Read Online The Vacant Casualty by Patty O'Furniture - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Patty O'Furniture
Ads: Link
the nest. I REPEAT,’ she repeated, ‘THE EAGLE MUST RAID THE NEST!
We have go!’
Sam had by now discreetly coughed up his latest piece of cake in anticipation of its getting stuck in his throat, and despite the ravages of his hangover, was starting to have a bit of fun as he
watched the detective try to get out of the old lady what the purpose of her telephone call was. Bradley, for his part, asked with more than a touch of misgiving.
Emily showed no stress or anxiety at the depredations of the filth spread over her front yard. She did have, after all, as Sam saw through a window on the other side of the room, a back garden
of about twenty acres. But there was something in Emily’s eyes as she stared dreamily out over the rooftops that made him think she had either just ingested a mood-controlling drug, or, more
surprisingly, that she was capable of focusing on an object in the middle distance. Sam became sensible of a strange thudding noise just as her phone rang. Without moving her eyes from the heavens,
she answered it.
‘That’s it, Terence, my lad. You’ve got it. You
are
a good boy! Yes, that’s the one. Try not to hit the next-door house – the one with the garden covered in
sewage – that’s my place and I’d hate to miss the show by being collateral damage.’
‘My godson,’ she said, ringing off, and looking blithely at the men. ‘He’s stationed at the military airbase a few miles south of the town. He assured me that if it was
needed, he could loose off a few rounds and blame it on a malfunction.’
Emily’s face had taken on an almost beatific aspect by this point, staring out of the window as the thudding noise grew to a pitch that defied speech and a gigantic helicopter lowered into
view through the window, its wings under-clustered with tree-trunk missiles and fridge-wide rocket launchers.
‘I think we should leave,’ said Sam, much too late, as bright shimmering blasts were followed by clods of earth being flung up in the air, accompanied by the noise of the garden next
door having a sequence of three-feet-deep holes plunged into it and its vegetable contents distributed all over the surrounding streets in fine ash.
Sam, witnessing these events and unsure for a moment which of his many reactions he should act upon, at last rugby-tackled Emily to the ground, and in one diving movement first swallowed, then
choked on, and at last ejected a final chunk of cake.
Emily responded gratefully, by kneeing him at once hard in the bollocks and jumping back up to watch the carnage, shouting encouragements at the window, and shielding her face from the
shattering glass with the lace curtain.
Looking around, Sam saw that the detective was well ahead of him in escaping this mad scenario – he had crawled to the back door, and was gesturing for him to follow.
Chapter Six
‘S O ,’ B RADLEY SAID once they had crawled to safety, waited for the gun smoke to lift and at last regained their car.
‘Village life is boring, is it?’
‘Yes,’ said Sam, whose adrenalin, now he was comfortably sitting down, had most definitely ebbed, to be replaced by his hangover. And a good deal of irritation. ‘Yes, it
is
boring. With the occasional exception of sudden episodes of psychopathic lunacy. Don’t try and teach me a lesson – I feel like shit. Give me that bottle . . .’ He
swigged three painkillers with some water and then stared out of the window, putting on a more than slightly childish expression.
Bradley was in contrast temporarily bucked-up by his near-death experience, and his realization that there were plenty of motives in the town that might have contributed to Mr Fairbreath’s
disappearance, from the Quimples’ insane drop-of-a-hat murderousness, to the potentially life-changing issues at stake in the Parish Council vote, in which he was the lynchpin. He was
starting to feel as though he could be on the scent.
‘There’s an emergency council meeting at three p.m.
We have go!’
Sam had by now discreetly coughed up his latest piece of cake in anticipation of its getting stuck in his throat, and despite the ravages of his hangover, was starting to have a bit of fun as he
watched the detective try to get out of the old lady what the purpose of her telephone call was. Bradley, for his part, asked with more than a touch of misgiving.
Emily showed no stress or anxiety at the depredations of the filth spread over her front yard. She did have, after all, as Sam saw through a window on the other side of the room, a back garden
of about twenty acres. But there was something in Emily’s eyes as she stared dreamily out over the rooftops that made him think she had either just ingested a mood-controlling drug, or, more
surprisingly, that she was capable of focusing on an object in the middle distance. Sam became sensible of a strange thudding noise just as her phone rang. Without moving her eyes from the heavens,
she answered it.
‘That’s it, Terence, my lad. You’ve got it. You
are
a good boy! Yes, that’s the one. Try not to hit the next-door house – the one with the garden covered in
sewage – that’s my place and I’d hate to miss the show by being collateral damage.’
‘My godson,’ she said, ringing off, and looking blithely at the men. ‘He’s stationed at the military airbase a few miles south of the town. He assured me that if it was
needed, he could loose off a few rounds and blame it on a malfunction.’
Emily’s face had taken on an almost beatific aspect by this point, staring out of the window as the thudding noise grew to a pitch that defied speech and a gigantic helicopter lowered into
view through the window, its wings under-clustered with tree-trunk missiles and fridge-wide rocket launchers.
‘I think we should leave,’ said Sam, much too late, as bright shimmering blasts were followed by clods of earth being flung up in the air, accompanied by the noise of the garden next
door having a sequence of three-feet-deep holes plunged into it and its vegetable contents distributed all over the surrounding streets in fine ash.
Sam, witnessing these events and unsure for a moment which of his many reactions he should act upon, at last rugby-tackled Emily to the ground, and in one diving movement first swallowed, then
choked on, and at last ejected a final chunk of cake.
Emily responded gratefully, by kneeing him at once hard in the bollocks and jumping back up to watch the carnage, shouting encouragements at the window, and shielding her face from the
shattering glass with the lace curtain.
Looking around, Sam saw that the detective was well ahead of him in escaping this mad scenario – he had crawled to the back door, and was gesturing for him to follow.
Chapter Six
‘S O ,’ B RADLEY SAID once they had crawled to safety, waited for the gun smoke to lift and at last regained their car.
‘Village life is boring, is it?’
‘Yes,’ said Sam, whose adrenalin, now he was comfortably sitting down, had most definitely ebbed, to be replaced by his hangover. And a good deal of irritation. ‘Yes, it
is
boring. With the occasional exception of sudden episodes of psychopathic lunacy. Don’t try and teach me a lesson – I feel like shit. Give me that bottle . . .’ He
swigged three painkillers with some water and then stared out of the window, putting on a more than slightly childish expression.
Bradley was in contrast temporarily bucked-up by his near-death experience, and his realization that there were plenty of motives in the town that might have contributed to Mr Fairbreath’s
disappearance, from the Quimples’ insane drop-of-a-hat murderousness, to the potentially life-changing issues at stake in the Parish Council vote, in which he was the lynchpin. He was
starting to feel as though he could be on the scent.
‘There’s an emergency council meeting at three p.m.
Similar Books
