Night Warriors 3 Night Plague by Graham Masterton

Author:Graham Masterton
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

SIX

Rotten Rags

THE TELEPHONE WAS RINGING WHEN STANLEY AND ANGIE Arrived back at Stanley's flat at half past seven that morning.

They had driven Gordon home first and then borrowed Gordon's car to get back to Langton Street. Stanley had been obliged to let Angie do the driving, even though she hadn't yet passed her test. He had never driven a car with a manual gearbox before—especially not a shuddering, rusty, rubbish-littered junker like Gordon's Montego.

The morning was gloomy and fogbound, and even though it wasn't raining, the deserted streets of Fulham and Chelsea were shining with wet. It was so bitterly cold that Stanley had kept his hands thrust deep in his pockets.

He first heard the phone as he slotted the key into the downstairs door. "What are you going to do?" he asked Angie. "Drive straight back to Herbert Gardens or stay for some breakfast?"

"Ain't you going to answer the phone?" Angie wanted to know.

"It's a wrong number, more than likely. I get dozens of them. 'Is Stephanie in?' mostly. I think this flat used to be rented by the most industrious call girl in Fulham. Don't worry, if it's all that important, they'll call back later."

Angie looked at her wristwatch. "All right, I'll 'ave a cup of coffee. Don't s'pose Brenda and Sharon are awake yet, anyway. They usually 'ave a lie-in, Saturdays."

They went upstairs, and Stanley opened the door to his flat. The phone continued to ring, but he didn't answer it straightaway. He drew back the curtains and switched on the lights first, and stripped off his coat. Only then did he pick up the receiver and tuck it under his chin.

"Miss Thomson doesn't live here any more, I'm sorry to say," he answered. Then he paused and listened, and the expression on his face slowly melted from tired-flippant to tired-serious, "Eve? Eve, what's wrong?"

He placed his hand over the receiver and said to Angie, "It's my ex. She's calling from San Francisco."

Angie had dropped on to the big brown sofa and was sitting with her knees tucked up. There were violet smudges of exhaustion under her eyes. She didn't say anything, but untied the ribbon around her firework-style hair and shook it loose like a poodle.

Eve said, "What time is it? I tried to call you earlier, but there was no reply."

"It's seven thirty-five in the morning."

"Did I wake you?"

"I've been out. That's why you couldn't get me before." "You've been out all night?"

"Eve, we're not married any more. I can do what I like." "Stanley, my father's had a coronary. He's very, very sick." "I'm sorry to hear that, Eve. Where is he?"

"He's still in Napa right now, but Dr. Fishman is talking about transferring him to the Polk Clinic in San Francisco when he's strong enough."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that, Eve. Is he conscious?"

"He can understand what we say to him, but he can't speak just yet."

"Well, tell him how sorry I am—and if there's anything that I can do . ."

"As a matter of fact, Stanley, that's why I'm calling.

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