The Lover's Children novel Chapter 55

PAT

“Get out of here! Get away!” He bats at me with his spatula as though he’s calling me En Garde. “I don’t need your sort here.”

“No? Gimme one of those then.”

He brightens. “Thought I was gonna have to pack up for the evening.” He slides a burger off the plate, onto a bun split onto a napkin and scoops onions over the top with the kind of slick technique that says he’s done nothing else with his life for the last forty miserable years. He holds the burger poised, not actually giving it to me. “That’s one fifty.”

“Always pay my debts,” I say, tossing him the coins. Water streaming down six inches from my nose, I bite, chew, swallow. It’s crap, but I’m hungry. Another three swallows, it’s still crap and I’m not hungry anymore.

The rain eases off.

Time to go.

Tossing what’s left under the stand, I pull up my collar…

The weasel bawls out. “Hey, that’s what the trash can’s for!”

“Yeah?” Hawking up, I angle, aim and spit. The gob splutters and boils, skittering over the hot plate before bursting over the stacked crap-burgers with a Pop! “Guess they belong in the trash can too.”

“You’ll pay for those you little shit!”

“Fuck off, Grandad.” Grinning, I sprint for the coffee house.

*****

I make it to the cafe in time, but only just, slamming the door closed behind me as the rain sheets down.

There’s the usual stack of giveaway newspapers on the counter. Helping myself to a copy, I take my usual table with its view onto the street, then flip through to see if there’s anything about me in today’s issue.

Annoyingly, none of it’s about me. Instead, it’s all complaints about the police and what they’re doing.

Word is from our informed source at City Hall, that Police Commissioner William Stanton is under increasing pressure to call in extra resources and expertise from external agencies following the latest murder of a young woman believed to be committed by the serial killer they’re now calling, ‘The Surgeon’…

… Speculation runs rife that Mayor Vandervoort has already demanded his resignation…

As if I wasn’t giving them enough material to work with.

Still…

The ‘Surgeon’…

Nice…

Got a touch of style about it…

I turn to the back pages. Sudoku and the other crap will at least kill time until the rain passes.

Brenda arrives, clutching the coffee pot. “Your usual, Pat?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Lousy weather we’re having.”

“Yeah.”

“Enough to keep everyone off the streets.”

Two refills and a doughnut later, the crossword all but finished, I hover with a pencil, watching out of the window while I think about the last couple of clues.

8 across… Domestic animal plays brazen instrument…

_ _ _ _ mp_ t

Domestic animal?

The rain looks to be slackening off.

Gotta be ‘pet’.

I pencil in an experimental ‘e’.

_ _ _ _ mpet

Trumpet?

Doesn’t fit…

The rain fizzles out. And I wait.

And, lo-and-behold, they’re out again, emerging onto the streets to go about their nightly business. Patrolling the street, cheap women, in cheaper clothes with their unsubtle cut and their obvious faces. It’s a sort of uniform I suppose. Advertising what they’ve got.

Oh, yes…

Of course…

I fill in the rest of the answer

Strumpet

A shadow moves to stand over me, jug in hand. “’N’other coffee, Pat?”

“No, thanks. Rain’s stopped. Gonna make a dash for home between showers. Got the early shift.”