Doctor Who_ The Gallifrey Chronicles - Lance Parkin [56]
It felt wrong to run.
He knew he needed Marnal’s help. Together, the two of them could come up with answers. More than that. . . actions had consequences. The Doctor had to face up to that. If you can’t do the time, don’t be a Time Lord.
However, this had to be done on equal terms. This was Marnal’s turf, he had an assistant and he had a gun. The Doctor had to find a way to even up the odds a little. He pressed forward again, but stubbed his toe on a small table.
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He bit his lip, tried to steady the table, winced as the telephone directory fell on to the carpet with a thud that seemed to echo around the house.
The Doctor hesitated, and looked down.
It almost felt like cheating.
The crowd had chuckled a couple of times at the first one, they’d loved the Beatles song, but he thought it needed something a bit faster so he’d finished off with that Dramarama number he liked. He’d given Emma and her friend something to live up to. One of the university students there had said he was
‘well weapon’, which was apparently a good thing.
When he was younger, Fitz had dreamt of playing big concerts to thousands of screaming women, dozens of whom – even just statistically, he felt – would lust after him. There comes a point, and it’s when you’re still ridiculously young, when you realise you’re too old to be a pop star. He’d comfortably passed that point long before he’d even met the Doctor, whatever he’d kept telling himself. But there he had been tonight, in a pub where a couple of dozen honest people had really appreciated what he’d done. And, after some of them had bought him a beer, Fitz was now on his way home with his beautiful blonde girlfriend on his arm and tomorrow morning. . . Well, he was living in the future now. Ever morning would be tomorrow morning.
He’d been paid £10 and his singing tonight wouldn’t make him famous, but Fitz didn’t think he’d ever been happier, at any point in his life.
Trix was hugging him as they walked up to the hotel.
There was a large man standing just in front of the entrance. He wore a dark suit and was holding up his ID. There were a couple of uniformed officers behind him.
‘Patricia Joanne Pullman?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I – Fitz, run!’
She turned to get away, but there was already another uniform waiting for her. He grabbed her shoulder.
‘Patricia Joanne Pullman,’ this new arrival was saying, ‘I’m arresting you for the murder of Anthony Charles Macmillan. You do not have to say anything, but anything you do say will be taken –’
Fitz punched the policeman very hard in the face, and stepped over him.
‘Come on!’ he shouted.
Trix had already caught up with him. Together they hurled themselves round the side of the building. There was a tall fence in front of them, but a side door into the hotel to the left. They took it.
‘Kitchen inspectors!’ Fitz yelled at the chef who came hurrying towards them.
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They swerved both ways round him, and were out of the swing doors and into the restaurant. They made their way to the fire exit at the rear of the hotel. A minute later they were over a small brick wall, through an alleyway and on a main road.
Trix was pointing up the street at a bus. It was just pulling away.
They caught it up, persuaded the driver to stop and jumped aboard.
‘Two, please, keep the change,’ Trix said, handing the driver a £50 note.
They took their seats at the back.
‘I’ve got a question,’ Fitz said.
Trix bit her lip.
‘All that running away from monsters kept us fit, didn’t it?’ he asked.
Trix was barely out of breath. ‘Er, yeah. Have I told you I love you?’
‘No, but I kinda inferred it,’ he grinned. ‘Now what?’
‘Have you got your passport with you?’
‘Yes, I think so.’ Fitz checked his pocket and confirmed that he had.
‘Then how do you fancy a trip to New York?’
The Doctor peeked through