Zorilla At Large! Read Online Free PDF Page A

billionaire boyfriend and concentrate!”
    Brough’s nose wrinkled at the accusation. “I wasn’t, actually, Miller. I was just wondering, if you must know, why this place is called the Railway Hotel when Dedley doesn’t even have a station?”
    ***
    Stevens sat back and belched loud enough to draw the attention of the diners at the surrounding tables. Peri-peri sauce clung to his moustache. Pattimore was both embarrassed and disgusted. The salad he had plumped for remained largely untouched on the plate before him. He found himself missing the more genteel table manners of David Brough, who would never dream of eating a burger without a knife and fork.
    â€œGood bit of chicken, that.” Stevens declared. “I feel like tossing the bones over my shoulder.”
    â€œPlease don’t. We ought to be getting back to work.”
    â€œGetting back? I’ve never stopped. All the while you’ve been sat moping there like a smacked arse, I’ve been watching the bushes out there.” Stevens nodded over Pattimore’s shoulder to the artfully placed square of hedge through the window. “Come on. Bring some of that lettuce; you never know.”
    Stevens wrapped his chicken bones in a napkin, left twenty quid on the table and, sucking his moustache, stalked toward the exit. It was left to Pattimore to bring the zoo-keeping equipment.
    â€œGoing fishing?” asked a waitress, holding the door open for him.
    Pattimore smiled thinly. “Something like that.”
    â€œBecause if it’s environmental health, we’ve sorted out that business with the-”
    â€œIt’s not!” Pattimore interrupted; he didn’t want to hear about any environmental health issues the restaurant may have had, sorted out or ongoing.
    He found Stevens on all fours peering into the hedge, and holding out a chicken bone. He was making clicking noises with his tongue.
    â€œBloody hell,” gasped Pattimore. “Don’t tell me you’ve found it!”
    â€œWill you shut the fuck up?” Stevens hissed over his shoulder. “There’s something in here. I’m trying to lure it out. Give us that lettuce in case it’s vegetarian.”
    â€œAnimals aren’t vegetarian,” said Pattimore. “They’re herbivores. Or carnivores, if they eat other animals. Or omnivores, if they like a bit of both.”
    â€œWell, in case this thing is bi, chuck us that salad. And get ready with that hoop.”
    Pattimore prepared himself with the snare on a stick. He held his breath. Stevens peered into the bush. “Here, puss-puss,” he urged. Pattimore rolled his eyes.
    â€œFuck it!” Stevens cried as something bolted from under the bush. He fell over. Pattimore swatted at the thing with the stick but it darted between his legs and along the path. They lost sight of it when it reached the monument to Jim Fish, a local man who had gone to Hollywood in the 1920s and had directed such early classics as The Abomination , and Bride of the Abomination . It was a peculiar piece of public art: strips of celluloid fashioned from bronze, atop a huge concrete pile of circular film cans. Pattimore supposed it made sense, to have it near the multiplex and supposed Brough would be able to tell him more about the artistic style and composition and symbolics and all that shit.
    I must stop missing him, Pattimore scolded himself. I fucked it up between us and my punishment is to go without him.
    â€œDid you see it?” Stevens scrambled to his feet. “Come on!” He tore along the path and rounded the Jim Fish monument. Pattimore chased his partner around the base. “Where the fuck is it?”
    â€œAre you sure that was it? It wasn’t a cat or something?”
    â€œA cat? A fucking cat would never get across that road.”
    â€œBut a wild weasel would?”
    â€œIt was it! I’m fucking telling you.”
    â€œWell, it’s gone