Pressure Head by JL Merrow

Author:JL Merrow [Merrow, JL]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2017-12-04T05:00:00+00:00

I knocked off early that day, had beans on toast for supper, and headed straight down to the pub.

There were a few old regulars in the Rats Castle, plus some loud lads from an office somewhere. I ignored them as best I could, and they bogged off just after seven, which left me in peace to get rat-arsed.

How did Phil do this? All the lying, the sneaking around behind people’s backs?

I suppose I’d got pretty good at switching off my dubious talent over the years. Ignoring all the stuff I didn’t want to know about. Even when it’s mates—especially when it’s mates—there’s always stuff they don’t want you to know about, and generally speaking, they’re right. Some things you’re just better off not knowing.

But Phil’s job was to rake up all that dirt, just on the off chance it might have some bearing on the case. How could he do this, day after day?

I think I must have texted him to ask him at some point, because when I looked blearily up at the shadow falling over my sixth or seventh or eighth pint, I saw it was Phil.

“What do you think you’re doing, Tom?” He had a smooth voice. Flowed all over me like whiskey. No ice, just tingling warmth.

“Turning it off. See?” I held up my pint, struggling to work out whether to focus on the glass or Phil, and eventually giving it all up as a bad job. A fair amount of beer sloshed onto the table, ran along the surface, and started dripping onto my jeans. “Buggrit. ’S working, though. Couldn’t find the Thames right now from a standing start in Docklands.” I laughed. All right, maybe I chortled. “Couldn’t find my arse—” I belched “—with my elbow.”

“Yeah, well, I think you’d find most people have a problem with that one. Come on, I think it’s time you went home.”

“Am home,” I protested. “An Englishman’s pub is . . . is his castle,” I said, sweeping my arm to indicate the interior of the Rats. My jeans got even wetter, and I was worried for a moment I might have embarrassed myself, until I realised I was still holding my pint. What was left of it, anyway. “Oops.” I was about to move the beer to the safety of my stomach, but it disappeared. I looked around for it and saw Phil was holding a glass. I frowned. “Did you just nick my pint?”

“Trust me, you don’t need it.” He put it on the table and reached down to grab my arm. “Come on, time for bed.”

I sniggered. “Think I’m easy, do you?”

“No, I just think you’re rat-arsed.”

“Rat-arsed. In the Rats.” I sniggered again. “That’s a . . . that’s a . . . Whassat?”

“It’s about time you got some fresh air. Not to mention fresh jokes.” Phil took a firmer hold of my elbow. “This way.”

It got cold, suddenly, and I realised that somehow we’d left the pub and gone outside. “’S cold,” I muttered, shivering.

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