Ikon by Graham Masterton Read Free Book Online Page B

given him the pole as a present when they were married. This was the first time he had taken it out. The walls of his library were crowded with trophies from his younger days, stuffed and mounted river fish from Virginia to Colorado, badges and medals and certificates; but he hadn’t added a single decent fish to his collection since he had left the Army and sought greater glory in politics.
    Joe said, ‘It was one of those real breaks. One of those real one-in-a-million breaks.’
    ‘Why don’t you change your suit before you tell me?’ Titus snarled at him. ‘You might as well be comfortable.’
    ‘Well,said Joe, trying to be self-deprecating.
    Titus walked across to the Cadillac and climbed into the passenger-seat unbidden, tossing his fishing-bag on to the back seat. The leather upholstery was virgin white, and his waders were very muddy, thick with that black silty Shenandoah bottom-mud; but he figured it would do Joe
    good, to have to sit there and watch his pristine custom-upholstered car being gratuitously besmirched, without being able to do anything about it. Good for his soul.
    Joe changed into his fresh suit behind the upraised trunk. Titus put down his window and called, ‘Don’t be too long about it. Any man without pants is considered fair game in West Virginia.’ Joe reappeared in less than a minute, tucking in his shirt-tails, tightening his tie, sweating and discomfited.
    ‘I was only joking,’ said Titus, as Joe climbed in behind the wheel.
    ‘Well, it’s not a thing to joke about, said Joe. His substitute suit was considerably less ritzy than his first suit, a rather nasty number in light blue locknit, but Titus felt that it probably suited the occasion better. ‘Do you have any of those rotten cheap cigars you smoke?’ he asked.
    Joe opened the glove box and passed over a white hide cigar-case containing four first-quality Havana coronas. Titus took one, crackled it next to his ear, and said, ‘Noise, as well as smoke. You got a cutter? I don’t know why you take so much trouble to prize off those white plastic tips.’
    Joe took the cigar from Titus in long, well-manicured fingers, and clipped a neat V-shape out of the end. Then he passed it back, and took out a box of British Swan Vestas matches, which were his ultimate snobbery. Titus could tell that he felt very uncomfortable in his blue locknit suit, and made a point of rubbing the fabric of his lapel between finger and thumb as Joe lit his cigar for him. ‘Nice stuff/ he said, as he puffed-Tou ought to have it remodelled into a Batman suit.’
    Joe, his face lit by the flickering match, said calmly, ‘We’ve found a hooker who spent the night with Roberts during the 1979 primaries. She’s prepared to say publicly that he asked her to perform some very unnatural acts. She has a friend who may be prepared to be a witness. All her facts and dates and times add up. And, most stunning of all, she has some Polaroids.’
    Titus examined the tip of his cigar to make sure that it
    was burning evenly. ‘You’ve seen the Polaroids for yourself?’
    ‘I’ve got copies of them here.’ Joe reached under the driver’s seat and produced a small buff envelope. He handed it to Titus and watched him closely for his reaction. Titus didn’t open the envelope at first, but tapped it against Joe’s sleeve.
    ‘You’ve tape-recorded the girl’s evidence?’
    ‘Better. Video-recorded it. And the evidence given by her friend.’
    ‘Her friend’s a hooker too?’
    ‘No. A chambermaid at the Las Vegas Futura.’
    Titus opened the envelope and took out the Polaroids. ‘Anything known?’
    ‘On the chambermaid, no. Clean as a whistle. First-class witness.’
    ‘Better and better, said Titus. He held the Polaroids up to the Cadillac’s dome light, and squinted at them narrowly.
    ‘You want your eyeglasses?’ asked Joe Jasper.
    Titus shook his head. ‘I can see what’s going on. A big fat guy in a toupee is lying on a hotel bed while a