Death's Jest-Book (8 page)

'So, Lee,' he said. 'What
happened back there?'

The boy looked at him. He'd shown
either natural courtesy or natural indifference when Wield had
removed his helmet to reveal the full ugliness of his face, but now
his gaze was sharp.

'Nowt. Just a bit of hassle,
that's all.'

'Did you know the guy in the
car?'

'What difference does it make?'

'Could make the difference
between some nutter driving around trying to kidnap kids and a
domestic.'

The boy shrugged, chewed another
mouthful of cake, washed it down with Coke, then said, 'What're you
after?'

'What do you mean?'

'Getting mixed up with this.'

'You mean I should've ridden on
by?'

'Mebbe. Most would.'

'I didn't.'

'OK, but the chat and this -' he
waved the last forkful of cheesecake in the air then devoured it -
'what's all that for? You some sort of do-gooder?'

'Sure,' said Wield. 'Let me buy
you another piece then I'll save your soul.'

This amused the boy. When he
laughed, his age dropped back to the original low estimate. On the
other hand, being smart put as many years on him.

'OK’ he said. ‘`Nother
Coke too.'

Wield went up to the counter. The
cheesecake looked like it contravened every dietary regulation ever
written, but the boy needed fattening up. Watch it, Edgar, he told
himself mockingly. You're thinking like your mother! Which thought
provoked him into buying a ham sandwich. Edwin was going to be miffed
that he was even later than forecast, and it wouldn't help things if
Wield disturbed the even tenor of their pristine kitchen with his
'disgusting canteen habits'.

As he resumed his seat, the boy
pulled a face at the sandwich and said, 'You gonna eat that? He makes
them out of illegals who didn't survive the trip.'

‘I’ll take my
chances,' said Wield. 'OK. Now, about your soul.'

'Sold up and gone, long since.
What's your line?'

'Sorry?'

'What you do for dosh? Let's have
a look . . .'

He took Wield's left hand and ran
his index finger gently over the palm.

'Not a navvy then, Mac,' he said.
'Not a brain surgeon neither.'

Wield pulled his hand away more
abruptly than he intended and the boy grinned.

He's sussed me out, thought
Wield. A couple of minutes and he's got to the heart of me. How come
someone this age is so sharp? And what the hell signals am I sending
out? I told him to call me Mac! Why?

Because Wield sounds odd? Because
only Edwin calls me Edgar? Good reasons. Except nobody's called me
Mac since . . .

It was short for Macumazahn, the
native name for Allan Quartermain, the hero of some of Wield's
beloved H. Rider Haggard novels. It meant
he-who-sleeps-with-his-eyes-open and had been given to him by a
long-lost lover. No one else had ever used it until a few years ago a
young man had briefly entered his life . . .

He put the memory of the tragic
end of that relationship out of his mind. This wasn't a young man,
this was a kid, and, thank God, he'd never fancied kids. It was time
to wrap things up here and get himself back to the domestic peace and
safety of Enscombe.

He finished his drink, pushed his
chair back and said, 'OK, let's forget saving your soul and get your
body delivered safely home.'

'Home? Nah. It's early doors
yet.'

'Not for kids who're roaming the
streets getting into fights with strange men.'

'Aye, you're right, it's been my
night for strange men, hasn't it? Anyway, not sure if I want to get
back on that ancient time machine of yours. No telling where you'd
take me.'

Again the knowing grin. It was
time to stop messing around.

Wield took out his wallet and
produced his police ID.

'I can either take you home or
down the nick till we find out where home is,' he said.

The boy studied the ID without
looking too bothered.

He said, 'You arresting me, or
wha'?'

'Of course I'm not arresting you.
I just want to make sure you get home safe. And as a minor if you
don't co-operate by giving me your address, then it's my job to find
it out.'

'As a minor?'

The boy reached into his back
pocket, pulled out a billfold thick with banknotes and from it took a
ragged piece of paper. He handed it over. It was a photocopy of a
birth certificate which told Wield he was in the company of Lee
Lubanski, native of this city in which he'd been born nineteen years
ago.

'You're nineteen?' said Wield,
feeling foolish. He should have spotted it from his demeanour
straight off . . . but kids nowadays all acted grown up ... or maybe
he hadn't been looking at the youth like a copper should.. .

'Yeah. Always getting hassled in
pubs is why I carry that around. So no need to see me home, Mac. Or
should I call you sergeant now? I should have sussed when you went on
about domestics. But you seemed . . . OK, know what I mean?'

He smiled insinuatingly.

Wield now saw things very
clearly. He said, 'That car ... he wasn't trying to pull you in, he
was pushing you out.'

Lee said, That's right. Don't do
the park any more, upmarket, that's me. But I were at a loose end,
went for a stroll and this guy . . . well, he seemed all right, said
the money was fine but he only gave me half upfront and, when we'd
done the business, he tossed the rest out the window. Didn't surprise
me, lot of 'em are like that, gagging for it till they've had it then
they can't get away quick enough. But when I picked it up I saw it
were twenty light. I got the door open as he tried to drive away and
. . . well, you saw the rest.'

'Yes, I saw the rest. Why are you
telling me this, Lee?'

'Just wanted to save you the
bother of putting out a call on that Montego. Unless you fancy
getting my money back? But you wouldn't want your mates to know how
wrong you got things, would you? Can't imagine what you were thinking
of’ he said, grinning.

'Me neither,' said Wield.
'Thought you were in trouble. Well, you are in trouble, Lee. But I
reckon you know that. OK, no use talking to you now, but one day
maybe you'll need someone to talk to .. .'

He handed the youth a card
bearing his name and official phone number.

'Yeah, thanks,' said Lee. He
looked surprised, as if this wasn't the reaction he was expecting.
'Bit of a do-gooder after all, are you, Mac?'

'Sergeant.'

'Sorry. Sergeant Mac. Look, don't
rush off, my treat now. Have a bit of cheesecake, it's not bad. Could
be an antidote to that immigrant ham.'

'No thanks, Lee. Got a home to go
to.'

'Lucky old you.'

He said it so wistfully that for
a second Wield was tempted to sit down again. Then he caught the
gleam of watchful eyes beneath those long, lowered lashes.

'See you, Lee,' he said. 'Take
care.'

'Yeah.'

Outside, Wield mounted the
Thunderbird with a sense of relief, of danger avoided.

Through the grubby window of
Turk's he could see the boy still sitting at the table. No audience
to impress now, but somehow he looked more waif and forlorn than
ever.

Making as little noise as
possible, Wield rode away into the night.