Spares - Michael Marshall Smith [5]
Then he turned back to me, eyebrows raised in friendly resignation. In one sighing breath he asked, “Where are these guests now and just how much un-happiness am I risking by letting them into my life, however fucking briefly?”
“I left them downstairs,” I said, realizing that I ought to get back to them very soon, whichever way this went. Mal’s building is where bad people go to have fun. That’s why he’s paranoid—and also why he likes it. “I just need to leave them with you for an hour, then we’re out of here.”
“Why didn’t you call ahead?”
“When I want to ask old friends for lunatic favors I like to do it in person. Also, I didn’t have any change.”
“And the trouble rating?”
“What scale are you talking?” I was gabbling, strung tight. I had to let Mal see I was okay, because otherwise he was likely to get freaked. Being freaked would in fact have been a reasonable reaction, but I didn’t want him to know that yet.
“One to ten.”
“I don’t know,” I said, suddenly giving in and getting panicky. “At least ten, possibly higher, certainly getting worse by the minute.”
Mal let go of the door.
“Get them up here.”
I let out a short exhalation of relief. “Mal…”
“Yeah, all that,” he said, brushing my thanks aside. “And then you’re going to go get me a jar of Japanese pickles. I forgot I’d run out.”
“I’m going into the city. On the way back I’ll get you the biggest jar of Samoy I can find.”
Mal rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Samoy pickles are from hunger. Get me Frapan or nothing.”
“For a guy who eats so much you’ve got terrible fucking taste.”
“You got that right,” he said, shaking his head again. “Look at my choice of friends.”
I grinned and walked the couple of yards to the shadowy stairwell. I thought I was going to have to shout, but I saw Suej’s face in the darkness, upturned anxiously toward me, and just gestured instead. Suej turned to David and they corralled the others up. Mal and I waited while they trooped upstairs, Mal’s face eloquent with laconic intrigue. Out in the slightly less murky light of the corridor the skin on his face looked a little ruddier than it had, and there were lines around his eyes which hadn’t been there when last I’d seen him.
We’re getting old, I thought. Suddenly we’re nearly forty and getting old.
David was the first to reach the landing. He came up with his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans, limping slightly from where his leg had been operated on. The jeans had originally been mine, and were inexpertly folded up at the bottoms and belted tight around his waist. David looked younger than his fifteen years, even though his face was still set with the belligerence it had assumed the moment we left the Farm. Jenny came up right behind him, huddled into her coat and still looking frightened and alone. I’d tried to patch things up with her in the last twenty-four hours, but she still thought she was to blame, and I hadn’t really had time to convince her otherwise.
Suej came up next, leading Nanune by the hand. Suej looked okay, like a normal fourteen-year-old, apart from the scar on her face. Nanune looked scared shitless, and with only one leg was having difficulty climbing the stairs. When she reached the top she caught sight of me, and appeared momentarily relieved, which was nice. It’s been a long time since anyone has looked relieved to see my face.
And then finally Mr. Two, carrying the bundle in his arms. Mal coped reasonably well with the rest of them, but when he saw a teenager who stood about six five, carrying a small brown bag with a head protruding from it, I did catch a twitch on his face. Mr. Two stood straight-backed on the landing, glared abruptly both ways, and then let his head drop as if he’d been switched off. The spare in the bag said, “Nap.”
Come on, guys, I thought to myself. Let’s try to act like normal people.
“Is your friend letting us rest here?” Suej asked.
I nodded. It was