Willows and Parker Box Set by Laurence Gough

Author:Laurence Gough [Gough, Laurence]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2019-04-24T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Eddy Orwell and Judith Lundstrom were sitting side by side on matte black padded stools at the veggie bar at Orwell’s gym. Orwell had three tall glasses of lukewarm water lined up in front of him, and one small glass of carrot juice. On the polished wooden counter next to the juice was a paper cup containing his daily intake of vitamin pills. Orwell picked up the cup and shook it gently. The pills made a faint rustling sound. He emptied the cup into the palm of his hand and began eating the pills one by one, washing them down with mouthfuls of water.

Judith sipped her milk, watching him.

Orwell had just finished bench-pressing two tons of iron in increments of 250 pounds. He was pumped up, his blood racing through distended flesh. Judith could see the bulging outline of his muscles through the thick material of his sweatsuit, and she could smell the perfume of his overheated body. He smelled good. He also smelled nervous, worried. It had been more than a month since they’d stopped going out together. Judith had missed Orwell a great deal, but her sense of pride had stopped her from getting in touch with him, despite the temptation.

And now, finally, Orwell had called her.

They were both on their lunch hour. Judith was in her summer uniform — a white blouse and a medium blue A-line skirt, white flats. A dark blue leather purse lay beside her on an empty stool. There was no one else in the veggie bar except the bartender, and he was fifteen feet away, his nose buried in a weightlifting magazine.

Orwell knocked back the last of his pills. His big hand closed over the paper cup, crumpling it. He drank some more water, and swallowed noisily. He’d never been much good at apologies. He felt awkward, and dull. The silence between them started to assume a life of its own, building in intensity.

Judith decided she’d let him stew long enough, that it was time to get the ball rolling. “I had a weird one this morning,” she said.

“Oh yeah?” Orwell gave her his full attention. Being a meter maid was not without its hazards.

“Nice, though.”

Orwell frowned. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He drained the third glass of lukewarm water, wiped the gathered sweat from his face with a fleecy grey sleeve.

“It was a Trans Am,” said Judith. “A black one, with a sunroof and a tinted windscreen.”

“Big eagle on the bonnet, all wings and beak?”

Judith nodded. Like most cops, Eddy knew his cars.

“Meter expired, was it?”

“No, he was parked in front of a fire hydrant.”

Orwell frowned. “Can’t let ’em get away with a thing like that.” There was a celery stick in his glass of carrot juice. He nibbled.

“I was writing the ticket when the guy showed up,” said Judith. “Big guy in his late twenties, tall, with a good build. He sat down on the bonnet with his arms folded across his chest, watching me.”

“He didn’t say anything, just sat there?”

“Showing me his macho hairy chest, all his gold chains.

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