Read Online Die Hard Mod by Charlie McQuaker - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charlie McQuaker
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hangover-curing can of Pepsi followed by a fry-up.
After popping into the newsagent, he strolled along Church Road swigging his Pepsi until he came to Harry’s English Restaurant. It was a bit more posh than his usual haunts but he fancied treating himself. He bagged a window seat and settled down to read his paper. It was a habit he’d got into since he was a teenager and as he skimmed through pages of inconsequential tripe about reality TV shows and drug-addled rock stars, he wondered why he bothered.
After the waitress took his order of a full English breakfast, Steve picked a copy of The Argus that the table’s previous occupant had left behind. Steve found it hard to feel much interest in a threatened bin men’s strike or the presentation of a cake to some pensioners but on Page 5, something caught his eye.
The headline read ‘Cubitt’s Parisian adventure’ and next to it was a photo of the ‘controversial local property developer’ looking like a 1960s French movie star. The feature described how Cubitt had bought a derelict building near the centre of Paris and was in the process of transforming it into ‘one of Europe ’s most exclusive hotels.’
‘He is currently dividing his time between Sussex and France and is hoping to complete work on the hotel early next year,’ the article continued, ‘… but as relatives of the victims of a fire at Giuseppe’s restaurant in Shoreham continue their campaign to have the case re-examined by the police because they claim to have found conclusive proof of Cubitt’s involvement in starting the blaze, his profile is likely to remain high.’
The rest of the paper enlightened Steve to some local architectural planning controversies and Brighton and Hove Albion’s pre-season transfer activity and once he’d finished his breakfast, he decided that he fancied getting back to the flat and luxuriating in a bath.
When he returned, Bobby was sprawled out on the sofa watching a favourite edition of Soccer AM that he’d saved on Sky-plus.
‘So where’s the lovely lady then?’ asked Steve. Bobby was struggling not to look smug.
‘Think she needed to get home to recover from a night of Bobby-love. Poor girl was shagged senseless.’
‘Spoken like a true gent, Bobby.’
Bobby turned back to the TV to look at a nubile girl in a Queens Park Rangers kit performing a cheesy dance routine to Jean Knight’s Mr. Big Stuff with the show’s presenter while groups of beer-bellied lads cheered them on.
‘Go on boss, make us a brew eh?’
Steve went into the kitchen and returned with a teapot and a couple of mugs.
‘Nice one,’ said Bobby. ‘So how did you get on last night after me and Helen left?’
‘Well, let’s see… apart from bumpin’ into the Belfast girl who broke my heart and re-enactin’ the sex scene from Quadrophenia, bit of a quiet one, really.’
Bobby turned the volume down on the TV.
‘You’re kiddin’ me, yeah?’
‘Nope.’
‘For fuck’s sake boss, spill the beans!’
Steve told Bobby all about Jeanie’s disappearance the previous summer and their steamy reunion but decided to leave out the stuff about Trevor McCann. Bobby particularly seemed to relish the details of the quickie in the East Street alleyway.
‘So she’s a looker then, boss?’
‘You could say that. Best lookin’ girl I’ve ever got within a mile of. Imagine Wynona Ryder with Angelina Jolie’s lips and you’re almost there.’
‘Fuckin’ ‘ell, boss. I’ll be getting the horn again if you get me thinkin’ about a knee-trembler with girl who looks like that. I’ll be on the blower to Helen to get her over for another sesh. You don’t have a photo of her, do ya?’
Steve looked sheepish.
‘I know it’s a bit pathetic, but I’ve always kept her photo in my wallet.’
He pulled the wallet out of his back pocket and handed the picture to Bobby.
‘Her hair’s grown a lot since then but she’s as gorgeous as ever.’
Steve proudly looked to
After popping into the newsagent, he strolled along Church Road swigging his Pepsi until he came to Harry’s English Restaurant. It was a bit more posh than his usual haunts but he fancied treating himself. He bagged a window seat and settled down to read his paper. It was a habit he’d got into since he was a teenager and as he skimmed through pages of inconsequential tripe about reality TV shows and drug-addled rock stars, he wondered why he bothered.
After the waitress took his order of a full English breakfast, Steve picked a copy of The Argus that the table’s previous occupant had left behind. Steve found it hard to feel much interest in a threatened bin men’s strike or the presentation of a cake to some pensioners but on Page 5, something caught his eye.
The headline read ‘Cubitt’s Parisian adventure’ and next to it was a photo of the ‘controversial local property developer’ looking like a 1960s French movie star. The feature described how Cubitt had bought a derelict building near the centre of Paris and was in the process of transforming it into ‘one of Europe ’s most exclusive hotels.’
‘He is currently dividing his time between Sussex and France and is hoping to complete work on the hotel early next year,’ the article continued, ‘… but as relatives of the victims of a fire at Giuseppe’s restaurant in Shoreham continue their campaign to have the case re-examined by the police because they claim to have found conclusive proof of Cubitt’s involvement in starting the blaze, his profile is likely to remain high.’
The rest of the paper enlightened Steve to some local architectural planning controversies and Brighton and Hove Albion’s pre-season transfer activity and once he’d finished his breakfast, he decided that he fancied getting back to the flat and luxuriating in a bath.
When he returned, Bobby was sprawled out on the sofa watching a favourite edition of Soccer AM that he’d saved on Sky-plus.
‘So where’s the lovely lady then?’ asked Steve. Bobby was struggling not to look smug.
‘Think she needed to get home to recover from a night of Bobby-love. Poor girl was shagged senseless.’
‘Spoken like a true gent, Bobby.’
Bobby turned back to the TV to look at a nubile girl in a Queens Park Rangers kit performing a cheesy dance routine to Jean Knight’s Mr. Big Stuff with the show’s presenter while groups of beer-bellied lads cheered them on.
‘Go on boss, make us a brew eh?’
Steve went into the kitchen and returned with a teapot and a couple of mugs.
‘Nice one,’ said Bobby. ‘So how did you get on last night after me and Helen left?’
‘Well, let’s see… apart from bumpin’ into the Belfast girl who broke my heart and re-enactin’ the sex scene from Quadrophenia, bit of a quiet one, really.’
Bobby turned the volume down on the TV.
‘You’re kiddin’ me, yeah?’
‘Nope.’
‘For fuck’s sake boss, spill the beans!’
Steve told Bobby all about Jeanie’s disappearance the previous summer and their steamy reunion but decided to leave out the stuff about Trevor McCann. Bobby particularly seemed to relish the details of the quickie in the East Street alleyway.
‘So she’s a looker then, boss?’
‘You could say that. Best lookin’ girl I’ve ever got within a mile of. Imagine Wynona Ryder with Angelina Jolie’s lips and you’re almost there.’
‘Fuckin’ ‘ell, boss. I’ll be getting the horn again if you get me thinkin’ about a knee-trembler with girl who looks like that. I’ll be on the blower to Helen to get her over for another sesh. You don’t have a photo of her, do ya?’
Steve looked sheepish.
‘I know it’s a bit pathetic, but I’ve always kept her photo in my wallet.’
He pulled the wallet out of his back pocket and handed the picture to Bobby.
‘Her hair’s grown a lot since then but she’s as gorgeous as ever.’
Steve proudly looked to
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