THE DECIETFULNESS OF A WOMAN (EPISODE 2) The man who stood in the doorway looked as big as a truck. He was as thick as he was broad, and had a ball-round face, skin tight with hard pink fat. A black hairline moustache sat below a nose like the beak of an octopus, and little black eyes peered at me over two ridges of fat. He might have been fifty, not more. There was the usual breathlessness about him that goes with fat people. The crown of his wide black hat touched the top of the door, and he had to turn his gross body an inch or so to enter the office. His feet were encased in immaculately polished shoes, the welts of which seemed a good inch and a half thick. Mr Jackson? his voice was hoarse and scratchy and thin. Not the kind of voice youd expect to come out of the barrel of a body he carried around on legs that must have been as thick as young trees to support it. I nodded. Mr. John Jackson? I nodded again. Ah! the exclamation came out on a little puff of breath, He moved further into the room, pushed the door shut without turning. My card, Mr. Jackson. He dropped a card on the blotter. He and I and the desk filled up the office to capacity, and the air in the room began to fight for its breath. I looked at the card without moving, didnt tell me anything but his name. No address; nothing to say who he was, just two words: Dahiru Garma. While I looked at the card, he pulled the office chair to the desk. It was a good strong chair, but it flinched as he lowered his big ass on to it. Now he had sat down there seemed a little more space in the room - not much, but enough to let the air circulate again. He folded his fat hands on the top of his stick. A diamond, a shade smaller than a door knob, flashed like a beacon from his little finger. Dahiru Garma might be a phoney, but he had money. I could smell it, and I have a very sensitive nose when it comes to smelling money. Ive been making inquires about you, Mr. Jackson, he said, and his small eyes searched my face. I hear youre quite a character. This was not knew to me because it was one of Inspector Giwas lyric. I didnt say anything, but waited, and wondered just how much he had found out about me. They tell me youre smart and tricky; very, very tricky and smooth, the fat man went on in his scratchy voice. You have brains, they say, and youre not overhonest. Youre a reckless character, Mr. Jackson, but you have courage and nerve and youre tough. He looked at me from over the top of his diamond and smiled. For no reason at all the office seemed suddenly very far from the ground and the night seemed still and empty. I found myself thinking of a cobra coiled up in a bush: a fat cobra, sleek but dangerous. They tell me you have been in New Town for eighteen months, he continued breathlessly. Before that you worked for Private Spies, Palm Island, as one of their detectives. A detective who works Private Spies, they tell me, has excellent opportunities for blackmail. Perhaps that was why they asked you to resign. No accusations were made, but they found you were living at a scale far beyond the salary you were paid. That made them think, Mr. Jackson. Private spies cant be too careful. I was as amazed like I was before the devil himself. With my mouth wide open I was lost in thoughts*** WATCH OUT FOR EPISODE 3
Posted on: Sat, 18 Oct 2014 14:10:48 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015