Timlin Ashes By Now

1. Auflage 2015
ISBN: 978-1-84344-625-5
Verlag: No Exit Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, Band 9, 224 Seiten

Reihe: A Nick Sharman Novel

When a police officer's daughter was found raped and murdered, Sailor Grant, the local nonce, was sent down. Sharman always had his doubts, but that part of his life is over. Now, Sailor is out of prison and keeps phoning Sharman to help him get justice, but Nick wants to be left alone. When Sailor is found dead and Sharman is half beaten to death by the local coppers, Nick realises that he must find the truth about the events from his past before those close to him are killed.

In over twenty years as an author, Mark Timlin has written some thirty novels under many different names, including best selling books as Lee Martin, innumerable short stories, an anthology and numerous articles on diverse subjects for various newspapers and magazines.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Timlin, Mark

Leseproben

2

I stayed seated on the bed and watched them get ready to go out. Sometimes I think that watching women get dressed is hornier than watching them get undressed. It was with these two anyway. They were professional undressers. They were used to it. And when they did it in front of me, it was like I was just another punter. Which I was. But when they got dressed it was more intimate. I could imagine they weren’t just there for the money, and the feeling seemed to get to them too. They appeared younger, more innocent and less hard. I expect it was just my imagination, but I didn’t care.

Dawn put on a low-cut black bra which pushed her quite spectacular breasts up and apart, hitched a black suspender belt around her waist, rolled black fishnet stockings up her legs and fastened them tight. Over the bra she wore a thin white shirt, through which you could clearly see the outline of what was underneath. Then she struggled into a short, tight, black leather skirt and put on a matching leather jacket. She pushed her feet into high-heeled black shoes with very pointed toes, smeared pink lipstick across her mouth, ran her fingers through her blonde bouffant and was ready. She never wore knickers. Not when she wasn’t working. She said she liked it better without, and who was I to argue?

Tracey chose black underwear too. A see-through bra and a tiny pair of transparent knickers under a T-shirt and snow-washed jeans so tight they needed zips on the bottoms of the legs to allow her to get her bare feet through them, which she then squeezed into white stilettos. Over the whole ensemble she wore a shiny black plastic mac belted at the waist. She slapped on some greasy red lipstick, pouted at herself in the mirror, combed her short yellow hair and she too was ready for whatever the night would bring.

Me? I was wearing jeans of that dangerous age, when one more wash might mean self-destruction, black leather baseball boots, and a white cowboy-style shirt. I took my old leather jacket off the hook behind the door, and I was ready too.

We went downstairs to the street and turned in the direction of their local. It was a big, Victorian pub, close to Wandsworth prison, called the Halfway House. Once upon a time it must have had as many as half a dozen bars, but now it just had two: a big saloon bar and an even bigger public bar, with three pool tables, a permanent karaoke set-up, and a DJ’s booth perched in one corner between massive speakers and a chrome scaffold that supported a full light show.

It was only just after opening time when we arrived and the place was pretty well deserted.

We went into the saloon, and Tracey and Dawn went over to a table whilst I scared up a round of drinks. Between seven and nine on a Sunday was euphemistically called ‘Happy Hour’, so I had to wait whilst the barman made up a Long Island iced tea and a Pink Lady. I ordered a pint of lager to keep me company while he mixed them.

‘How’s it going?’ he asked as he did the business.

Do you know, I couldn’t remember?

‘Can’t complain,’ I said. My voice sounded strange, and I couldn’t remember when I’d last spoken either.

‘Not much point if you do,’ he said.

I had a horrible feeling we were going to get into cliché hell.

‘Too true,’ I said, and lit a cigarette.

‘Still, could be worse,’ he said.

I nodded.

He put the first of the cocktails up on the bar. ‘You seem to be doing all right for yourself.’ He looked over in obvious admiration at my companions.

I nodded again.

‘Lovely girls,’ he said. ‘I caught their show the other week at the Sportsman.’

‘Did you now?’ I said.

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I’ve always been a great admirer of the naked female form myself.’

He was about five foot two, maybe fifty-five, maybe a little older, with thin dark hair going grey at the edges, the kind of face a weasel would consider distinguished, and he spoke with a slight Irish lilt to his voice.

‘Did you enjoy it?’ I asked, as he deftly prepared the Pink Lady.

‘Marvellous stuff. Marvellous stuff.’ Suddenly he realised that he might be stepping on a few corns. ‘No offence meant of course, sir.’

‘None taken,’ I said. ‘I’ve always been a great admirer of the naked female form myself.’

He smiled in relief. ‘That’s all right then. As long as you didn’t mind me saying so. Of course I’ve nothing but the greatest respect for Dawn and Tracey. A pair of real ladies I always say.’

‘That’s good,’ I said. ‘I’m glad you always say that. I always say that myself. It’s always gratifying to find someone who agrees with me about so much.’

He put the second cocktail next to the first and totted up the bill. I paid him with a tenner, and got about enough change to keep my car on a parking meter for half an hour.

He looked at the few coins on the bar sadly and said, ‘Sure, the cost of living’s going up all the time, isn’t it?’

I pushed them back over to him and said, ‘Have one on me.’

His face lit up like a sunrise and the coins vanished into his pocket quicker than it takes to tell.

‘Thank you very kindly,’ he said. ‘And have a splendid evening.’ He looked wistfully over at Tracey and Dawn.

‘Thank you,’ I replied. ‘I intend to.’ And I picked up the drinks and took them over to the table.

‘He took his time, didn’t he?’ complained Tracey when I arrived.

‘If you must drink things like this, what do you expect?’ I said.

Dawn looked over at the bar where the barman was still gazing in our direction.

‘He’s a filthy little bugger, him,’ she said. ‘He comes creeping round to see us on his day off. Sits right up the front, and he never even blinks in case he might miss something.’

She stuck her finger into Tracey’s Pink Lady, and licked the sticky mess off whilst looking straight at the barman.

His eyes widened, and after a few seconds he went to see if anyone wanted serving in the other bar.

Tracey and Dawn giggled.

‘He’s chicken, though,’ said Tracey. ‘He only looks, don’t do nothing else.’

‘I know,’ said Dawn. ‘I met him down the butcher’s the other day and asked him to show me his meat. He went bright red and ran away.’

‘Didn’t he say nothing?’ asked Tracey.

‘No. I expect he was saving his breath for when he got home and blew up his rubber girlfriend.’

Their giggles turned to gales of laughter at that example of Dawn’s wit, and I began to feel a bit sorry for the poor bloke. Once these two got you in their sights you were a dead man.

‘So where we gonna eat, Nick?’ asked Dawn, after their laughter subsided.

‘You want Chinese don’t you?’ I said.

‘That’s favourite,’ she replied.

‘Let’s go to the Peking Inn then,’ I said.

‘Great,’ said Tracey. ‘Can we have the duck?’

‘Have whatever you like, love,’ I replied.

‘T’riffic,’ she said.

We sat and finished our drinks, and I went up for another round. The little barman avoided me and I got served by the guv’nor of the boozer.

‘How’s tricks?’ he asked.

Here we go again, I thought.

‘Not too bad,’ I said.

‘Ask young Dawn to pop over, will you? – Nick, isn’t it?’

I agreed that it was.

‘There’s a bit of a do on next week. Local football club. They want a bit of entertainment.’

And a bit is probably what they’ll get with that pair, I thought.

‘Good money,’ he said, putting the cocktails on the bar with a wink. ‘Great bunch of lads in the team.’

‘I’ll tell her,’ I said, as I picked up the glasses and went back to the table.

‘Guv’nor wants you,’ I said to Dawn as I sat down. ‘Got a bit of extra work.’

‘Great,’ she said, looked over to the bar, and waved at the landlord.

‘Football team,’ I explained.

‘T’riffic,’ said Tracey.

I had to admit these girls were gluttons for punishment.

Dawn took a sip from her glass and got up and wiggled over the carpet towards the bar. I watched as she went, as did every other member of the largely male clientele who had started to fill the place. I couldn’t blame them. Under the tight leather of her skirt, the movement of her buttocks was sheer poetry.

When I looked back, Tracey gave me a big smile round the edge of her glass. ‘Enjoying yourself, Nick?’ she asked.

She was a kind soul was Trace. A bit dense, but kind nevertheless.

Dawn came back with the details of the engagement and sat down, showing off a lot of stocking top and bare thigh which got a fair amount of comment from the punters.

‘Cheeky buggers,’ she said, and I had to smile. What else did she expect?

I finished my second pint of lager and looked at the sticky dregs of their drinks. ‘We off then?’

We left the place to a few more comments in their direction. They flounced out like they felt insulted, but I knew that they loved it. It was when the comments stopped that they’d have to worry.

We walked down to East Hill where the restaurant was and, it still being comparatively early, got a table with no bother.

The waiters knew Tracey and Dawn well, and brought out the prawn crackers and Liebfraumilch without being asked. How those two could sit and drink Liebfraumilch I’d never know.

I asked for a bottle of Tiger beer, and had a quick squint at the menu.

We settled for prawn and crab meat soup for three, half a crispy duck with all the trimmings, sweet and sour prawns, noodles with...