Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [138]
Creed reached past him and picked up his glass and left. Paulie sat back down at his table. No one had noticed. He was sure.
The buzz of conversation was beginning again all over the restaurant. Paulie scooped up a napkin and surreptitiously wiped his forehead. His heart was slowing in his chest. The acid anxiety in his stomach was calming. He was relaxing. No one had noticed. The sick feeling was passing. He was safe.
If only there wasn’t this damned liquorice smell everywhere.
At a table near Paulie the young medical student put his coat on, pausing to swing his long white scarf around his neck. He came over to Paulie. You could see that he was angry but trying to conceal it.
‘Just in case I didn’t make it clear earlier, Mr Keaton, I didn’t appreciate the way you summoned me tonight.’
Paulie laughed at the kid and the kid’s anger. ‘Ruffled your feathers, huh?’
‘I was just eating here with some friends,’ said the medical student. He was getting angrier and angrier. But his rage genuinely amused Paulie. To him it was like the petulant futile rage of a small puppy or kitten.
‘Well, Dewer’s is a good restaurant, kid. I like it here. Even the King eats here.’ Paulie was enjoying taunting the boy.
The medical student’s face was turning red and he was becoming inarticulate. ‘I didn’t ask to do a job for you.’
‘You could have said no. But you knew that would be a bad career move. And when you’re a doctor, your career’s your life.’
‘I didn’t ask to end up performing an abortion on an unwilling woman.’
‘Hey, kid, please. I’m trying to eat.’
‘You’re… you’re nothing but a jumped‐up little bully.’ The medical student was losing control of his rage. He suddenly hauled back and lashed out.
He punched Paulie in the face.
At first the sheer surprise hurt more than the blow itself. The shock that such a thing could happen. No one had touched Paulie without his permission for years. For a moment he was too stunned to react.
The medical student had already turned and stalked off, disgustedly inspecting a small splash of red on his white silk scarf.
Paulie put a hand to his face and discovered to his horror that his nose was bleeding. He was sitting here in front of all of these people with blood on his face. His bodyguards were staring at him like fools. He signalled for them to pursue the kid and grab him. The men didn’t move.
‘Get after him,’ said Paulie. But his voice broke from his throat in an unexpected and embarrassing screech, and several people giggled. Paulie glared around furiously and they fell silent.
‘Come on,’ hissed Paulie to his bodyguards. ‘Look at what he did to me!’ Paulie wiped the blood from his nose with his bare hand and one of the bodyguards threw a tissue to him. Paulie scrabbled after at it gratefully. He picked it up and clutched it only to discover that the crusty tissue had been repulsively and thoroughly used already. It was horrible. How could they expect him to use this? He was bleeding! Paulie Keaton was bleeding. They should be taking this seriously.
But the bodyguard and his companion were laughing at Paulie’s consternation. All around him, other tables began to pick up the laughter. It spread across the restaurant.
The red‐haired waitress was approaching from the kitchens when she heard the cruel laughter. It was sweeping across the restaurant towards her like a wave. She hastily doubled back. It all seemed a little spooky in the restaurant. But it was probably just her imagination. She was tired, she’d been working too hard, and there was the warlock she’d taken earlier.
On her way to the kitchen she saw the couple hurrying out. The man called Creed and the woman. His woman.
You could see she was his woman by the way she walked beside him. The waitress smiled as she watched them go past. He had his arm around her.
Tonight was going to be the night.
* * *
The King was back earlier than expected. The guard on the gates saw the car approaching. It was an unfamiliar one, a Porsche. Coming from the direction of the ICA on the Mall.
But then the King often drove unfamiliar