Read Online The Wild Heart by David Menon - Free Book Online Page B

least, the first eleven floors were a hotel whilst the remaining twelve were private flats. There were two separate clearly defined entrances but still people pitched up at the door to the lifts going up to the flats looking for the forty-nine pound weekend special. Some of the residents got a bit hot under the collar about it and the hotel management didn’t seem to give a stuff, so sometimes Stuart had to put himself in the middle and calm troubled waters.
         At the bottom of Victoria Bridge Street he crossed over and went down Greengate, underneath the wide viaduct that carried half a dozen tracks through the open space that used to be Manchester Central Station. On the other side of the viaduct were a couple of private car parks each with spaces for about a hundred vehicles . He’d used one himself when his parents had dragged him along last year to a Fleetwood Mac concert at the nearby MEN arena. He hadn’t been too struck on the idea but his opinion had changed almost as soon as Lindsey Buckingham struck the first note on his guitar. The band had rocked! Stevie Nicks was in a totally different class to any of the current crop of girl performers and the rhythm section of Mick Fleetwood and John McVie formed the backbone of what his parents described as the ‘Mac’ sound. Just a couple of songs into the set and Stuart had realised what his parents had been banging on about for years. He was now a devotee.
         During the day the car parks were full of city workers. At night, unless there was a concert on at the arena, they were largely deserted and rather sad looking with only the clanking of trains up above on the elevated tracks lending any drama to proceedings. But all that was due to change over the next few months. There were blocks of new apartments going up on the other side of the car parks that would be great for those who wanted to train spot or enjoy a view out to Oldham and Saddleworth from the upper floors. So many people had moved into the centre of Manchester and now they were spreading further into this far end of Salford that was so close to the heart of its more famous neighbour. He thought he might look into buying one himself. He had some equity in his place over at Denton but he felt the need to join in the rush to city living that so many before him had done.
         Emerging from the viaduct he turned left into Norton Street and located in the arches of the viaduct, stretching down for a mile or so, were yards used by various small businesses. There was a pizza takeaway place, a tyre fitting shop, and a builders yard that Stuart had been briefed to keep an eye on. It belonged to someone called Ian Taylor and the name rang a loud bell inside Stuart’s head but he couldn’t place it. As Stuart approached it was clear that there was someone inside. The door was large and painted white and there were metal bars to cover the door when it was locked. Stuart looked inside and called out.
         A man appeared from behind a shelving unit near the back. He looked startled, a little uncomfortable. Stuart could see that sweat was beginning to appear on the man’s forehead.
         ‘ Everything alright, Sir?’ said Stuart.
         ‘ Yes, officer, fine, fine. What’s the problem?’
         ‘ No problem as far as I’m concerned, Sir, just keeping an eye on the neighbourhood. And you are?’
         ‘ Ian Taylor. I … own this place’.
         Stuart watched Ian Taylor wipe his hands down on his overall. He didn’t recognise him at all but the bells ringing in his head were getting louder.
         ‘ P.C Stuart Wheeler’ he said. ‘ Do you always work this late? It’s almost eight o’clock’.
         ‘ Only when I’ve got a lot on’ he said. ‘ Like now’.
         ‘ Business is good, then?’ asked Stuart as he looked around at the piles of pipes, cables, packets of cement powder.
         ‘ Yea, can’t complain’.
         ‘ And if you