Get Carter (The Jack Carter Trilogy #1) by Ted Lewis

Author:Ted Lewis [Lewis, Ted]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-61695-504-5
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2014-09-08T16:00:00+00:00

The night was very black and the roads were very narrow. The windscreen wipers droned on and on. I looked at my watch. The luminous hands said ten past one. If the dance finished at one o’clock it would take him about thirty-five to forty minutes to drive out to Burnham. I’d be ahead of him by about twenty minutes. If the dance didn’t finish until half past one or two o’clock then I’d have a long wait. But I didn’t mind that.

The road dipped and the headlights picked out the sign that said Burnham. I slowed down. It was only a small village and I didn’t want to miss the house.

There wasn’t much chance of that. I stopped the car and wound the window down. Set back from the road on quite a steep rise was a new ranch-style house. All the lights were on. There were a lot of cars parked in the drive and up and down the road. A lot of noise was going on inside but I couldn’t hear much of it. I could only see the people who were making it. The house was packed with kids. A little party for the offspring while Mummy and Daddy kissed the Chief Inspector’s bum. Well, there wasn’t much point in ringing that musical doorbell for a while. I backed the car up on to the grass verge on the opposite side of the road to the house and lit a fag and watched and waited. A few people came out and got into cars and went and one young bloke came out on all fours and was sick all over the begonias but apart from that nothing much happened except that the insides of the windows got steamier and the music got noisier.

About quarter to two a nice new Rover crept down the road and turned into the drive. The car braked abruptly in the middle of the gateway. The engine was turned off. Nothing happened for a minute or two. Then the passenger door opened and Cliff Brumby got out. He looked very nice. He had on a beautiful dark double-breasted overcoat which he wore undone and draped round his shoulders was a tasselled white silk scarf. His height added to his elegant appearance as did his beautifully barbered greying hair. He looked more like Henry Cabot Lodge just come from the White House than a fiddling slot machine king just come from the Police Ball.

He stood looking at the house for a full minute, not moving, his hand on the car door.

“Fuck me,” he said.

He still didn’t move.

“Now Cliff,” came a woman’s voice from inside the car, “don’t get mad. You’ll only regret it.”

Cliff slammed the door of the car, as hard as I’d slammed the door of the car on his boyo earlier in the evening.

“I’ll murder the little bitch,” he said.

“Cliff …” said the woman’s voice.

Cliff strolled up the drive, deliberately not hurrying. He stopped once to look at the young blood sleeping among the begonias.

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