Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [114]
The grass around the concrete block was so thick that he didn’t see the kid at first.
A skinny white teenager was sprawled on the ground with a rucksack between his knees. His shoulders were propped against the concrete block and his head was at an odd angle. He was so still Creed was wondering if he was dead when the kid suddenly opened his eyes and looked up at him.
‘You buying?’ said the kid.
‘Depends what you’re selling,’ said Creed.
‘Let me put it like this. Pills. Potions. All manner of medications to ease the pain of living.’
‘What sort of pills, exactly?’
The kid sat up, drawing his rucksack up close to his chest and hugging it there. ‘Let me put it like this, friend. Do you know about magic?’
‘Not a lot.’
‘Do you know about witches?’ The kid grinned crazily up at Creed. There was a swishing sound in the darkness behind them and both Creed and the kid turned to see Justine standing there, half hidden in the inky shadow of the statue.
‘A little,’ she said.
The skinny kid grinned at her. ‘Do you know that some witches are men?’
‘Sure.’
‘Do you know what they call one of those?’
‘Warlock.’
The kid swivelled his head and looked at Creed, grinning. ‘You buying?’ he said.
Creed reached into his jacket and took out his wallet. The EC paper money looked quaint and phony compared to US dollars. Play money. He took out a handful of it and held it out in the moonlight. ‘What will this buy me?’
The kid opened his rucksack and delved inside. There was a rustling sound as he drew out a cellophane pack with white tablets bubble‐wrapped inside. The kid ripped a strip of them off, tearing along a line of perforations.
Creed took the strip from the kid and examined it. Each tablet had a small crescent moon embossed on it. Suddenly he could smell the familiar liquorice smell riding on the night air. He repressed the impulse to tear the packet open and swallow a pill right now.
‘The slender moon seal of approval. The finest kind,’ said the kid. ‘And buying it here on this site of power will only add to the potency of the drug.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ said Creed. ‘But if these turn out to be ulcer tablets or aspirin I’m going to come looking for you. And then you’ll need some medicine to ease the pain of living, all right.’
‘No worries,’ said the kid. He stood up from the long grass and leaned against the statue, brushing his clothes off. He looked at Justine then grinned at Creed. ‘Very beautiful lady.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Is she for sale?’
‘Why don’t you ask me?’ said Justine.
‘Are you for sale?’
‘No.’
‘Not yet, anyway,’ said the kid, grinning through ragged teeth.
Creed turned away from the statue, wading through the long grass back towards the car. Justine turned and walked with him. Creed noticed that she was staying close at his side. The kid followed them, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder. ‘Anything else I can do for you people?’
‘Perhaps.’ Justine glanced back at him. ‘Do you sell information?’
‘If I answer that question, it’s information already. I’ll have to charge you for it.’
‘Here’s the question I really want answered,’ said Justine. ‘I’m looking for an old friend. She used to live around here and I wonder if you know where she is.’
‘What’s she called?’
‘Mrs Woodcott.’
The kid froze. They were almost back at the pavement and he was staring at the Porsche parked there. Before Creed could grab him he turned and bounded through the thick dry grass, running like a rabbit, his rucksack swinging on his back. He dodged around the statue, through the grass on the far side and back onto the sidewalk of the adjacent road. They heard his feet hit the pavement, running fast.
Creed turned back to Justine, angry and frustrated. ‘It was the car,’ he said. ‘Everybody knows the damned thing