Read Online The Count of Eleven by Ramsey Campbell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ramsey Campbell
Ads: Link
calculator at him. “Will that do you?”
“If it’s right it will.” Since she hadn’t stopped waving the calculator, the blurring of the digits made him feel as though his fever had revived. “That seems more like it,” he admitted, having managed to distinguish the total, and took out his credit card.
“Marvellous. You’ll have to phone for authorisation,” she told the youth, and stumped into the back room, slamming the door.
The youth read the number on a grubby scrap of paper taped to the desk and prodded digits on the telephone. This part of the ritual of using a credit card always made Jack feel absurdly guilty, and so he gave the youth a grin which was meant to seem resigned but which came out conspiratorial and fixed. By the time the youth read out Jack’s card number and the amount of the purchase, the expression had begun to tweak Jack’s face. He was wondering how to move it when the youth did so for him. In a bored aggrieved tone he said “You’ve got no money left.”
That can’t be right. We’re a thousand in credit at least, more like fifteen hundred. More than we ever use. Don’t put the Jack began to shout, but the youth had dropped the receiver into its house.
The door of the inner room banged open, and the woman barged out, followed by the pinstripes. “What’s the row?” she demanded.
“I wanted to speak to whatever you call them, the authoriser. They’ve got me in the red.”
“What, someone else’s mistaken?” The woman planted her hands on her hips. “Paying cash then, are you?”
“I can’t just now. I haven’t got it,” Jack said, trying to comprehend what had happened. “Can I phone my wife?”
The woman gestured at the desk, and Jack was reaching for the phone when he realised she was indicating the superscription on the taped scrap of cardboard: NO PRIVET PHONE CALLS. “Hedging your profits?” he said wildly. “Then I don’t know what to do.”
“Stop wasting Mrs. Vickers’ time,” the brawnier of the pinstriped team suggested.
“I was here on legitimate business, I assure you.” That must sound like a sly comment on the transactions in the back room, because the two men opened and closed their mouths like fish. “I must say you do business like nobody else I’ve met,” Jack told the woman and the youth, and dodged out of the warehouse.
He hauled himself up into the van and drove into the centre of Liverpool. Could Julia have been so infected by his optimism that she’d spent all that money? The only purchase he could think of that might cost so much was their holiday, but surely she would have mentioned that she was booking it. Had she meant to surprise him? The downtown streets were crowded, streams of people spilling into the roadways whenever a gap developed in the traffic. “Run or die,” Jack growled at them, tramping on the brake.
The entire population of the business district appeared to be on the streets. A ripple of sunlight flashed into his eyes from the river as he turned along the street where Julia worked. There was room for the van outside Rankin’s, by a hooded parking meter. Jack parked hastily, scraping a tyre against the kerb, and ran into the office, calling “Julia.”
She and Lynne, one of the typists, were at the computer, watching columns of figures pour down the screen. “Just a minute,” Julia said, and was at least that long before she turned to him. “Going to buy me lunch?”
“What with? Where’s all the money gone this month? I just tried to buy some stock and they wouldn’t honour the card.”
“I haven’t used mine since Saturday. I certainly haven’t spent more than usual.”
“I told them it was a mistake. What’s the customer relations number?” He was rummaging in his wallet when Lynne said rather smugly “If that’s your van outside, it’s being booked.”
Jack dashed outside as the traffic warden began to write in her notebook. “I’m off, I’m going,” he babbled. “Had to
“If it’s right it will.” Since she hadn’t stopped waving the calculator, the blurring of the digits made him feel as though his fever had revived. “That seems more like it,” he admitted, having managed to distinguish the total, and took out his credit card.
“Marvellous. You’ll have to phone for authorisation,” she told the youth, and stumped into the back room, slamming the door.
The youth read the number on a grubby scrap of paper taped to the desk and prodded digits on the telephone. This part of the ritual of using a credit card always made Jack feel absurdly guilty, and so he gave the youth a grin which was meant to seem resigned but which came out conspiratorial and fixed. By the time the youth read out Jack’s card number and the amount of the purchase, the expression had begun to tweak Jack’s face. He was wondering how to move it when the youth did so for him. In a bored aggrieved tone he said “You’ve got no money left.”
That can’t be right. We’re a thousand in credit at least, more like fifteen hundred. More than we ever use. Don’t put the Jack began to shout, but the youth had dropped the receiver into its house.
The door of the inner room banged open, and the woman barged out, followed by the pinstripes. “What’s the row?” she demanded.
“I wanted to speak to whatever you call them, the authoriser. They’ve got me in the red.”
“What, someone else’s mistaken?” The woman planted her hands on her hips. “Paying cash then, are you?”
“I can’t just now. I haven’t got it,” Jack said, trying to comprehend what had happened. “Can I phone my wife?”
The woman gestured at the desk, and Jack was reaching for the phone when he realised she was indicating the superscription on the taped scrap of cardboard: NO PRIVET PHONE CALLS. “Hedging your profits?” he said wildly. “Then I don’t know what to do.”
“Stop wasting Mrs. Vickers’ time,” the brawnier of the pinstriped team suggested.
“I was here on legitimate business, I assure you.” That must sound like a sly comment on the transactions in the back room, because the two men opened and closed their mouths like fish. “I must say you do business like nobody else I’ve met,” Jack told the woman and the youth, and dodged out of the warehouse.
He hauled himself up into the van and drove into the centre of Liverpool. Could Julia have been so infected by his optimism that she’d spent all that money? The only purchase he could think of that might cost so much was their holiday, but surely she would have mentioned that she was booking it. Had she meant to surprise him? The downtown streets were crowded, streams of people spilling into the roadways whenever a gap developed in the traffic. “Run or die,” Jack growled at them, tramping on the brake.
The entire population of the business district appeared to be on the streets. A ripple of sunlight flashed into his eyes from the river as he turned along the street where Julia worked. There was room for the van outside Rankin’s, by a hooded parking meter. Jack parked hastily, scraping a tyre against the kerb, and ran into the office, calling “Julia.”
She and Lynne, one of the typists, were at the computer, watching columns of figures pour down the screen. “Just a minute,” Julia said, and was at least that long before she turned to him. “Going to buy me lunch?”
“What with? Where’s all the money gone this month? I just tried to buy some stock and they wouldn’t honour the card.”
“I haven’t used mine since Saturday. I certainly haven’t spent more than usual.”
“I told them it was a mistake. What’s the customer relations number?” He was rummaging in his wallet when Lynne said rather smugly “If that’s your van outside, it’s being booked.”
Jack dashed outside as the traffic warden began to write in her notebook. “I’m off, I’m going,” he babbled. “Had to
Similar Books
