curled with nausea and the tingling in his legs turned to the shakes.
“What the hell…”
* * *
Steven was still off colour by the time he reached the Brasserie. It was 1:10pm and there was no sign of Giles so he bought a half pint of German Eurostate lager and barely glanced at the display cabinets of fresh steaks, seafood, game, salad and vegetables that he no longer had an appetite for on his way to a suitably discreet corner near the back.
His hand trembled as he lifted the glass to his lips and drank. He was in the mood for drinking…and for forgetting a weekend assignment that was already filling him with an unprecedented dread. Who would go to such lengths to conceal the identities of three deceased military or government personnel? And why?
There was no doubting the corpse he had seen less than an hour ago was that of a waste-dweller. True, she looked older than her 22 years but that was to be expected. The hallmarks were all there: missing or rotten teeth, filthy, knotted strands of hair, lines of deeply ingrained grime, the ugly scars of old untreated wounds and the deep trenches between each rib that signified severe malnutrition. Sally Redmountain was every inch the perfect example of a non citizen…or a make-up job to make Hollywood proud. Either way, she was not the woman whose picture he had taken on the roadside yesterday evening.
It was unlikely to be a mistake. Gwynfor, dismissing his outburst as “normal for a first time viewer”, went on to show him the other three bodies, each tagged in line with last night’s police statement. The only victim that looked familiar, certainly in terms of the uniform and the physical damage, was that of the bus driver. Strangely, the injuries of the three waste-dwellers appeared consistent with those you might expect for car crash victims, although all three’s features were intact, unlike the faceless corpse of the uniformed man he had photographed.
“Sorry I’m late.” Giles stepped up to the table, hands thrust deep into his pockets as was his habit. “Missed my monorail shuttle.”
“Glad you can afford to travel in such style! Grab a seat.” Giles accepted, extracting his hands from his pockets and occupying them by running his fingers through his perfectly coiffured shoulder-length hair.
“I’m issued with an all-destinations season pass. You know our lot. We love the pretence of supporting public transport.”
“Interesting definition of public. Can I get you a drink?”
“Cynic!” Giles laughed, as always a little too loudly. “They do a moderately decent South Australian chardonnay in here and I’m definitely thinking seafood at the moment. Thanks.” Steven searched the nearby tables for a waiter. It would be South Australian, complete with added Eurostate import tax. Still, major league expenses claim. “Caught a glimpse of the monkfish on the way past, looks fabulous. How about you?”
“Monkfish sounds fine to me. Excuse me!” A nearby waiter acknowledged him. “But I need to keep a clear head so you’re on your own with the chardonnay.”
“Excellent…I mean, what a shame…for you.” Giles produced a silver cigarette case from his coat pocket. “This is one of the few remaining restaurants in town that hasn’t banned smoking.”
“I wouldn’t know. I gave up…two years ago.” The waiter approached. “A bottle of South Australian chardonnay please and…shall I order now?” Giles nodded, selecting a cigarette from the gleaming case. “Two monkfish. White wine sauce?” Giles nodded again. “White wine sauce and vegetables of the day.” Giles lit his cigarette with an equally gleaming Zippo.
“Chips, sauté potatoes, baked potato or boiled new potatoes,
“What the hell…”
* * *
Steven was still off colour by the time he reached the Brasserie. It was 1:10pm and there was no sign of Giles so he bought a half pint of German Eurostate lager and barely glanced at the display cabinets of fresh steaks, seafood, game, salad and vegetables that he no longer had an appetite for on his way to a suitably discreet corner near the back.
His hand trembled as he lifted the glass to his lips and drank. He was in the mood for drinking…and for forgetting a weekend assignment that was already filling him with an unprecedented dread. Who would go to such lengths to conceal the identities of three deceased military or government personnel? And why?
There was no doubting the corpse he had seen less than an hour ago was that of a waste-dweller. True, she looked older than her 22 years but that was to be expected. The hallmarks were all there: missing or rotten teeth, filthy, knotted strands of hair, lines of deeply ingrained grime, the ugly scars of old untreated wounds and the deep trenches between each rib that signified severe malnutrition. Sally Redmountain was every inch the perfect example of a non citizen…or a make-up job to make Hollywood proud. Either way, she was not the woman whose picture he had taken on the roadside yesterday evening.
It was unlikely to be a mistake. Gwynfor, dismissing his outburst as “normal for a first time viewer”, went on to show him the other three bodies, each tagged in line with last night’s police statement. The only victim that looked familiar, certainly in terms of the uniform and the physical damage, was that of the bus driver. Strangely, the injuries of the three waste-dwellers appeared consistent with those you might expect for car crash victims, although all three’s features were intact, unlike the faceless corpse of the uniformed man he had photographed.
“Sorry I’m late.” Giles stepped up to the table, hands thrust deep into his pockets as was his habit. “Missed my monorail shuttle.”
“Glad you can afford to travel in such style! Grab a seat.” Giles accepted, extracting his hands from his pockets and occupying them by running his fingers through his perfectly coiffured shoulder-length hair.
“I’m issued with an all-destinations season pass. You know our lot. We love the pretence of supporting public transport.”
“Interesting definition of public. Can I get you a drink?”
“Cynic!” Giles laughed, as always a little too loudly. “They do a moderately decent South Australian chardonnay in here and I’m definitely thinking seafood at the moment. Thanks.” Steven searched the nearby tables for a waiter. It would be South Australian, complete with added Eurostate import tax. Still, major league expenses claim. “Caught a glimpse of the monkfish on the way past, looks fabulous. How about you?”
“Monkfish sounds fine to me. Excuse me!” A nearby waiter acknowledged him. “But I need to keep a clear head so you’re on your own with the chardonnay.”
“Excellent…I mean, what a shame…for you.” Giles produced a silver cigarette case from his coat pocket. “This is one of the few remaining restaurants in town that hasn’t banned smoking.”
“I wouldn’t know. I gave up…two years ago.” The waiter approached. “A bottle of South Australian chardonnay please and…shall I order now?” Giles nodded, selecting a cigarette from the gleaming case. “Two monkfish. White wine sauce?” Giles nodded again. “White wine sauce and vegetables of the day.” Giles lit his cigarette with an equally gleaming Zippo.
“Chips, sauté potatoes, baked potato or boiled new potatoes,
Similar Books
