The cloud maker by Patrick Woodhead

Author:Patrick Woodhead [Patrick Woodhead]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Policier
ISBN: 9781848091160
Published: 2009-09-22T09:09:40+00:00

Chapter 32

‘Another.’

A glass was slammed down on to the table top. With considerable effort René shifted his bulk forward on his chair, craning his neck so that his eyes were level with the diminutive Tibetan barman’s.

‘Fill me up, Shamar.’

With laudable strength of character, the barman shook his head. Picking up the half-empty bottle of brandy, he placed it right at the back of the glass shelving over the bar.

‘Mr Falkus, I think you drink too much tonight.’

René shook his head wearily. He turned and focussed his bleary eyes on the Westerner sitting across the table from him.

‘You see that? I’m not allowed into my own bar and now I can’t even get a drink at this shit hole. It’s worse than prison.’

He’d started to raise himself to his feet, his bear-like chest expanding in the process, when his companion intervened.

‘Come on, Shamar, the man needs a drink.’

From the top pocket of his khaki shirt, he pulled out a wad of grubby notes and peeled off three ten-yuan bills which he placed on the counter. The barman shrugged and turned away to reach for the brandy. ‘You drink too much, Mr Falkus,’ he repeated. ‘I sorry for you.’

René sat down heavily and his friend returned with the bottle.

‘Yeah, well, I’m sorry. You’re sorry. We’re all sorry. Now I have to head off into the mountains to go and help the bastard Chinese find those boys. I’ve got to lead them right to them. And for what? I’ll tell you what. To save what I already fucking owned.’

René’s companion poured a shot of brandy into each glass and waited for the rant to continue.

‘Have you any idea how much I hate the mountains? Those endless bloody paths and horrible leeches . . . size of your damn’ fingers. But what’s really going to drive me crazy is having that son-of-a-bitch captain following me every step of the way. He’ll be like the worst leech of all, sitting on the underside of my balls.’

René shook his head, suddenly feeling very tired. He had spent two full days awake in the PSB headquarters and even a swift injection of alcohol wasn’t doing much to lighten his mood. He had been released for a few hours to prepare his trekking equipment, with Anu being kept in the police cells to ensure he returned. But having made his way home, he had found his restaurant closed, official tape stretched across the front door and a policeman barring his way. Eventually he had phoned an old friend of his in the travel business who’d agreed to lend him some equipment.

‘You’d think eight years here would count for something, wouldn’t you?’ he said, anger suddenly turning to melancholy. ‘You’d think it’d give you some security, some foothold. But just like that’ – René clicked his fingers – ‘they can take it all away. Now I’ve got to betray the very people I wanted to help.’

‘Stop beating yourself up about it, René. It was their decision to go into the restricted area, and you shouldn’t have to pay for their mistake.

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