Hellblazer 2 - Subterranean Read Online Free Page A

still hurt, so that now he turned to Chas, who was working his way rapidly through a tall bitters; Frank William “Chas” Chandler, cabdriver and sometimes unwilling Constantine chauffeur. “And how about you and your Renee, then? The wife welcoming you back with open arms, is she, Chas?”
    Chas clacked his glass down and turned a cold glare at Constantine. “Right. That’s the end. How long’s it been we’ve known each other? Since 1969, that’s how long. Fucking hell! To think! Thirty-five years!”
    “Nearer thirty-six,” Constantine mumbled, addressing himself to his drink. And privately regretting his remark about Renee.
    “Driving you around for free—no, not just for free! It cost me hundreds, thousands! Losing fares because of it—”
    “I did you a favor, once,” Constantine reminded him. “Cut you loose from something wicked . . .”
    “If you want to call arranging for my mother’s death a favor—”
    “She was a monster! And all I did was do away with that demonic monkey of hers—but she was so tied into that foul-smelling primate . . . Anyway, you thanked me, you said you were free, free at last, sounded just like Martin Luther King—”
    They both broke off, realizing the Cutter’s barkeep was staring at them with narrowed eyes, having heard something about arranging deaths and mothers. “Not what it sounded like, mate,” Constantine said. Though it was just what it sounded like. “Just an old wheeze.”
    The barman shrugged and went to serve a group of rowdy, rather muddy rugby players in uniform, fresh in from an afternoon’s match.
    “Thirty-six years of nightmares,” Chas went on, his voice low, “is enough gratitude anyway, Constantine.”
    Constantine glanced at Chas, then noticed an empty beer pitcher and a shot glass beside his mug. Constantine had arrived only a few minutes before. But Chas had been drinking for a while; Constantine guessed he was past the convivial glow of early drinking and on into the sullen bit. “Come on, Chas,” he said, keeping his voice mild. “It’s not as if you haven’t had some rewards in all of it. You got to see things other people only wonder about. They wonder if there’s life after death—you know it! The veil was lifted for you, mate, and—”
    “Did you say rewards, John? Would that be when me family was kidnapped, when the serial killer was after us—or when I was fucking possessed by some bloody damned demon—”
    “Redundant, that is,” Constantine interrupted, mostly to himself. “ ‘Damned demon.’ ”
    “—and nearly beat my Renee to death!”
    The barman was staring at them again. Constantine shrugged at him and hooked a thumb toward Chas, then tapped his head and winked. Just humor him.
    The barman went back to refilling a bin with ice, but he kept watch on the two middle-aged men at the other end of the bar: Constantine with the deliberately spiky blond hair, the ratty trench coat, and the wry expression, and Chas, the slightly bigger one with the dark, accidentally spiky hair, the slight paunch, and the stolid, angular face—with a pug’s nose, for it had been broken in its time—beginning to show the ravages of too much drink.
    “So,” Constantine said, “your Renee hasn’t forgiven you yet?”
    “Forgiven me? She won’t let me near her! She’s staying with Geraldine. Won’t even come to the phone when I ring up! And that’s your doing, mate.”
    “That demon taking a ride in you wasn’t something I arranged—you were just the handiest horse in the stable, like. Not my fault, Chas. Christ the cry is always, ‘Another ghastly cock-up? Must be Constantine done it!’ ”
    “No it’s never your fault, is it John? But it always turns to shite when JC comes round. I don’t need the aggro. I almost got up and left when you sat down here and I believe I will now.”
    Chas got up and walked out.
    Constantine shrugged and gave Chas the finger in the mirror behind the bar. But Chas never turned around