The Baby And The Brandy (Ben Bracken 1) by Robert Parker Read Free Book Online

get up, she has to bend awkwardly, almost comically.
    ‘What can I do?’ she whispers, barely audibly.
    ‘Zoe, you can start by telling if there’s anything I should know,’ Jack whispers back.
    Zoe let’s go and glances over at me. She looks unsure of me, and vulnerable. I smile over to her again, to try to reassure her. I don’t want to scare her off if she has any light to shed. I motion to stand.
    ‘I can give you guys some time, if you like?’ I say, knowing full well I intend to go nowhere.
    ‘No, it’s fine. Zoe this is...’ Jack opens his palm to me, allowing me to fill in the blanks. A smart, respectful move which I am grateful for, allowing me to construct the lie on which to base my future. I haven’t thought of a false name yet, but I am blessed with one of the most popular names in the UK.
    ‘Ben,’ I reply as warmly as I can.
    ‘Ben is an old friend of mine. He is completely trustworthy, and he is experienced in affairs like ours,’ Jack says.
    Interesting. What affairs are these?
    ‘Hi,’ says Zoe, offering her hand. I shake it. She is cold but that’s only the low temperature of the morning. She seems most genuine. I’m surprised that it was that easy to get into her good graces - maybe she too is an astute judge of character? Or is she simply naive? - but these appear to be times of crisis. She turns back to Jack.
    ‘I really want to ask how you’re doing, but I would imagine that would be a bit... counter-productive,’ she says to Jack, standing over him, but taking a step back so she can see him fully.
    ‘On the money as always,’ Jack replies. Zing. Not what I was expecting, as it is becoming increasingly apparent that there is an interesting dynamic at play between these two. They seem bound to each other, in some way, but Jack certainly seems to hold some misgivings.
    ‘Funeral is at three a week yesterday. The best the crem could offer. Everything’s taken care of. Grandad thought you’d like to be free of the hassle.’
    ‘Six foot tall to six feet deep in six days flat. Is that about the sum of it?’ Jack looks at her sharply. Zoe sighs and tries to brush it off. I’m staying out of this one, at least until I’m invited to comment. The questions I have for Jack are mounting.
    ‘It’s at Altrincham Crem, Jack. Grandad said that was your Dad’s - Royston’s - wishes.’ says Zoe, to which Jack arches his eyebrows.
    ‘Hey, what do I know, right?’ he replies.
    Zoe looks back at him, her brow wilting like a Bassett Hound’s. She looks exhausted, hurting, committed but most obviously sad. Silence sits for a moment, punctuated by a distant echoing swipe splack of a tee shot somewhere on the golf course.
    Then suddenly, Jack combusts. He stands so quickly his chair flips backwards onto the decking, his glass of gin and juice smashing on the wood. His words come out like machine-gun fire, with such force that Zoe has to take a step back.
    ‘I will tear this fucking city to shreds. I promise you. I will drag every dark corner out into the light. Why my dad? Why Royston Brooker? Why him? He was no junky, no snitch, and you know it. He always did the right thing by me, by you...’
    Zoe stands firm, and doesn’t break eye contact. If this were a TV show I would be reaching for the popcorn - my eyes flitting back and forth between the two like I’m watching a tennis match that has devolved to non-physical warfare.
    ‘Now, your Grandad has taken care of everything in death, but where the fuck was he in life? It’s no good making hasty funeral arrangements, if he could have done something about this. He is with you for that sole reason, isn’t he? Under the wing, in house, that’s what it was about wasn’t it? Under that golden fucking umbrella? Well, I’ve got news for you, it turns out that that golden umbrella isn’t bulletproof!’
    Jack turns away, and exhales loudly, as if preparing for round two. Zoe still says nothing but watches him with strength. I am