Death is a Welcome Guest: Plague Times Trilogy 2 Read Free Page A

think of anything to say and so he kept quiet. He was on his fifth beer, one half of him still high on applause, the other still reeling from the shock of the accident.
    ‘A fuckup,’ Johnny repeated. ‘A fucking fuckup.’
    It had been a great gig, a show to be proud of, but nobody contradicted Johnny. Magnus took a swig from his bottle of Peroni and looked at his feet. There were six of them in Johnny Dongo’s hotel room: Johnny’s manager Kruze, a couple of Dongolites Magnus had not been introduced to and Johnny’s girlfriend Kim, her face stern beneath her blonde beehive, but with a hint of a smirk that put Magnus in mind of Myra Hindley’s mugshot. They were sitting on a trio of couches around a black coffee table that looked like it had been designed for snorting coke. The Dongolites were side by side, legs crossed in opposite directions as if to indicate that, despite appearances, they did not trust each other. Johnny was squeezed between his manager and his girlfriend in a too-tight arrangement that hinted at a power struggle. Magnus had the third couch to himself.
    ‘A fucking fuckup,’ Johnny muttered.
    Kruze’s eyes were red-rimmed and rheumy. He put an arm around Johnny’s shoulder and gave him the kind of anaconda squeeze a wrestler might give a rival. His bald head gleamed. It looked solid, Magnus thought. Strong enough to batter down doors, but heads were fragile things, no match for speed and metal.
    Kruze said, ‘Kim’s the only one who’s going to suck your dick tonight, Johnny. It was a good audience and you did a fucking amazing show, same way as you’re going to give another fucking amazing show tomorrow.’ The TV was on, its volume muted. An aerial view of the abandoned cruise ship shone from the screen, followed by a shot of the Houses of Parliament. Kruze picked up the remote and killed the picture. ‘If these bleeding emergency measures don’t shut down the theatres, that is. A big fuss over very little, if you ask me.’ It was not clear whether he meant the recall of Parliament that the sweats had prompted, or Johnny’s tantrum. Kruze stirred the milky contents of Johnny’s glass with a straw. Ice cubes rattled dully within. ‘Drink your medicine. Time for beddy-byes soon.’
    Johnny lifted the glass to his lips and drained it. A dribble rolled down his Roger Ramjet chin. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, then stretched for the carton of full fat on the table and poured some into his glass. He topped it up with a generous tot of Admiral Benbow, turning the white liquid a treacle-toffee shade of brown that tugged at Magnus’s bowels.
    Kruze sighed and got to his feet. ‘Get him to bed some time before the call to prayers would you please, Kim love.’
    Kim put a hand on Johnny’s thigh.
    ‘I’ll make sure he gets back here in time for tomorrow’s show, that’s all you need to worry about.’
    Kim’s engagement finger sparkled with a ring that had caused some tabloid speculation, and her voice was smug with the assurance of possession. Magnus wondered if rumours about Johnny and the rotation of pretty boys who were always in his orbit were true. And if they were, whether Kim knew and thought them a price worth paying.
    Johnny shifted into the space vacated by Kruze. He coughed and then sneezed three times, hard and painful, the sound of a small train crushing bone and flesh. ‘Fuck.’ He took his handkerchief from his top pocket and blew into it.
    Kruze was halfway out of the room, but he turned at the sound of Johnny’s sneezes and stood framed in the doorway, his pink shirt and pale blue suit Neapolitan-dapper, despite the late hour.
    ‘Why don’t I arrange cars for your guests and let you and Kim hit the sack, John?’ Johnny Dongo flapped a hand, dismissing Kruze, but the manager persisted. ‘If you come down with something, Magnus here will have to step into the breach, and you don’t want that, do you?’
    Magnus had once auditioned for Kruze, way