Book 3 - The Spy Who Haunted Me Read Free Page A

And . . . just a bit dull and boring, when necessary, so no one ever wants to get too close.
    The usual faces were making themselves known. I bumped into one of the scene’s main fixers: the infamous Middleman. Tall and elegant, wearing a bright green kaftan and smoking a slim black cigarillo in a long ivory holder. Handsome enough, in a ravaged-by-time sort of way, with flat black hair and more than a hint of mascara. His fingernails had been painted jet green. He was accompanied by two Thai teenagers in bright red leathers who might have been brother and sister or something even closer. The Middleman knew me as Shaman Bond and as Eddie Drood, but he didn’t know they were the same person. I know a lot of people like that. It would probably complicate things, if I were a complicated person.
    “Shaman!” said the Middleman, gesturing lazily with one long, languid hand. “How nice! On the prowl for Madam Opportunity, are we? The creditors pressing close again? How very tiresome for you.”
    “You know how it is,” I said. “It’s an expensive world, for those of us who just want a little fun out of life.”
    “Oh, I know, I know, dear boy. I swear the money just evaporates out of my pockets when I’m not looking.”
    “Particularly when you gamble as much as you do,” I said. “And so badly.”
    The Middleman glared at his Thai boy. “Have you been telling tales out of school again, Maurice? I shall have to be very strict with you later. You know you like that . . .”
    We chatted a while, but when he didn’t so much as raise an elegantly painted eyebrow when I mentioned the Tower of London, I made my excuses and moved on. The next familiar face made a point of bumping into me. Leo Morn might be good company but he’s always on the prowl and on the scrounge. I swear he came out of the womb trying to cadge a cigarette off the midwife. Leo is tall, slight, long-haired, pale, and interesting, and he looks like he ought to be starring in a particularly gloomy Tim Burton film. Dressed all in black, he looked so frail you half expected one good breeze would carry him away. But, as with so many of the people I know, appearances can be deceptive. Leo Morn has hidden strengths and a heart of solid granite.
    He was looking for tracking work.
    “Still playing bass with that punk folk band?” I said, and he grinned wolfishly.
    “Of course! Got some really good gigs lined up.”
    “Are you still having to change the name of the band regularly, so clubs will hire you twice?” I said innocently.
    He scowled. “We are ahead of our time! We’re currently called Angel’s Son; got a sweet gig at Moles, in Bath, end of the month. Drop in, if you’re in the area. Catch us while you can. I doubt we’ll be there long . . .”
    “No offence, Leo,” I said, “but on the whole I think I’d rather stick skewers in my ears.”
    “For someone who didn’t want to give offence, I’d have to say you came pretty damned close there,” said Leo.
    I wished him luck and he stalked off. People got out of his way; they could smell the wolf on him.
    Next up was Harry Fabulous: handsome, charming, deeply fashionable, and all of it as fake as his constant smile. Harry showed no interest at all in the stalls, moving instead from one potential customer to another like a shark in good fishing waters. Harry would steal the shirt off your back but do it so charmingly you’d end up apologising to him that it wasn’t of better quality. Harry Fabulous: con man, thief, grifter, and your go-to man for absolutely everything that was bad for you.
    “Shaman! Dear fellow!” said Harry, showing me all his teeth in his most professional smile. “Good to see you out and about again. Haven’t seen you since . . . ah, well, not in public, eh? What have you been up to?”
    “You’d never believe me,” I said solemnly. “How about yourself, Harry? How’s business?”
    “Oh, busy, as always.” His smile faltered for a moment, his eyes briefly