host's question. He doubted that the man cared either way about his health, it was simply an introduction to whatever he'd been called here for.
"You appear a little grumpy this morning."
"I'm not grumpy, just tired and bloody hot. It's a long walk to get up here and it's a scorching day out there."
"Ha! The young of today. Scorching day? It's barely sixty five degrees out there young man, and look at you, all sweat and panting as though you'd run a marathon. Next time I send for you, get a taxi!"
"Taxis cost money, old man. You gonna pay for it are you?"
"Don't I pay you enough already? And don't you ever call me 'old man' again, or I'll see to it that something very nasty happens to you. You can count on it."
The man's voice rose to a crescendo that forced Michael to sit back in his chair. The temper had appeared from nowhere, and the younger man knew better than to answer back. He'd seen the man like this before. His volatile nature frightened Michael. Though the man was much older than he, Michael had no doubt that he could handle himself well if forced to. His looked strong and lithe, his arms muscular and well proportioned despite his age. Michael could be violent as well of course, but his drug abused body probably meant that the two men would be much more equally matched than would normally be the case if it came to a fight, and Michael didn't dare take the risk. He depended too much on his host.
"I'm sorry," said Michael. "No offence intended."
"Hmm, it might help if you stuck to selling those drugs to the poor misbegotten souls out there instead of using them yourself. You might have a bit more wind with which to make your way up the hill if you were fitter. And isn't it time you had a shave and a damn good wash? When did you last have a bath, or a shower?
What my neighbours must think if they see you coming up my driveway, God only knows."
Michael didn't reply. Instead he waited. He knew the man hadn't called him to the house to discuss his bathing and sanitary arrangements.
"What? Nothing to say to me? You're a bloody coward and a liar, that's what you are. Why I bother with you I just don't know. If you weren't useful to me I'd&"
The man let his last words hang in the air. The inference wasn't lost on Michael. He knew that his host could be violent if he wished to be, and Michael had no wish to be on the receiving end of that violent streak.
"You asked me to come here today." Michael said quietly.
"Yes, I did, didn't I?"
The man leaned forward, took a Davidoff cigarette from a packet that stood on the small side table beside his chair, inserted it into a silver cigarette holder that he extracted from the pocket of his smoking jacket and proceeded to light it using a well used Zippo lighter.
"Well, I presume you have something to say to me about last night?"
"Oh you do? You presume do you? That's rather eloquent of you isn't it? "You presume? Well, well. As a matter of fact, young man, you're quite correct. I do wish to discuss last night with you, and in some detail. This morning too, if you don't mind."
The man leaned back in his chair, took a long drag on his cigarette and with an ease that had always baffled the younger man on previous visits, began to produce a steady stream of smoke rings that billowed forth and rose towards the ceiling before dissipating and forming a cloud that would hang just below the level of the ceiling through out their conversation. Michael hated these 'little talks' as the man referred to them. They always made his flesh creep, and his nerves would be on edge from now until he eventually left the house and returned to the fresh air of the outside world once again.
"Well?" asked the man. "Are you going to tell me about your house guest or not?"
Michael shivered. The air in the room seemed to have grown colder. As he began to relate the information required of him the man closed his eyes and listened intently, hanging on every word of Michael's, absorbing every fact
"You appear a little grumpy this morning."
"I'm not grumpy, just tired and bloody hot. It's a long walk to get up here and it's a scorching day out there."
"Ha! The young of today. Scorching day? It's barely sixty five degrees out there young man, and look at you, all sweat and panting as though you'd run a marathon. Next time I send for you, get a taxi!"
"Taxis cost money, old man. You gonna pay for it are you?"
"Don't I pay you enough already? And don't you ever call me 'old man' again, or I'll see to it that something very nasty happens to you. You can count on it."
The man's voice rose to a crescendo that forced Michael to sit back in his chair. The temper had appeared from nowhere, and the younger man knew better than to answer back. He'd seen the man like this before. His volatile nature frightened Michael. Though the man was much older than he, Michael had no doubt that he could handle himself well if forced to. His looked strong and lithe, his arms muscular and well proportioned despite his age. Michael could be violent as well of course, but his drug abused body probably meant that the two men would be much more equally matched than would normally be the case if it came to a fight, and Michael didn't dare take the risk. He depended too much on his host.
"I'm sorry," said Michael. "No offence intended."
"Hmm, it might help if you stuck to selling those drugs to the poor misbegotten souls out there instead of using them yourself. You might have a bit more wind with which to make your way up the hill if you were fitter. And isn't it time you had a shave and a damn good wash? When did you last have a bath, or a shower?
What my neighbours must think if they see you coming up my driveway, God only knows."
Michael didn't reply. Instead he waited. He knew the man hadn't called him to the house to discuss his bathing and sanitary arrangements.
"What? Nothing to say to me? You're a bloody coward and a liar, that's what you are. Why I bother with you I just don't know. If you weren't useful to me I'd&"
The man let his last words hang in the air. The inference wasn't lost on Michael. He knew that his host could be violent if he wished to be, and Michael had no wish to be on the receiving end of that violent streak.
"You asked me to come here today." Michael said quietly.
"Yes, I did, didn't I?"
The man leaned forward, took a Davidoff cigarette from a packet that stood on the small side table beside his chair, inserted it into a silver cigarette holder that he extracted from the pocket of his smoking jacket and proceeded to light it using a well used Zippo lighter.
"Well, I presume you have something to say to me about last night?"
"Oh you do? You presume do you? That's rather eloquent of you isn't it? "You presume? Well, well. As a matter of fact, young man, you're quite correct. I do wish to discuss last night with you, and in some detail. This morning too, if you don't mind."
The man leaned back in his chair, took a long drag on his cigarette and with an ease that had always baffled the younger man on previous visits, began to produce a steady stream of smoke rings that billowed forth and rose towards the ceiling before dissipating and forming a cloud that would hang just below the level of the ceiling through out their conversation. Michael hated these 'little talks' as the man referred to them. They always made his flesh creep, and his nerves would be on edge from now until he eventually left the house and returned to the fresh air of the outside world once again.
"Well?" asked the man. "Are you going to tell me about your house guest or not?"
Michael shivered. The air in the room seemed to have grown colder. As he began to relate the information required of him the man closed his eyes and listened intently, hanging on every word of Michael's, absorbing every fact
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