Papercuts by Colin Bateman

Author:Colin Bateman [Bateman, Colin]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781784974015
Publisher: Head of Zeus

CHAPTER 6

THE EAGLE HAS CRASH LANDED

Rob was a hero. Absolutely no doubt about it. He saved a young woman’s life. He gave her the kiss of life. ‘Even if she didn’t need it,’ said Pete, and they all laughed as they scoffed the buns Alix bought to celebrate his selfless act.

The thing about journalism – about reporting – is that mostly you’re reporting after the fact, you’re not usually there when major news events occur, or even minor ones. But sometimes, sometimes, right place, right time. And occasionally you become part of the story. Rob was only there because he was doing something that he really should have delegated to one of his team. Someone, possibly angered at featuring in one of their stories, or maybe it was just a passing vandal, but anyway, someone had spray-painted the word ‘tit’ across the delivery van. It was in silver paint, and in large letters, and it was very noticeable. It had happened exactly a week ago, and Gerry kept promising to have it removed, but nothing seemed to happen. Rob wasn’t exactly filled with confidence when Gerry said, ‘Sure, there’s no such thing as bad advertising,’ while Janine rolled her eyes and said, ‘That’s bollocks.’

Sean, who used the van more than most, scooting around town to take his photographs, said that he would be in severe danger of biting off his own tongue if he had to put up with another week of people calling him a tit or, even worse, joked about him driving the tit-mobile. But still Gerry wouldn’t come up with the petty cash to have it cleaned off, so Rob just threw up his hands and said he would get it done himself. He was pretty sure it wouldn’t take long – one of those high- powered hoses would do the job, and didn’t he pass a car wash every morning on the drive into work? He’d nip out in the van at lunchtime and get it done and then present the receipt to Gerry and demand that he immediately make good on it, and if he didn’t come up with the cash he’d... probably do nothing much. But it still needed to be done. The tit-mobile was becoming a laughing stock.

So at lunchtime, which was a sausage roll and a Mars Bar, both taken on the hoof, Rob drove over to the car wash, which was set up in the forecourt of a long-abandoned petrol station on Abbey Street. There was a somewhat tattered poster promising the world hanging across the entrance, and a largish wooden hut. When he drove up, a stubble-faced man in a shell suit came up to his window and said, ‘All right, mate? What’re you for?’

Rob said, ‘Take a wild guess.’

The guy stood back, noticed the graffiti for the first time, gave a short nod and said, ‘Fair enough.’ He moved up to the ‘tit’ and ran his fingernail along the paint, before examining it. ‘No bother,’ he said. ‘Eight quid.’

‘Eight quid,’ said Rob.

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