Hell Is Always Today by Jack Higgins Read Free Book Online Page B

frequently and with great success on the films. The Gunner swayed a couple of inches and the punch slid across his shoulder. His left fist screwed into the sailor’s solar plexus, his right connected with the edge of the jaw, slamming him back against the far wall from which he rebounded to fall on his face unconscious.
    The Gunner turned, untying the cord of his dressing-gown. “How’ve you been keeping them, darlin?’ he demanded cheerfully.
    “But Gunner—what happened?” she said.
    “They had me in the infirmary for a check-up. One of the screws got a bit dozy so I took my chance and hopped it. Got any clothes?”
    She opened a drawer, took out a clean towel and gave it to him, an expression of wonder still on her face. “No—nothing that would do for you.”
    “Never mind—I’ll take this bloke’s uniform.” He turned her round and slapped her backside. “Find me something to drink, there’s a girl. It was no joke out there in this rig-out on a night like this.”
    She went into the kitchen and he could hear her opening cupboards as he stripped and scrubbed himself dry. He had the sailor’s trousers and shirt on and was trying to squeeze his feet into the shoes when she returned.
    He tossed them into the corner in disgust. “No bloody good. Two sizes too small. What have you got there?”
    “Sherry,” she said. “It’s all I could find. I was never much of a drinker—remember?”
    The bottle was about half-full and he uncorked it and took a long swallow. He wiped a hand across his mouth with a sigh of pleasure as the wine burned its way into his stomach.
    “Yes, I remember all right.” He emptied the bottle and dropped it on the floor. “I remember lots of things.”
    He opened her kimono gently, and his sigh seemed to echo into forever. Still sitting on the edge of the bed, he pulled her close to him, burying his face in her breasts.
    She ran her fingers through his hair and said urgently, “Look, Gunner, you’ve got to get moving.”
    “There’s always time for this,” he said and looked up at her, his eyes full of grey smoke. “All the time in the world.”
    He fell back across the bed, pulling her down on top of him and there was a knock on the door.
    Doreen jumped up, pulling her kimono about her and demanded loudly. “Who is it?”
    The voice that replied was high and clear. “Mrs. Goldberg, dear. I’d like a word with you.”
    “My landlady,” Doreen whispered and raised her voice. “Can’t it wait?”
    “I’m afraid not, dear. It really is most urgent.”
    “What am I going to do?” Doreen demanded desperately. “She’s a funny old bird. She could make a lot of trouble for me.”
    “Does she know you’re on the game?” the Gunner demanded.
    “At fifteen quid a week for this rat-trap? What do you think?”
    “Fair enough.” The Gunner rolled the unconscious sailor under the bed, lay on it quickly, head propped up against a pillow and helped himself to a cigarette from a packet on the bedside locker. “Go on, let her in now. I’m just another client.”
    Mrs. Goldberg called out again impatiently and started to knock as Doreen crossed to the door and opened it on the chain. The Gunner heard the old woman say, “I must see you, my dear. It’s very, very urgent.”
    Doreen shrugged and unfastened the chain. She gave a cry of dismay as the door was pushed back sending her staggering across the room to sprawl across the Gunner on the bed.
    Nick Miller moved in, Brady at his side, the local patrolman behind them, resplendent in black crash helmet and foul-weather gear.
    “All right then, Gunner,” Miller said cheerfully. “Let’s be having you.”
    The Gunner laughed out loud. “Another five minutes and I’d have come quietly, Mr. Miller, but to hell with this for a game of soldiers.”
    He gave the unfortunate Doreen a sudden, violent push that sent her staggering into Miller’s arms, sprang from the bed and was into the kitchen before anyone could make a