The Last Plague Read Free Page B

His shoulder grazed the wall, knocking askew a framed painting of a riverside cottage.
         Magnus looked at Joel. “I’m sorry, mate. It was Ralph’s idea.”
         Joel’s face went slack. “What was…?”
         Frank heard the front door open. Voices. Ralph laughed. The front door slammed.
         Ralph appeared, trying to keep a straight face as he swigged from his beer. He carried a wooden kitchen chair in his other hand.
         “What’s the chair for?” said Joel.
         “What do you think?”
         “Did you…?” Frank asked.
         Ralph nodded. “I certainly did, boss.” He moved some empty bottles out of the way and placed the chair in the centre of the room.
         Joel looked at the chair, puzzled.
         A female police officer entered the room, followed by a tall, wide-shouldered man wearing a leather jacket, with a greasy side-parting and a neck like a shaven bear. The man nodded a curt greeting and stood in the corner of the room, arms folded.
         “Oh shit,” said Joel. His voice was uneven and boyish.
         The woman looked to be in her late forties, dyed blonde hair and too much make-up. Eyeliner coated on like paint and blood-red lipstick. Her breasts were almost bursting through her uniform. Crow’s feet and poor skin under fake tan. One eye was bloodshot.
         A short leather skirt barely covered her arse. She was carrying a small black bag and an Alba CD player.
         Ralph started laughing.
         “Is there a Mr. Joel Gosling here?” the woman said.
         Joel raised his hand cautiously. “That’s, uh, me…”
         Frank sat next to Magnus on the sofa.
         “I’m afraid you’re under arrest, Mr. Gosling,” she said.
         “Read him his rights!” said Ralph. He finished his beer and grabbed another one.
         “You’re not a real police officer, are you?” Joel asked the woman.
         In the corner her minder smirked and shook his head.
         “Luckily for you, I’m not, my dear,” she said. “But I’ve heard you’ve been a very bad boy.”
         On the sofa, Frank, Ralph and Magnus struggled to stop from breaking into fits of laughter.
         Joel swallowed. “You’re a stripper, aren’t you?”
         “I’ll let you decide that, my dear. Now come sit down on this chair and we’ll get on with your interrogation.”
         “Brilliant,” said Ralph. He turned to Frank. “You owe me fifty quid for the stripper, okay?”
         “Fifty quid? Bloody hell, Ralph.”
         “She was the cheapest one I could get on such short notice.”
         “Yeah, looks like it.”
         “Pay me tomorrow, mate.”
         Joel sat down on the chair, guided by the stripper. She smiled at him. He tried to return the smile, but it came out as an awkward grimace.
         “My fiancée’s gonna kill me if she finds out.”
         “Don’t worry, my dear,” the stripper said. She undid her uniform and took off her skirt. Leathery breasts and a pot belly. Sagging buttocks the same colour as a creosoted fence. The back of her thong vanished into darkness. She placed the CD player on the floor then reached into her bag and produced a bottle of squirty cream.
         Joel went pale.
         The stripper pressed a button on the CD player. Britney Spears began to sing ‘I’m a Slave 4 U’. The stripper wiggled her arse and giggled.
         “She’s got cellulite,” Ralph whispered as he took out his camera-phone.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
     
     
    CHAPTER FIVE
     
     
    Two hours later the stripper was gone, and Joel was unconscious, a bottle of beer in his hand and whipped cream smeared around his mouth. Frank dozed on the sofa. Ralph was on the floor, snoring loudly, his stomach gurgling.
         “Lightweights,” said Magnus. He smiled and swayed. A warm numbness filled his body. He ate the last