A Handicap of the Devil? Read Online Free Page A

stomach. “That was another call for a drug deal, and we need to know if it's just coincidence he turns up at the same time. Move away from the others into the centre of the room. Hands up and stand with your legs wide apart.... Frisk him Sampson."
    "Aw, come off it.” Sampson blushed.
    "Just do it."
    "You reckon I've been reading detective stories, stories,” muttered Old Crone.
    Sampson ran his hands quickly over Jonathan's body. “Nothing."
    Cowley relaxed slightly. “Okay ... name, address and occupation?"
    "Jonathan Goodfellow, 16 Schmidt Street, Blofield West. I'm an accountant."
    "Empty out your pockets."
    Jonathan took out his keys, handkerchief and wallet.
    "Is that all?"
    He nodded as the dwarf examined the contents of the wallet.
    "What's in the briefcase?"
    "Nothing.” Jonathan opened his briefcase
    Sampson extracted the paper bag that lay inside. He opened it. “A sandwich?"
    "Cheese and pickle actually. Mrs. O'Reilly insists on making me two for lunch, and I only ever eat one."
    "Do you mind...?” Jonathan shrugged. Sampson and the dwarf each began to eat half of the sandwich.
    "I still say he's a cop, cop."
    "His driver's licence says he's who he says he is.” The dwarf's words were muffled by a mouthful of cheese and pickle.
    "Could be his cover.” Cowley sounded less certain.
    "What if it is? What are you planning to do? Shoot him and bury him in the yard?” Sampson looked in the briefcase again, hoping for more food.
    The gun in Cowley's hand still pointed at Jonathan. For one of the few times in his life, he began to get angry. “Look, I don't know what any of this is about. I'm just an ordinary man on my way home from work. I fell asleep on the train and went past my station. I started to walk home in the rain and decided to catch a cab. I came in here hoping to borrow a telephone, and I get mixed up in I don't know what. I know nothing about the police, detectives, drugs ... or any of the rest of it. So if you don't mind, I'll pocket my possessions, pick up my brief case and make myself scarce. If you want to shoot me on the way out, go ahead.” He turned to Sampson. “And I trust you enjoyed my sandwich, thank you.” Jonathan snapped his briefcase closed. He snatched his wallet, handkerchief and keys from the dwarf. “Thank you. Thank you very much.” He stormed from the room.
    He re-entered the room at approximately sixty miles an hour—head first and horizontal—as a large explosion blew in the door of the house. Jonathan picked himself up and looked around in a daze. The telephone was ringing. Everyone was in a state of shock. He heard footsteps running down the hallway towards the sitting room. Jonathan shook his head to clear the ringing from his ears, as Sampson slammed the door shut and—with the dwarf's help—piled furniture against it.
    The phone rang on.
    A sledgehammer slammed against the door, and there was a curse from outside. A voice called urgently. “Open the door, you turds, or I'll smash it down.” Several heavy blows rained on the door. The five people in the sitting room cowered against the walls and watched as the wooden door began to splinter and give way.
    Cowley was angry. “Piss off, or I'll shoot you."
    "You ain't got no gun, lady."
    "I'm no lady.” Cowley fired through the door, and the gun leapt from her hand.
    Jonathan deftly caught it and fired two more shots through the door before he even thought about what he was doing. Jonathan had never handled a gun before—let alone fired one.
    There were more curses from outside the door before a fusillade of return fire smashed through it, narrowly missing Jonathan and Cowley. They both dived to the floor. The sound of sirens began in the distance, and the people in the hallway beat a hasty retreat. There was sudden silence inside the house.
    As they listened, the sirens outside became progressively louder. They heard a high-powered car start and roar away.
    Jonathan stood up. “What was that all