Soft

Soft Read Free Page B

Book: Soft Read Free
Author: Rupert Thomson
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wouldn’t be long now.
    The passing weeks did nothing to soften the Scully family’s resolve. To people like the Scullys, time was salt: it aggravated every wound. Barker realised the vendetta could go on almost indefinitely; they seemed to have developed a taste for it. Strangely enough, he’d been noticing something similar at work. Old bouncers, that’s what happens. You get a reputation over the years and suddenly there’s some kid, nineteen or twenty, he’s heard about you. You’re hard, but he’s harder. It never stops.
    His shirt had stuck to his back. He leaned forwards, lifting it away from his skin so the sweat could dry. In the last few months he had begun to feel that the odds were stacked against him. So far he’d been lucky. But prison ran in the family, like wiry hair and heart disease. Sooner or later he’d be put away for something, even if he was innocent. Either that, or he’d get badly hurt. There had been a time when he would never have dreamed of backing down. All that pride, though, it had faded like the tattoo on his chest. Was it age did that?
    Some would say he was running. Well, let them say it.
    The coach pulled in under a high glass roof. Lines of people waited below, their eyes flicking left and right like tadpoles ina jar. He could feel the city air, the speed of it, much faster than the air down on the coast.
    Outside, the driver opened a flap in the side of the bus. He looked at Barker over his shoulder. ‘Can you see yours?’
    Barker pointed at two black canvas bags. The driver gripped the handles and, grunting, hauled the bags out on to the tarmac. Then he stood back, hands on hips. ‘Christ, mate, what you got in there?’
    Barker didn’t answer.
    â€˜I know,’ the driver said. ‘You killed the bloke, but the body was too big. So you had to cut it in half.’
    Barker just looked at him. ‘You tell anyone,’ he said, ‘I’ll have to kill you too.’

Drive Away Monkey
    The door of the pub creaked open under his hand, crashed shut behind him. He ordered a pint of bitter and drank a third of it, then he put his glass down and glanced around. Half a dozen suits, two girls in office skirts and blouses. A scattering of old men wearing hats. Not a bad place, though. The booths looked original, the name of the brewery elaborately carved into the panes of frosted-glass. Statues of women in togas hoisted opalescent globe-lights towards the dark-brown ceiling. A polished brass rail hugged the foot of the bar. His brother Gary would have approved. Gary used to deal in antiques.
    He asked the barman if Charlton Williams was around.
    The barman jerked his eyes and eyebrows in the direction of the window. ‘Over there.’
    From where he was standing, Barker could only see Charlton Williams’ back. Brown leather jacket, grey trousers. Cropped black hair. Barker moved across the pub towards him, pint in hand.
    â€˜Charlton Williams?’
    The man who swung round was this side of forty, but only just. He was going bald from the front, his hair receding at both temples, leaving a round piece that looked as if it might fit into a jigsaw. He reminded Barker of a wrestler who was always on TV on Saturdays in the late sixties.
    â€˜The name’s Barker Dodds. I’m a friend of Ray’s. Ray Peacock. He said to find you here.’
    Charlton’s pouchy eyes narrowed. ‘You’re the bloke that needs a place to stay, right?’
    Barker nodded.
    â€˜So where’s the luggage?’
    â€˜Bus station. Victoria.’ Barker drained his pint.
    Charlton pointed at the glass. ‘Same again?’
    â€˜Cheers.’
    Charlton Williams. According to Ray, Charlton had been named after the football club. People used to call him Athletic, which was a bit of a laugh, Ray said, because Charlton had never played sport in his life, not even darts. Charlton was drinking with Ronnie and Malcolm,

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