Books of Blood by Clive Barker Read Free Book Online Page A

watchdog,   until he could  bring  in a technician to decode Swann's  defence mechanisms.
    We  were lucky. It was in need of milking. That makes them  unstable.'
    'How do you know so much about all of this?'
    'It's a long story,' said Valentin. 'And not for a cab ride.'
    'So what now?  We  can't drive round in circles all night.'
                       42Valentin looked across at the body that sat between them, prey to every whim of the cab's suspension and road-menders' craft. Gently, he put Swann's hands on his lap.
    'You're right of course,' he said. 'We  have  to make  arrangements for the cremation, as swiftly as possible.'
    The  cab bounced  across a pot-hole. Valentin's face tightened.
    'Are you in pain?' Harry asked him.
    'I've been in worse.'
    'We  could go back to my  apartment, and rest there.'
    Valentin shook his head. 'Not very clever,' he said,
    'it's the first place they'll look.'
    'My offices, then -'
    'The second place.'
    'Well, Jesus, this cab's going to run out  of gas eventually.'
    At this point the driver intervened.
    'Say, did you people mention cremation?'
    'Maybe,' Valentin replied.
    'Only my brother-in-law's got a funeral business out in Queens.'
    'Is that so?' said Harry.
    'Very reasonable rates. I can recommend him. No shit.'
    'Could you contact him now? Valentin said.
    'It's two in the morning.'
    'We're in a hurry.'
    The driver reached up and adjusted his mirror; he was looking at Swann.
    'You don't mind me asking, do you?' he said. 'But is that a body you got back there?'
    'It is,' said Harry. 'And he's getting impatient.'
                       43The driver made a whooping sound. 'Shit!' he said.
    'I've had a woman  drop twins in that seat; I've had whores do business; I even had an alligator back there one time. But this beats them all!' He pondered for a moment, then said: 'You kill him, did you?'
    'No,' said Harry.
    'Guess we'd be heading for the East River if you had,
    eh?'
    'That's right. We just want a decent cremation. And quickly.'
    That's  understandable.'
    'What's your name?' Harry asked him.
    'Winston Jowitt. But everybody calls me Byron. I'm a poet, see? Leastways, I am at weekends.'
    'Byron.'
    'See, any other driver would be freaked out, right?
    Finding two guys with a body in the back seat. But the way  I see it, it's all material.'
    'For the poems.'
    'Right,' said Byron. 'The Muse is a fickle mistress.
    You  have to take it where you find it, you know?
    Speaking of which, you gentlemen got any idea where you want to go?'
    'Make  it your offices,' Valentin told Harry. 'And he can call his brother-in-law.'
    'Good,' said Harry. Then, to Byron:
    'Head west along 45th Street to 8th.'
    'You got it,' said Byron, and the cab's speed doubled in the space of twenty yards. 'Say,' he said, 'you fellows fancy a poem?'
    'Now?' said Harry.
    'I like to improvise,' Byron replied. 'Pick a subject.
    Any  subject.'
    Valentin hugged his wounded arm close. Quietly, he said: 'How about the end of the world?'
                       44'Good subject,' the poet replied, 'just give me a minute or two.'
    'So soon?' said Valentin.
    They took a circuitous route to the offices, while Byron Jowitt tried a selection of rhymes for Apocalypse. The sleep-walkers were out on 45th Street, in search of one high or another; some sat in the doorways, one lay sprawled across the sidewalk. None of them gave the cab or its occupants more  than the briefest perusal.
    Harry unlocked the front door and he and Byron carried Swann up to the third floor.
    The office was home from home: cramped and chaotic. They put Swann in the swivel chair behind the furred coffee cups and the alimony demands heaped on the desk. He looked easily the healthiest of the quartet.
    Byron was sweating like a bull after the climb; Harry felt - and surely looked - as though he hadn't slept in sixty days; Valentin sat slumped in the clients' chair,
    so drained of vitality he might have