Not the End of the World (Christopher Brookmyre) by the End of the World (v0.9) Not

Author:the End of the World (v0.9) Not [Not, the End of the World]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2012-12-12T15:16:15+00:00

twelve.

Larry felt a sickening sensation in his guts as he watched the two of them sit and stare at the printout. He’d always thought nothing could match the hollow feeling of that first time you informed someone their loved one was dead; something that never became easy, but was never again quite so wounding. He remembered that woman’s face still, the name of her murdered son, his street name, the address, the screen door, the beat‐up Hyundai in the drive.

This came pretty close.

What made it worse was his guilt at opting to let them read the file instead of telling them straight out. But how the hell did you break something as weird and fucked‐up as this? And to two people in the shape they were in?

Neither of them had said much since Larry got them into his car. They seemed dazed, slightly disconnected, like they were taking a time‐out from whatever screwed‐up game was being played here. The reality of what had happened today would be hitting them only in instalments. As the images and details returned to their consciousness they’d find it hard to believe these were things they were actually remembering rather than imagining; then they’d feel the truth of it, cold and hard as a mortuary slab.

The girl had done what she was told and lain down in the back, the guy sitting up‐front and just staring, like one of those plastic dolls women put in the passenger seat when they’re driving downtown at night. She was wearing a light cotton sundress and her hair was wet. Looked like she’d just stepped out of the bath on a hot summer’s day – until you saw what was in her eyes.

Larry hadn’t paid a shitload of attention to the stories about her in the papers or on TV, having little interest in either Senator Witherson or pornography. He didn’t know what he thought a porno actress was supposed to look like, but he was pretty sure this wasn’t it. Mind you, nobody looks much like themselves when they’ve been scared out of their minds.

The guy had this pissed‐off look on his face, but not an especially pissed‐off look. It was like this was merely the latest in a long line of inconveniences.

‘Whaaat a friend we have in Jeee‐suuus,’ he’d sung, glancing out of the rolled‐down window.

‘You okay there, man?’ Larry asked him, worried the guy might be in shock.

‘Ay,’ he said. ‘Sorry, that’s “yes” to you.’

‘I know what “ay” means, Mr Kennedy.’

‘Oh right. I’m fine. I just couldn’t help singing after my spiritual experience this morning. Tell me, Sergeant, have you found God yet?’

Larry looked around at him warily. ‘Yeah, but he had an alibi,’ he said.

‘Well, if I was you I’d take him doon the cells for a good kicking anyway.’

The guy’s jeans were damp and his T-shirt wet and bloody. When they reached the precinct‐house Larry got him an LAPD sweatshirt and some running pants from his own locker, figuring they’d be the only spare clothes that would fit him.

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