pulled up at some lights. Tallis whipped out the photograph of Demarku, held it up for the driver. “Seen this guy before?”
The cabbie looked in his rear-view mirror. “Not a clue, mate.”
“You sure?”
The cabbie eyed it again. “Mate of yours, is he?”
“No. Someone I need to find.”
“Right,” the cabbie said, looking again. “Bit of a sort, ain’t he?”
“Think so?”
“Know so. Looks like a bleedin’ foreigner.”
CHAPTER TEN
D OG-TIRED, T ALLIS SLEPT most of Monday. After his customary run and shower, he left the hotel around two, ambled down Tottenham Court Road and found a café where he ordered and ate a sandwich before making his way across London and over the river to the Imperial War Museum. Some hours later, sobered and not a little depressed, he retraced his way back, walking through St James’s Park to clear his head then catching the tube to Westbourne Grove to an Italian restaurant he’d seen advertised in a free newspaper. After downing a plate of prosciutto and pasta with clams, washed down with two glasses of house red and finished off with a heavy-duty espresso, he took another tube to Hounslow West, changing once.
It was after nine when he reached the chip shop, two hours before his meeting with Goran in Earls Court. Tallis walked in, exchanged a glance with the small, wiry guy who’d given him the chips the day before. This time there was less warning in his manner: he came across as relaxed, bordering on friendly. “Back already?” Then with a leer, he said, “That good, huh?”
“The best, but this time I pay,” Tallis said with a grin, taking out his wallet.
“Duka takes care of it. Go on through,” he indicated with his thumb. “Know where to go.”
Duka was mean and malodorous. She turned her slow eyes on Tallis who explained he wanted the same girl as the night before. “No,” Duka said without explanation.
Tallis smiled as though he didn’t understand, part of his brain racing. Had the girl talked? Had she betrayed him? “She with someone else?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
“No,” Duka said again, emphatic.
Tallis raised an eyebrow. This time he wasn’t smiling. Duka shrugged. “Take another girl or come back tomorrow.” Who gives a shit? her expression implied.
Tallis walked straight up to her, put his face close to her face, inhaling breath foul with garlic and tooth decay and hostility. “I’ll come back tomorrow afternoon at two. Make sure she’s here.” Then he turned on his heel and walked back the way he’d come.
Tallis was three hundred yards from the pub when two blokes in hoodies appeared from nowhere and jumped him. The biggest bloke was in front of Tallis, the other slighter figure moving to the left, catching Tallis on his blind side. It was a typical pincer movement and one he was familiar with. Had it been one assailant, he would have reacted differently, perhaps tried to talk him down, but with two, the odds were greatly against him. Only one thing for it, he thought. Attack.
Eyes flicking to the right, locating the bloke’s jaw line, Tallis pushed off his back leg, letting out a blood-curdling scream and simultaneously lashing out with an elbow. His reward a gratifying snap as he connected with the man’sjawbone, felling his attacker and knocking him into the side of a car parked illegally in the road. A split second later, the bloke built like a brick wall had landed a right hook heavy enough to make Tallis’s brain rattle around his head. Immediately, Tallis grabbed the man’s hood with both hands, forcing him down, and brought his own knee up sharply, smashing into his opponent’s head. The man rocked backwards momentarily then pulled out a blade. Suddenly, everything slowed. Tallis knew that the situation could cut up very dirty, very quickly and wondered whether the guy was pumped up on drugs.
Almost crouching, his attacker sliced the air with his knife hand, feinting with the other. Tallis, eyes
The cabbie looked in his rear-view mirror. “Not a clue, mate.”
“You sure?”
The cabbie eyed it again. “Mate of yours, is he?”
“No. Someone I need to find.”
“Right,” the cabbie said, looking again. “Bit of a sort, ain’t he?”
“Think so?”
“Know so. Looks like a bleedin’ foreigner.”
CHAPTER TEN
D OG-TIRED, T ALLIS SLEPT most of Monday. After his customary run and shower, he left the hotel around two, ambled down Tottenham Court Road and found a café where he ordered and ate a sandwich before making his way across London and over the river to the Imperial War Museum. Some hours later, sobered and not a little depressed, he retraced his way back, walking through St James’s Park to clear his head then catching the tube to Westbourne Grove to an Italian restaurant he’d seen advertised in a free newspaper. After downing a plate of prosciutto and pasta with clams, washed down with two glasses of house red and finished off with a heavy-duty espresso, he took another tube to Hounslow West, changing once.
It was after nine when he reached the chip shop, two hours before his meeting with Goran in Earls Court. Tallis walked in, exchanged a glance with the small, wiry guy who’d given him the chips the day before. This time there was less warning in his manner: he came across as relaxed, bordering on friendly. “Back already?” Then with a leer, he said, “That good, huh?”
“The best, but this time I pay,” Tallis said with a grin, taking out his wallet.
“Duka takes care of it. Go on through,” he indicated with his thumb. “Know where to go.”
Duka was mean and malodorous. She turned her slow eyes on Tallis who explained he wanted the same girl as the night before. “No,” Duka said without explanation.
Tallis smiled as though he didn’t understand, part of his brain racing. Had the girl talked? Had she betrayed him? “She with someone else?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll wait.”
“No,” Duka said again, emphatic.
Tallis raised an eyebrow. This time he wasn’t smiling. Duka shrugged. “Take another girl or come back tomorrow.” Who gives a shit? her expression implied.
Tallis walked straight up to her, put his face close to her face, inhaling breath foul with garlic and tooth decay and hostility. “I’ll come back tomorrow afternoon at two. Make sure she’s here.” Then he turned on his heel and walked back the way he’d come.
Tallis was three hundred yards from the pub when two blokes in hoodies appeared from nowhere and jumped him. The biggest bloke was in front of Tallis, the other slighter figure moving to the left, catching Tallis on his blind side. It was a typical pincer movement and one he was familiar with. Had it been one assailant, he would have reacted differently, perhaps tried to talk him down, but with two, the odds were greatly against him. Only one thing for it, he thought. Attack.
Eyes flicking to the right, locating the bloke’s jaw line, Tallis pushed off his back leg, letting out a blood-curdling scream and simultaneously lashing out with an elbow. His reward a gratifying snap as he connected with the man’sjawbone, felling his attacker and knocking him into the side of a car parked illegally in the road. A split second later, the bloke built like a brick wall had landed a right hook heavy enough to make Tallis’s brain rattle around his head. Immediately, Tallis grabbed the man’s hood with both hands, forcing him down, and brought his own knee up sharply, smashing into his opponent’s head. The man rocked backwards momentarily then pulled out a blade. Suddenly, everything slowed. Tallis knew that the situation could cut up very dirty, very quickly and wondered whether the guy was pumped up on drugs.
Almost crouching, his attacker sliced the air with his knife hand, feinting with the other. Tallis, eyes
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