The City Trap Read Online Free

relatives, though. Just a five-year-old girl left in the worst of
lurches. Des sighed; he was in the wrong neighbourhood, close to the wrong clientele. He threw the newspaper down. The patio seemed dismal and empty. He stared at the grime on the paving stones and
took a wary look at an insipid sky.
    The colour caught his eye first. A hint of red amid the dreary backs of the houses. Des turned his head and saw it properly. A red balloon was bouncing down from his roof. Slowly it drifted and,
catching a current of air from the entry, it suddenly flung itself forwards and landed at Des’s feet. Des smiled slightly at the surprise, but then felt a stab of resentment at the intrusion
and kicked out. A square of polythene was attached to the balloon. Des picked it up. On one side of the square he read: Open me. I want to be let out! Please!!!!!
    Des carefully unstuck the sellotape at the side and drew out a pink card. More writing: From the mystry? Who loves you and is ready for it – sex. This is from Lisa. I love you. I live
at 108 Kingsvale Tower .
    Des stared at the message. He looked back up at the blanket of clouds. It was then that the ache began to return, that thwarted hunger as chillingly tangible as the need for food.
    It took some time to find the A–Z , such was the mess of his house. He began to flick through the pages. He must’ve been up that way when he was taxi-driving.
But that was then, when he was with Miranda. Now the lines and letters were just a blur. The map book to the city had a random index and false reference codes. But Kingsvale Tower did exist. The
name finally pointed itself out of the confusion and Des realized that a westerly wind must have brought the balloon two miles through the polluted air. He pondered. Was this luck or just a hoax
from a silly girl? Could it be a real message from a lusting damsel locked up high in a tower? Could this be his escape from the claws that dug into him? Des closed the A–Z , put it in
his back pocket and went to the phone.
    ‘Is Rebecca there, please?’
    ‘Sorry, she hasn’t been in work for a couple of days.’
    Des smiled with relief. ‘Could you tell her Mr McGinlay rang, yeh?’
    ‘Certainly.’
    Des grabbed his coat and hurried to the front door. As he opened it, two burly policemen stopped and stared at him. One had a scar that halved his nose.

4
    The cop with the scar-spliced nose leaned over towards Des and snarled. You could tell he’d had his fair share of abuse about his deformity and toughed it out. In fact,
he wore it with pride.
    ‘Look, when Miranda said “shove it”, she didn’t mean shove a house brick through the windscreen of her car!’
    ‘But, I didn’t . . . I don’t –’
    ‘Were you out last night?’
    ‘In most of the time though I did go for a bit of a walk.’
    ‘Pissed, were you?’
    ‘I suppose I was a –’
    ‘Stoned?’
    ‘You don’t expect me to –’
    ‘Yeh, too bloody high to know it. Too red with rage to care.’
    ‘Come on, she lives six miles from me. You think I’d walk there and back, twelve miles in the pouring rain, just to smash a car window?’
    ‘She’s a tasty bird, Miranda. You must be pretty sick at losing her.’
    ‘And smashing her car will help me get her back?’
    ‘It was a cry from the heart, attention-seeking; and you got it too. Miranda clocked you, mate.’
    ‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe I did do it. But if I did, it was a mistake. I was pissed and –’
    ‘That’s no defence.’
    ‘Oh sod it, man. Miranda won’t press charges anyway.’
    The cop ceased to flaunt his disfigurement. He eased back in his chair and allowed an indulgent smile to soften his mean interrogator’s face.
    ‘Well, if you did do it, and Miranda does press charges, then you’re in deep shit, aren’t you?’
    ‘What you mean?’
    ‘This Mickey Mouse licence of yours, “private investigator”. Business good, is it?’
    ‘Fair enough.’
    ‘Oh yeh? Well, mate, your days of snooping