Doctor Who_ Combat Rock - Mick Lewis [16]
Some of the Dogs sniggered. They had not heard anything about the attack. But Sabit being apparently concerned about
‘mummies coming to life’ was enough to earn him a derisive toss of a cigarette butt that bounced off his face on the screen.
Sabit was continuing to talk on the recorded message and Pan yelled at his colleagues to shut up.
When Sabit had finished relaying his particular instructions concerning the mercenaries, the message ended abruptly without any farewell.
‘How many whores this time, Pan?’
‘Uh?’ Pan stirred from his reverie and grinned in a way that could almost have been construed as sheepish if he hadn’t been so obviously proud. He fingered his pulse Luger beneath his jacket as if it reminded him of all the female flesh he’d pressed during his stay on Batu. It had been Clown who had asked the question, and he was not alone in having shown no interest whatsoever in discussing Sabit’s message as soon as it had ended.
‘Enough,’ Pan finally answered.
‘I thought you didn’t know that word: Pretty Boy cut in, blowing him a kiss.
Pan pulled his Luger and aimed it at Pretty Boy’s head playfully. ‘Save all your kisses for the little boys, freak.’
Pan was maybe the only man alive Pretty Boy would take that from. ‘You know that’s Twist’s territory.’
Twist looked up from his daze for a moment. ‘Kiss this,’
he said, scratching his backside.
‘Thing is, Pan,’ Clown said, rolling some hand tobacco, the sunlight filtering through the cabin windport filming his glasses and obscuring his eyes completely ‘You always gotta pay for it.’
‘So? Whores is whores. You always gotta pay.’
‘Paying ain’t a conquest. So what’s to boast about? Now if you had loadsa women ‘cos you were a real frogmagnet, then I’d be kinda proud of you.’
‘Clown, you’re sailin’ close to earning yourself a fresh new smile, baby. ‘Sides, didn’t have to pay last night. The whore done me for free.’
‘You mafiaaaa... I like your face.’
For a moment Pan’s grin wavered. There was a touch of emptiness on his soul. He shook it off. Holstered his Luger again.
‘You’re all man,’ Pretty Boy told him.
‘Ever think to yourself what you’re doin’ to those women?’ Clown cut in, obviously looking for a fight. ‘Whores are people too. They got feelings, want to live a better life.
You, exploitin’ ‘em for your own sleazy benefits, just keep
‘em right where they are. Enjoyin’ women’s misery.
Degradin’ ‘em. Degradin’ yourself. You think they like livin’
the way they do? Being poked by the likes of you just so they can eat and pay the rent? You think that’s the Good Life for them? Don’t that spoil your fun?’
Pan nodded morosely. ‘You’re right: I gotta mend my ways. Just can’t live with my conscience any longer.’
‘Serious. You ever ask yourself those questions?’
Pan caressed the grip of his Luger, but didn’t pull it. ‘You asked me do I think they like living the way they do.
Personally I don’t really give a shit, but I know that some of
‘em do. The ones I do business with only approach marks they like the look of. They get good money, I get a good time. And so do they – you should see some of ‘em begging me to service them. I’ll tell you something, Mister: they always look happy to me, drinkin’ and smokin’ in their whore bars. They don’t like it, they can always work in a shop, serve in some caff. Don’t preach to me about things you know nothin’ about.
And don’t make the mistake of thinking I care one way or the other.’
‘Like I said,’ Pretty Boy