‘Get started right away’
‘What?’
‘When you’re paying for the drinks, give the barman a bollicking, get you in the mood, plus he needs a kick in the ass.’
Then he was gone.
Falls played it round and round in her head, trying to see a way out. There wasn’t any unless she wanted to vegetate in that basement. As she paid for the drinks, the bar guy said, after he thought he saw a smile at the corner of her mouth:
‘That bloke is a pig.’
Falls fixed her eyes on him, said:
‘And a wanker like you would know? You aren’t fit to be in the same space as a real man.’
She thought outside:
Good start.
10
Brant hammered on Porter’s door and it finally opened to reveal a sleepy Porter, going:
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Nothing, I was in the neighbourhood, thought you’d give me coffee. Hey, you’ve got post.’
Brant bent down, picked up an envelope, handed it over. Porter took it, said:
‘Come in, I guess. I’ll brew some coffee.’
And juice, you got some OJ?’
Brant flopped on the couch, his feet up on the coffee table, and Porter said:
‘Please make yourself at home.’
Brant was already lighting a cig and Porter had to refrain from comment. He got the coffee and juice, said:
‘I’m going to have a shower, you okay for a minute.’
‘No toast?’
While Porter was in the shower, Brant examined his bookcase. No McBain, but lots of psychology, poetry, and history.
Brant muttered.
‘Heavy shit.’
He was on his second coffee when Porter emerged, smelling of aftershave and dressed in a dark, expensive suit. Brant whistled, said:
‘Nice duds, you got another one of those, you might lend it to Roberts.’
Porter picked up the envelope, noted the typed address, and opened it, read, went: