Read Online A Choice of Evils by Joe Thompson-Swift - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Joe Thompson-Swift
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I hoped he would fall into a puddle on his way to work.
The placards outside the shop screamed out the headlines about the war in Afghanistan, the economy and the royal family. I nearly stabbed someone with the umbrella tip as I lowered it to go inside. I got cursed for that and made haste to pay for my paper and head back home.
My mind raced ahead of my feet but got me home soaked to the bone. Some coffee, fresh clothes and a switch to classical FM radio was therapeutic. I listened to Mozart’s piano concertos and envied the luck of the idle rich. A read through The Times paper brought me back to reality with the world. It was now fast approaching 10.30am and I had some hours to waste before my meeting with Peter the pen.
From somewhere within came the inspiration to type some more of my novel. So at the typewriter, I pounded away the hours into the evening. A desire to eat brought my attention to the time. It was 7.30pm leaving me amazed where the hours had gone when I was typing. Another 6 pages had been added to my novel.
Almost in a trance, I left home for my local tandoori and within minutes was sitting at table placing my order. My meeting with Peter the pen was for 10pm.
The Indian waiter hovered over me awaiting my drink selection. I always drank lager beer with a curry meal so ordered my pint of Fosters. There were a lot of couples and some early pissheads lining their stomachs for a late drinking session in the pubs. I called a ‘hello’ to two car thieves I knew. They were obviously celebrating some good fortune with two girls who would even be impressed with the price of kippers. Some Indian background music serenaded the customers while they ate.
It was a good half hour before my meal arrived. Lamb madras with vegetable bahji and Palau rice. It was my usual combination with Nan bread. Exactly one and a half hours later, I was out the door bloated with a full belly.
I passed my car deciding to walk to the Warrior pub and was surprised to see Louise out walking. She was a pretty woman who had said ‘hello’ to me at Surrey Quays shopping centre. She was out to have herself a drink she was saying. What a shame, I thought, as I was on my way to meet Peter the pen. It was nice to see her again and not wanting to lose out on a potential promise, I gave her my phone number as we walked together for a short while. After an invited kiss, we parted at the Warrior pub having told her I had some business to attend to. She quite understood and promised to phone me. I really liked her.
Inside the pub, Peter was already there with his nose stuck into a newspaper at the bar. We exchanged a nod as I made contact with the barmaid’s eye. With our drinks in hand we made our way to a quiet corner table and got down to business. He passed me an envelope which I took to the gents and compared the forgery to the original. It was difficult to tell which was which. There would be no problems in passing through security with that. All I needed to do was put a plausible name and thumbnail photo on it. That was simple enough. I passed him the £150 as agreed. I could see he was pleased with that. Call me anytime, he invited. I liked Peter. He was very talented with his pens.
I bought him another drink as before and chatted about everything that was of no interest to either of us. Time was now pushing towards 11 o’clock and a nature call was creeping up on me probably due to the recent curry. Peter finished his pint ready to split. We left the pub separately and that was the last I saw of him.
The rain had now stopped and the night air had a cold nip in it but I needed the mile walk back to home. I was soon indoors sitting on the throne counting a hundred backwards. Typically the phone rang while my trousers were down but the butler on my answerphone took the message. Having finished, I learnt it was from Dave the weasel. He was waiting for me to phone him. This I did, and as if his hand was on his phone, he answered
The placards outside the shop screamed out the headlines about the war in Afghanistan, the economy and the royal family. I nearly stabbed someone with the umbrella tip as I lowered it to go inside. I got cursed for that and made haste to pay for my paper and head back home.
My mind raced ahead of my feet but got me home soaked to the bone. Some coffee, fresh clothes and a switch to classical FM radio was therapeutic. I listened to Mozart’s piano concertos and envied the luck of the idle rich. A read through The Times paper brought me back to reality with the world. It was now fast approaching 10.30am and I had some hours to waste before my meeting with Peter the pen.
From somewhere within came the inspiration to type some more of my novel. So at the typewriter, I pounded away the hours into the evening. A desire to eat brought my attention to the time. It was 7.30pm leaving me amazed where the hours had gone when I was typing. Another 6 pages had been added to my novel.
Almost in a trance, I left home for my local tandoori and within minutes was sitting at table placing my order. My meeting with Peter the pen was for 10pm.
The Indian waiter hovered over me awaiting my drink selection. I always drank lager beer with a curry meal so ordered my pint of Fosters. There were a lot of couples and some early pissheads lining their stomachs for a late drinking session in the pubs. I called a ‘hello’ to two car thieves I knew. They were obviously celebrating some good fortune with two girls who would even be impressed with the price of kippers. Some Indian background music serenaded the customers while they ate.
It was a good half hour before my meal arrived. Lamb madras with vegetable bahji and Palau rice. It was my usual combination with Nan bread. Exactly one and a half hours later, I was out the door bloated with a full belly.
I passed my car deciding to walk to the Warrior pub and was surprised to see Louise out walking. She was a pretty woman who had said ‘hello’ to me at Surrey Quays shopping centre. She was out to have herself a drink she was saying. What a shame, I thought, as I was on my way to meet Peter the pen. It was nice to see her again and not wanting to lose out on a potential promise, I gave her my phone number as we walked together for a short while. After an invited kiss, we parted at the Warrior pub having told her I had some business to attend to. She quite understood and promised to phone me. I really liked her.
Inside the pub, Peter was already there with his nose stuck into a newspaper at the bar. We exchanged a nod as I made contact with the barmaid’s eye. With our drinks in hand we made our way to a quiet corner table and got down to business. He passed me an envelope which I took to the gents and compared the forgery to the original. It was difficult to tell which was which. There would be no problems in passing through security with that. All I needed to do was put a plausible name and thumbnail photo on it. That was simple enough. I passed him the £150 as agreed. I could see he was pleased with that. Call me anytime, he invited. I liked Peter. He was very talented with his pens.
I bought him another drink as before and chatted about everything that was of no interest to either of us. Time was now pushing towards 11 o’clock and a nature call was creeping up on me probably due to the recent curry. Peter finished his pint ready to split. We left the pub separately and that was the last I saw of him.
The rain had now stopped and the night air had a cold nip in it but I needed the mile walk back to home. I was soon indoors sitting on the throne counting a hundred backwards. Typically the phone rang while my trousers were down but the butler on my answerphone took the message. Having finished, I learnt it was from Dave the weasel. He was waiting for me to phone him. This I did, and as if his hand was on his phone, he answered
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