like it had been carved up
by a butcher, and so the four inch scar which ran from the corner
of Vidmar’s left eye to his mouth fitted perfectly with his attire.
No need for conjecture here – he had tried to jump the prison
canteen queue one lunchtime and an incensed Latvian named Karlov
sliced his face open with a shiv made from the previous night’s
rib.
    Pechev
waved Delić towards a chair by way of greeting and said,
    ‘So, the
bird has flown, gentlemen. Not entirely surprising. Somewhat
disappointing, yes, but not surprising.’ He paused to measure his
next words. ‘I’ve had my suspicions for some time that our Doctor
was - how do the Americans say? – getting rather big for his boots.
Phineas suggested testing him