Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [17]
But it was clear the older Mayan wasn’t going to budge. ‘There’s no such thing as being too careful,’ he said.
On the whole, Creed sympathized with him. He thought it was a sensible security measure.
While Larner and the older brother were arguing, Creed excused himself to go to the toilet. ‘Too much beer,’ he said, smiling at the hooker. She smiled back at him, her face lighting up. Then the expression on her face abruptly changed.
Creed had got up from the sofa. Now he glanced back, and found to his astonishment that the younger Mayan was pointing a gun at him.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To take a leak,’ said Creed. ‘Is that all right?’
‘No it isn’t,’ said the younger brother. ‘Sit back down.’ The gun was steady in his hand, pointing at Creed at waist level. If he fired now the bullet’s trajectory promised a gut wound and a painful and none too swift death.
But all Creed felt was the smouldering beginning of a powerful rage. He felt his chin lifting with anger as he locked eyes with the Mayan. A small portion of his mind remained cool and detached and it was saying that maybe this brother had been watching him and the hooker and had picked up the chemistry between them and now, ridiculously enough, was jealous.
But the rest of Creed’s consciousness was vanishing into a violent hot clarity that promised action at any moment. He was more than willing to believe he could get his hands on the Mayan before he could use the gun. And if he could do that –
But both Larner and the older brother could see the confrontation taking shape, could read the danger and promise of violence in Creed’s posture.
They were suddenly on their feet, smiling and laughing to defuse the situation, separating the two men, leading the kid brother into the kitchen and Creed back to the couch.
The older Mayan was gently easing the gun out of his brother’s hand. ‘But he could be a narc,’ said the younger brother. His voice continued, the angry whining tone remaining, but the words were blotted out as he was dragged into the kitchen.
In the living room Larner was patting Creed on the back, kidding around and grinning to bring him back from that point of focused rage.
The hooker had shifted onto the couch now, sitting at the opposite end from Creed with the middle cushion between them. She was watching him with absolute attention, silent and wide‐eyed. Enjoying the show.
Larner dug into the pocket of his leather jacket and dug out a small plastic object like a tiny salt shaker. It was a ‘bullet’, a cocaine dispenser for discreet public use. He offered it to Creed and Creed put it up each nostril in turn, pressing the release mechanism and snorting the coke deep into his sinuses to be absorbed by his mucous membranes. He handed the coke back to Larner, who inspected its diminished level with mock horror.
‘You have to come over to our house for dinner sometime, man,’ said Larner. ‘Meet the family.’
Creed was beginning to feel the after‐effect of the confrontation. With the passing of the rage and the onset of the coke he could feel his voice becoming shaky and emotional. ‘You really mean that?’ he said.
‘Sure,’ said Larner. ‘We need your nose to clean the carpet.’
The older Mayan came back into the living room, leaving his kid brother in the kitchen and closing the door behind him. Just before he closed the door they could hear a querulous voice call from the kitchen. ‘He could be going into the bathroom to radio his cop buddies.’
The older brother looked at Creed and shrugged apologetically.
‘Can I take that leak now,’ said Creed, ‘before my bladder busts?’ He could taste the bitter drip of the cocaine gathering at the back of his throat.
‘No problem,’ said the older Mayan.
Creed went into the gleaming chrome and white bathroom and shut the door behind him. He sat on the edge of the bath and lifted up his shirt. His torso was slick with sweat but the bandage was still in place.
He tore it loose and removed the small radio from