With Love and Squalor Read Online Free PDF Page B

through.
     
    The balcony door was open, so I thought I’d go and take a look. Problem was I tripped over someone on the way.
     
    I could only see the legs when I looked back.
     
    The trousers had turn-ups, but the shoes were regular black leather affairs. That’s how come I knew it wasn’t Jamie-Ray.  He never wears anything but winkle-pickers. Reckon he still thinks it’s 1959, with his leather jackets and his fancy shirts and all.
     
    I gave the legs a pull to see who came out.
     
    It wasn’t easy to tell with half his face missing and the other half covered in blood. Only real clue I had was the ginger hair. Wilson was a carrot top. Wasn’t Wilson though, at least not Bart. Bart never went out without a flower pinned to his lapel. Best guess was that it was one of his brothers.
     
    Can’t say I gave a shit about the guy I’d found. He probably had it coming to him.
     
    It was the blood on the bed that had me worried. It was already dry.
     
    And then there were the red circles leading to the door.
     
    I followed them out on to the balcony. By the time I got there, all I could see was nothing.
     
     
     
    London’s a big city. Aren’t they all?
     
    You’d think it would be easy enough to lie low for a while. Jump on a tube and stay on it till the end of the line. That’s what I’d have done.
     
    Jamie-Ray doesn’t think that way, though. Nor does Pinky any more.
     
    They sent me a text checking in. I’d have called back, only I still couldn’t talk. Texted instead. I’d meet him at the usual place at midnight.
     
     
     
    I went home to bed to catch a couple of hour’s nap. Had to lie with my head propped up to keep the taste of metal out of my throat. Didn’t sleep a wink. Came up with a new plan. Don’t reckon I’ll ever do my thinking when I’m half asleep ever again.
     
     
     
    Kite Hill’s just about my favourite place when it’s dark. There’s hardly anyone around if you don’t count the men-folk cruising the bushes looking for their own kind.
     
     All you have for company is the hum of traffic and all you’ve got to do is think your thoughts.
     
     The city stretches out in front of you whichever way you look, like there’s nothing else in the world but people going about their business.
     
    Didn’t enjoy it in the usual way knowing the Wilson brothers would be turning over every stone out there to see if Jamie-Ray came out a crawling, ready to squash him dead under their heals. Not that I gave a shit about him. Problem was if they were going out looking for him, chances are Pinky was going to get hers, too.
     
    Could hardly see Jamie-Ray coming up the path, his black hair and black clothes camouflaging him against the darkness. Heard him well enough. Gene Vincent was leaking out of his headphones. ‘Race With The Devil’.
     
    Gave me one of his Aussie shakes and sat down.
     
    I took out my pen and pad. Asked how they were.
     
    “Tell you the truth, I’m not sure.”
     
    “Where’s Pinks?” I wrote.
     
    He lit his cigarette and ran his fingers through his hair. Must’ve been worried that the breeze had mussed it up. “She’s at Jenny’s. Jenny’s doing what she can, but she doesn’t know the first thing about gunshot wounds.”
     
    “Fuck man,” I scribbled. “Shouldn’t you be getting her to a hospital.” I don’t know if it was the cold or what, but my hands were shaking pretty bad. I lit up a cigarette of my own. Helped me to calm down.
     
    “Can’t risk it. Soon as they report it as a gunshot wound, Bart’s men’ll hear and it’ll be Bye Bye Miss American Pie.” He spat. Made a noise with his lips. Looked at me for some kind of appreciation like spitting was an art-form where he comes from.
     
    I dropped the pen.
     
    “We need you to go to the flat. We’ve got the cash, but no passports. Go to the flat, pick them up and pack a couple of bags and half the money’s yours.” He was a bastard. I was supposed to be getting a cut