Read Online A Choice of Evils by Joe Thompson-Swift - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joe Thompson-Swift
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immediately. He had the information I wanted so we arranged a meeting for tomorrow at the Three Compasses pub in Rotherhithe Street at 11.30am. Dave was always brief on the phone and like Peter, economised with his words. That was understandable. Besides, I had some gremlins in my head that I may be being watched too. It was just a thought.
I put the passes away knowing I would be using mine tomorrow after my meeting with the weasel. I planned to gain entrance at the Tropical Lab’ just before 5pm and find a good hiding place until I was sure everyone had left the building. My tools would consist of penknife, screwdriver, gloves and twirls. The latter being a special set of retractable adjustable keys that thieves used for opening locks. They didn’t work all the time but had been useful in the past. Now all was sorted for tomorrow and I was ready for a good night’s sleep.
The last thing I remember was the grin on mouse’s face as I drifted away into fairy land. I remember feeling as snug as a bug in a rug. Whatever my dreams were, I had no memory of them when I awoke the next morning.
8
The maniacal laugh of micky mouse woke me with a startle. Seven o’clock was upon me again so I cut him short preferring to listen to the soothing chimes of the carriage clock. A measure of sanity had returned to my head. From bed to kettle to radio, I performed my ritual not forgetting to pop the toast in before I completed my ablutions. Today I would be wearing a suit and tie as I as I planned to enter the Tropical Research Lab’ in Blackfriars Road. I looked forward to collecting the information from Dave the weasel too.
More reports from the radio were about the war in Afghanistan and the many casualties of it. A bishop had been caught with his trousers down and a young choir boy had reported his abuse which was being investigated by the police. Apart from that, a report that the death sentence had just reduced the American population by one was criticised by the prisoner’s supporters who claimed the man was innocent. Was there anything nice happening in the world, I wondered.
Having digested that and my breakfast, I was ready for the paper shop. At least it was a dry day and I wouldn’t need to poke any one with my umbrella.
I felt a spring in my step as I examined the birth of a new day. A black cat stared at me as I passed, spoiling its joy of observing an unsuspecting sparrow. Was the black cat lucky for me? Or was I lucky for the bird? I wondered. I hoped some of it rubbed off on me.
Back home, I read the papers, had coffee, and geared my mind towards my plans for the day. Eleven o’clock arrived, so I decided to walk to the Three Compasses pub and set off to do so, noting my post box was empty as I left.
As usual Dave the weasel was already there when I arrived. His crusty old face creased into a smile. He looked somewhat tired, yet come to think of it, he always looked like that. But after a few drinks, he would soon exude a better complexion once his red nose had warmed up.
He shot out his hand as if mine was a life line. I pumped him a ‘hello’ and ordered the drinks knowing he would be looking for a dinner too. A mixed grill twice would go down well, he agreed. I noted two of his white shirt buttons were missing.
‘How’s it going Jack?’ He asked. I told him that in spite of an unhappy world I was still breathing. ‘Same with me,’ he answered. ‘Old soldiers never die, they only fade away,’ he grinned. A burning cigarette in his ash tray was exchanged for a fresh one as he inhaled deeply and I politely stepped back to avoid the smoke stream.
‘I’ve gone out of my way to help you Jack,’ he continued. ‘You must be chasing something big according to my information, but you’ll tell me that’s none of my business?’ He raised his eyebrows and just for a fleeting second, he looked the proverbial policeman again. Then just as quick his face returned to his starched smile. We had an
I put the passes away knowing I would be using mine tomorrow after my meeting with the weasel. I planned to gain entrance at the Tropical Lab’ just before 5pm and find a good hiding place until I was sure everyone had left the building. My tools would consist of penknife, screwdriver, gloves and twirls. The latter being a special set of retractable adjustable keys that thieves used for opening locks. They didn’t work all the time but had been useful in the past. Now all was sorted for tomorrow and I was ready for a good night’s sleep.
The last thing I remember was the grin on mouse’s face as I drifted away into fairy land. I remember feeling as snug as a bug in a rug. Whatever my dreams were, I had no memory of them when I awoke the next morning.
8
The maniacal laugh of micky mouse woke me with a startle. Seven o’clock was upon me again so I cut him short preferring to listen to the soothing chimes of the carriage clock. A measure of sanity had returned to my head. From bed to kettle to radio, I performed my ritual not forgetting to pop the toast in before I completed my ablutions. Today I would be wearing a suit and tie as I as I planned to enter the Tropical Research Lab’ in Blackfriars Road. I looked forward to collecting the information from Dave the weasel too.
More reports from the radio were about the war in Afghanistan and the many casualties of it. A bishop had been caught with his trousers down and a young choir boy had reported his abuse which was being investigated by the police. Apart from that, a report that the death sentence had just reduced the American population by one was criticised by the prisoner’s supporters who claimed the man was innocent. Was there anything nice happening in the world, I wondered.
Having digested that and my breakfast, I was ready for the paper shop. At least it was a dry day and I wouldn’t need to poke any one with my umbrella.
I felt a spring in my step as I examined the birth of a new day. A black cat stared at me as I passed, spoiling its joy of observing an unsuspecting sparrow. Was the black cat lucky for me? Or was I lucky for the bird? I wondered. I hoped some of it rubbed off on me.
Back home, I read the papers, had coffee, and geared my mind towards my plans for the day. Eleven o’clock arrived, so I decided to walk to the Three Compasses pub and set off to do so, noting my post box was empty as I left.
As usual Dave the weasel was already there when I arrived. His crusty old face creased into a smile. He looked somewhat tired, yet come to think of it, he always looked like that. But after a few drinks, he would soon exude a better complexion once his red nose had warmed up.
He shot out his hand as if mine was a life line. I pumped him a ‘hello’ and ordered the drinks knowing he would be looking for a dinner too. A mixed grill twice would go down well, he agreed. I noted two of his white shirt buttons were missing.
‘How’s it going Jack?’ He asked. I told him that in spite of an unhappy world I was still breathing. ‘Same with me,’ he answered. ‘Old soldiers never die, they only fade away,’ he grinned. A burning cigarette in his ash tray was exchanged for a fresh one as he inhaled deeply and I politely stepped back to avoid the smoke stream.
‘I’ve gone out of my way to help you Jack,’ he continued. ‘You must be chasing something big according to my information, but you’ll tell me that’s none of my business?’ He raised his eyebrows and just for a fleeting second, he looked the proverbial policeman again. Then just as quick his face returned to his starched smile. We had an
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