Doctor Who_ Warlock - Andrew Cartmel [30]
‘You didn’t have enough money,’ said Ace, caught up in the story.
‘Wrong! I had plenty of money. No, the total on the till comes to six pounds and sixty‐six pence; six‐six‐six. Get it? It’s like fate. I’m looking at the total and then I look at the girl and she’s looking at me and I know we’re thinking exactly the same thing. I mean, six‐six‐six. It’s like destiny. The number of the frigging beast, right? Here in squeaky clean Marks and Spencer. And I know this is exactly what’s flashing through her mind too. And I think, well, this is one spaced‐out hippy chick who’s got a dark side. Which right away turns me on. So I look at this depraved satanic beauty and stare her right in the eye and I ask her out.’
‘No you didn’t. I asked you out.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Jack, burying his nose in his beer as he took a deep swallow. He emerged, grinning and dripping, licking the tips of his soaked moustache. ‘Delicious.’
‘You’re disgusting,’ said Shell.
Jack turned to Ace and winked. ‘Oddly enough, that’s exactly what she said to me on that day, about thirty seconds after we met. Because the next thing you know she was back at my lodgings, rooting in my underpants with unseemly enthusiasm. By the way, that’s him over there.’
The sudden change of subject caught Ace off guard. For a moment she didn’t know what Jack was talking about. Then she saw the expression of blank hostility that had formed on Shell’s face. Ace followed her gaze and saw a tall young man with long blond hair striding in, ducking as he passed through the low, crooked doorway of the pub.
‘That’s the guy who works at the labs. I told you that he drinks in here now and then.’
The man pressed through the crowd of young bodies, moving deeper into the small smoky pub. On his way to the bar he brushed past their table and Jack caught his gaze and the two men nodded.
As the blond moved on towards the bar, Shell leaned across the table and hissed at Jack. ‘What was that about?’
‘Just saying hello.’
‘Saying hello? He works at that place. He does those things to the animals.’
‘So, I bought the guy a beer once.’
‘You did what?’
‘I bought him a beer and had a chat with him. So sue me. His name’s Sean. He’s from Scotland, oddly enough.’
Shell was clearly furious. ‘Are you going senile?’
Jack smiled at Ace. ‘Shell here believes that things are very clear‐cut. Black and white. Dividing lines, and never the twain shall meet. Sort of a yin‐yang, like those rabbits tattooed under her ears. But yin‐yang with bloodshed instead of balance and harmony.’
‘That man is our enemy.’
‘So of course I should never have a drink and chat with him.’
‘Why did you do it?’
‘To find out what sort of person he is.’
‘We know what kind of person he is.’
‘Shell is very inflexible in her emotions. Once she takes against you, watch out.’
‘What did you have to gain? What if someone saw you talking to him? What if our friends saw you?’
‘They’d think I was enlightened enough to try and make contact with another human being, even if he stands for everything we hate.’
‘I’m beginning to wonder about you.’
‘Listen, Shell, I thought maybe I could get through to this guy. Win him over to our cause without violence.’
‘And did you?’
‘I was making progress.’
‘Progress?’ Shell snorted. ‘Do you know what he’s been doing while you’ve been making progress?’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’
Shell turned to Ace, her tattoos standing out in bright contrast on the flaming red of her angry face. ‘That man drives the van for the lab. “Driving the van” is a euphonism –’
‘Euphemism,’ corrected Jack.
‘A euphemism.