Doctor Who_ The Hollow Men - Keith Topping [45]
He extracted a pair at random, pulling them over his face, thinking that he‟d like to rob a bank like this one day, just to see if they‟d dare put that on Crimewatch UK. Then he rooted through the other drawers, finding paperbacks, scarves, ballpoint pens, sports socks, a calculator, a single black stocking, and what appeared to be a year‟s supply of antihistamines. Right at the bottom, under an angora sweater, he found a small pile of gay porn mags, and a loaded handgun.
Phil Burridge tutted to himself. „Oh, bad! That‟s gotta be worth two years in Holloway for a kick-off.‟
The pants still over his face like a mask, Burridge patrolled the room, half blinded by floral satin. He opened cupboards and rifled clumsily through shelves. After five minutes of intense searching, only the computer was left, and Burridge had no intention of touching that.
Thinking he‟d drawn a blank, he turned for the window, ripping the knickers from his face.
One of the framed prints caught his eye. Phil Burridge didn‟t know his Matisse from his Magritte, but, in the context of this room, a crooked painting screamed at him.
He turned the picture over, and taped to the back with thick masking tape was a small sheaf of paper. They were the plans to Proteus‟s head office, and lists of passwords and security alarms.
„Oh dear,‟ he said. „We have been a naughty girl, Becky.‟
CHAPTER 6
CITY SICKNESS
Nicola Denman took a deep breath, her hand resting against the pub door. She watched the sun creeping behind the smoke-grey clouds that peppered the horizon. Despite the noise that surged through open windows she felt more peaceful than she had in the cathedral. This was her world, for all its dirt. That other land, the place of forgiveness, was unobtainable.
For a few moments Nicola watched a gangling dog rummage through the rubbish in a side street. It seemed oblivious to the people passing by, methodically inspecting each dustbin in turn. Nicola saw its head bob up and down, and could hear an occasional snort of interest above even the rush of the cars and the dance music thumping out from the pub jukebox.
The dog turned to look at Nicola, its jaws flecked with saliva and cardboard shreds. A car turned on to the main road, the headlights briefly illuminating the creature‟s eyes.
Startled, the dog vanished into the shadows.
Nicola pushed open the door of the pub. The air smelled of cigarettes and sweat, of perfume and salt-and-vinegar crisps.
Some girls, stinking of alcohol, pushed past Nicola and towards the exit.
Nicola found her friends clustered around a small table in an alcove away from the bar. She sat down gratefully, mopping up some spilled drink with a beer mat. „It‟s busy tonight,‟ she said. „Mine‟s a vodka and orange. Loads of ice.‟
One of the young women grunted and got to her feet, tugging a purse from a jacket pocket.
„You OK?‟ asked Tina, glancing up from the table with concern. She had known Nicola since school, and recognised the signs of tired anguish in her friend‟s face.
„Yeah. I‟m fine. Just knackered, that‟s all.‟
„Heard your dad on the radio this morning,‟ said Jane, who‟d never been known for her tact.
„Oh, don‟t,‟ said Nicola.
„Let‟s get slaughtered, then,‟ said another friend, as she downed half a glass of white wine.
„There‟s this great place on Lime Street,‟ offered Jane.
„It‟s a dive,‟ said Nicola.
„Oh, go on,‟ said Jane. „The lads there are just gagging for it. You could string „em along, Nicks, get some free bevvies.‟
„I don‟t think so.‟
Jane delved into her handbag, pulling out some cheaply printed slips of paper. „I‟ve got free tickets...‟
Nicola sensed that she had already lost the argument.
„Where‟d you get them?‟ she queried in desperation.
„She‟s just a tart, love, didn‟t you know?‟ laughed Tina.
It had been a bad day in the Mother of Parliaments. The opposition had really laid into Defence Minister Hatch as he tried manfully to defend the government‟s recent relaxation of arms embargoes placed upon a number of unsavoury totalitarian regimes.