Clown Town полностью

Avril found that her glass was empty. One was her limit, though. The Brains Trust had killed a bottle the other day, and she was still feeling that in her eyes, in her organs. The Brains Trust, of course, was no more. She said, “And you want to stop that happening.”

“Of course I do.”

There’s no “of course” about it, she thought. Spies lie, spies betray. It’s what they do. “How?”

“They give themselves up. Go to the Park. Lamb can’t do anything once that happens. He can only take his revenge if they’re moving targets, where there’s no one to protect them. If they go to the Park, they’ll be safe.”

God help her, Avril thought, she means it. She thinks she can devise a happy ending out of this, or prevent a sadder one occurring. She’d been shot in the head; had survived the worst that could happen, so why couldn’t everyone else? But whatever her bullet had taught her, it hadn’t included that we don’t get to choose how things turn out. We only get to play our parts in the story.

She said, “How do I know you haven’t been sent here to tell me just that? That this is what Taverner wants? Or even Lamb, come to that? Whoever he is.”

“You’ll have to trust me.”

“God above! Are you serious?”

Sid said, “The young man I was with, whatever plan Lamb comes up with, it’ll involve him. And I do not want him involved. Is that enough of a reason for you?”

“You think you can keep him from harm? I mean, from doing it? If he’s that way inclined, you’re in for a sorry outcome.”

“I think I can keep him from being used. Or I hope I can.”

Avril said, “Then you’re both in the wrong line of business.” She shook her head, stood and buttoned her coat. “I don’t know where Al and Daisy are. And if I did, I’d warn them to stay hidden.”

“It’ll end badly.”

“It’ll end. You reach the point where the way it does is irrelevant.” She looked down on Sid, but just barely. “A word of advice? You can keep your hands clean or you can stay out of the Service. You can’t do both.”

“It’s not my hands I’m worried about.”

Avril had nothing to say to that. She left the pub, bag in hand, and walked away into the evening.

Judd said, “This might just be the least wise thing I’ve done in my life.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” said River. “I mean, some of the stuff I’ve heard about—”

“Shut up.”

“Fuck off,” River told him. “I’m driving the car. I’m not your lackey.”

Judd, staring at his reflection in the rearview, said, “You’re certainly someone’s. But does Lamb have lackeys? Or just fleas?”

“If it weren’t for this flea showing up last night, you wouldn’t be here now.”

“Yes. I could tell you’re a smooth operator by how well your rescue attempt went.”

River tightened his grip on the wheel as a faint dizziness swept across him, a whisper of weakness. Any physical tremors, spasms, uncontrollable shakes or shivers? But he didn’t have to worry about passing a medical: not any more he didn’t. And he wasn’t the only slow horse for whom that particular hurdle was no longer a concern.

Judd’s eye was still on him, and his own gaze met it briefly. You’re the reason Ash took a bullet in the chest. The reason Louisa had her throat cut. For half a moment, this threatened to engulf him. He could stop right here, drag Judd from the car and pound him to death on the pavement—this wouldn’t merely be justifiable, it would be a public duty. A cracked nose, split lips, broken teeth . . . River clutched the wheel tighter. Louisa had been part of his life for what felt like forever, occupying that special ground where friendship stops a little short of love, and while he’d barely had the chance to get to know Ash, a bond had been waiting for them too. Maybe not a good one—maybe similar to the one he shared with Ho—but a bond nonetheless. Slow horses. Which wouldn’t happen now, because of this man in the car with him. Rage would lend River energy; grief would hold his coat. Smearing Judd across half a postcode was a better plan than having Jackson broker peace . . . But somewhere underneath his anger, other, steadier voices offered counsel. Louisa wouldn’t thank him. Ash: He had no clue. But Sid would rip him a new one. The road shimmered and a car horn sounded. Come back, now. He came back.

“Are you fit to drive?” Judd asked.

River didn’t trust himself to answer.

Judd sat back, unaware of how close he’d come to a premature ending, but debating his wisdom nevertheless, getting into this car in the first place. It was Devon Welles who had called him, arranging the ride. Taverner, her bolt shot, had apparently offered to play nice.

“You want me to sit down with the woman who tried to have me killed?”

“I don’t particularly want you to do anything,” Welles had said. “But you don’t have many options. You can sort the situation out. Or wait for her to try again.”

“‘Sort the situation out.’ What are you, an agony uncle?”