Crunch Time Read Online Free Page B

and the expression a headmaster might have displayed before inflicting pain on a student. Jagger rose reluctantly, nodded at Ingram and followed the jack out.
    The evening was cold. A bitter wind blew through the streets of Salford. Jagger stood outside the police station waiting for the taxi the custody officer had been cajoled into calling for him. He shivered, but grinned inwardly. It had been a good day, all told. Things could have gone wrong and he could so easily have ended up in detention, but it had worked out as planned – so far.
    A black cab pulled up. ‘Jagger?’
    â€˜That’s me,’ said the released prisoner, and climbed into the back of it.
    â€˜Any relation?’ the cabby asked. He twisted around and looked at Jagger’s face. ‘No, guess not … where to, pal?’
    â€˜Deansgate, please. Drop me off near Waterstone’s.’
    The pub was in a tight side street off Deansgate. It was a narrow building, bustling with a cross-section of clientele, and offered rooms by the hour. Jagger edged in and eased past the punters, emerging at the bar where, after an interminable wait, he ordered a large Coke and a bag of crisps. He was thirsty and famished, but he could not have faced another beer or wine. In fact his liver felt like a brick lodged just below his ribcage. It would probably need a few weeks of convalescence before it became pliable again.
    As he paid for his goods, a woman sidled up beside him, blonde, about five-seven, trim, her nicely bobbed hair framing her face. She deliberately barged against him in a gentle way, almost causing him to spill his drink. He turned in a huff, ready to unleash a mouthful, but his annoyance morphed into pleasure on seeing who it was. They caught each other’s eyes, but neither spoke. She did not apologize, but ordered herself a drink – white wine and soda – then turned to Jagger, who was placing a huge crinkle-cut crisp into his mouth, grilled steak flavour.
    â€˜I’ve got a room upstairs for an hour,’ she said, leaning against the bar.
    â€˜Will that be long enough?’ His tongue pushed out his cheek suggestively, causing her to laugh.
    â€˜How long do you need?’
    â€˜I can go on for ever once I get started,’ he boasted.
    â€˜So I’ve heard. Room two, up the stairs, second right. I’m sure you’ll like it. It’s very tasteful given the nature of its general usage.’ She pushed herself off the bar and disappeared through the crowd. Jagger popped another crisp into his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of Coke.
    Room two was furnished nicely, for the price. It had a four-poster bed with a very flowery quilt and curtains; a table and two chairs; an en-suite bathroom for the necessary clean up, pre- or post whatever activity might be taking or have taken place. There was also a strong medicinal tang to the atmosphere.
    The woman from the bar was sitting at the table set with two dinner places. She stood up as Jagger entered, extended her hand and they shook.
    â€˜Thought you might like a decent meal,’ she said, indicating the place settings. ‘The food is basic, but pretty good here.’
    Jagger took a very deep breath, then exhaled. He was, and looked, exhausted. He plonked down at the table and regarded the blonde woman. She was in her late thirties, extremely good-looking now that her hair had been attended to. Last time he’d seen her was when it had been pinned sharply back off her face and she had been regarding him with harsh eyes across a custody desk whilst he had threatened to punch her lights out.
    â€˜I could do with a meal and a very long sleep, actually.’
    â€˜Actually, I’ve booked the room for the night. Thought you’d need a heads-down.’
    â€˜Thoughtful.’ Jagger eyed the room, wondering how much action it had seen over the years. His mind boggled, then he looked back at the blonde, who was watching him with