Her Last Call To Louis MacNeice by Ken Bruen Read Free Book Online

with flowers. The logo shouts ‘Say It With Flowers’. A bunch of pink roses, they didn’t have a whole lot of chat. Lisa said, ‘They’re lovely.’
    What else could she add. She’d answered the door in nowt but a slip.
    ‘How does the postman react?’ I asked.
    ‘To what.’
    Well fuckit, cancel the witty repartee. She gave me a large scotch and as I got behind that, I noticed she’d a gold chain round her ankle.
    ‘Why do you wear a chain on yer foot?’
    ‘It’s called a slave bracelet.’
    ‘That must set women’s rights back a few years.’
    Not appreciated. Anger made her face ugly, blended with the knowledge she’d suspected the very same thing.
    ‘Are you calling me a bimbo?’
    ‘Whoa, slow down babe, you can hang it from your ass, see if I could give a fuck.’
    She bent down to get a book, giving me a flash that hit like hope.
    ‘I read things you know. Look, I’ve got Carrie Fisher’s book.’
    ‘One of the greats.’
    ‘Do you read her?’
    ‘Bloody hell, I can almost quote her.’
    ‘Do you know this bit?’
    “Here’s how men think:
    Sex
    Work
    Food
    Sports
    Relationships.”’
    She looked so eager as she read this. I felt a complete bastard but I’d signed on, so I said, ‘Not much escapes the bold Carrie. And, how do women score.’
    ‘Oh she’s so right, she says women think:
    “Relationships
    Relationships
    Relationships
    Work
    Sex
    Shopping
    Weight
    Food.”’
    I said, ‘Wanna sit over here babe?’
    ‘OK.’
    I got my hand under that slip and got hot. As we got to the deposit till, she pushed me off, said, ‘Don’t be so rough.’
    Alas, I’d gone a tad too far down the jackpot road, was in the area of sexual bravado, whispered, ‘You’re a slave, do what the master commands.’
    And she threw a drink in my face. I roared, ‘The fuck you think you’re doing?’
    ‘I want to be wooed.’
    ‘What!’
    ‘Romance – and the cinema. You don’t respect me.’
    I stood up, headed out, added quiet, ‘Bolix.’ I wanted only Cassie, blind to all else.
    The flowers were by the door but they’d nowt to add, not even goodbye.
    Outside, I experienced the sense of being stalked. I had to figure it could be cops but it was too eerie. Physically shook myself to get back on track. Muttered ‘get real’, or failing that, ‘get real bloody vicious’.
    I’d been handling Cassie all wrong. Coming on hardass was where she lived. If there was a next time, I’d be Mr Diplo-fuckin’-matic till I cornered. Then, we’d rock ’n’ roll.

    A wino was witnessing ‘I was never a social drinker, only a social security drinker.’ I’d asked Doc if his boozin’ had been as serious as he told it. He’d answered, ‘Lemme put it this way. I was living in Bradford for six months before I realized it was Darlington.’
    Quite.
    I still had the Astra, I dunno why. It’s a woman’s car in truth. If you need a second car, then it’s as good as any. But for the main event, the numero uno, the big friggin’ cheese, it’s window dressing. Got home and planned a slow evening of strong drink. The phone went.
    ‘Dave?’
    ‘Yeah … hey … Doc, is that you?’
    He never called me by my Christian name, I actively discouraged it. Only when heavy shit went down did he resort to it. Right now, I’d swear he was sobbing, his voice sounded broken.
    ‘Dave, it’s Laura – she’s dead.’
    ‘What!’
    ‘It’s true Dave – she went under a train … oh God.’
    Now he was sobbing, I said, ‘I’m on my way buddy, just hang tight … OK.’
    ‘OK.’
    The flaming Astra wouldn’t start. Then I realized I was flooding the engine and forced myself to calm down … OK … OK … try again. Burned rubber outa there.
    As I drove I could hear Doc in my head, the thousand things he’d said. Once, ‘You never hear of Tom Leonard?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Ah, you ignoramus, he proposed that long-term prisoners be given the freedom to purchase their own cells.’
    The police cars were parked