The Constantine Affliction Read Online Free Page B

clasping gloved hands together, and looked at Pimm impassively.
    “Big Ben, isn’t it?” Pimm said.
    The man scowled. He clearly didn’t like the idea of someone like Pimm knowing his name. “Yes, sir.”
    Abel Value entered the room, but Pimm didn’t pay him any attention yet, still talking to the bodyguard. “Do they call you that after the prizefighter, Benjamin Caunt? You’re at least as big as he is. Or, ha, after the bell in the clock tower?”
    “They call me that, sir, because I am of large stature, sir, and because my given name is Benjamin.” His voice was calm, his diction clear, his tone dry as chalk, and Pimm mused that it was foolish to assume a man the size of a plow horse would be no smarter than one.
    “I find that eminently logical.”
    “They call you ‘Pimm,’ don’t they, sir?” Big Ben asked, his tone deferential, his expression anything but.
    “Some do,” he acknowledged.
    “Why is that, if I may ask, sir?”
    “I assume because my own given name is Pembroke, and because I’m a notorious drunkard, Benjamin. Pimm’s Cup isn’t my libation of choice, but it’s still a good enough joke, by the standards of my usual drinking companions.”
    Pimm turned his attention to Abel Value, who was either the most notorious criminal or the most prosperous businessman in London, depending on whom you asked, and on what sort of people were within earshot when you did the asking. Value was dressed in a suit that was certainly more expensive than Pimm’s own, and he had iron-gray hair, an unfashionably clean-shaven face, and a nose that had been broken at least once. He didn’t bother to hide his smirk, and he patted his bodyguard on the arm when he passed by.
    “Good day, sir,” Pimm said. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He gestured at the only other empty chair in the room, the other seats having been removed earlier by Freddy to make sure Value arranged himself properly.
    “Necessity,” Value said, and Ben shut the door behind him. Value looked at the empty chair for a moment, as if assessing whether or not it might be a trap, then sat down, crossing one leg over the other and lacing his fingers across his knee. “I need your help, Halliday. And you need to help me.”
    “Ah,” Pimm said. “I confess a measure of surprise. I had assumed you wished to speak to me regarding Mr. Martinson.”
    Abel frowned. “I can’t imagine what you mean. It was a terrible tragedy, of course, that the blackguard could not be brought to justice, but his unfortunate demise has nothing to do with me.”
    “Really. I was under the impression that my investigation into his business had displeased you.”
    Abel shrugged. “Martinson was an old friend. I was, naturally, reluctant to believe the allegations of criminal behavior against him, and assumed you were acting on false information—or else in bad faith—when you made your report to the police. But since Martinson took his own life, I can only conclude he suffered from a guilty conscience. A shame. He was a good man, but weak.”
    Pimm limited himself to a nod. Martinson had been the headmaster of a prestigious public school, but he had also been selling his students illegal alchemical stimulants, and a handful of the children had died from overindulgence—including the nephew of one of Pimm’s old school chums, who’d asked him to investigate. Proving Martinson’s guilt had been easy, but Pimm had hoped to use him as a stepping-stone to incriminate the seemingly untouchable Value, who had certainly supplied the illicit substances. Instead… well. Martinson’s death had been ruled suicide—death before dishonor and all that—but Pimm had his doubts.
    “I am here now,” Value said, “to retain your services as a consulting detective.”
    Pimm could not have been more surprised if Value had proposed marriage. “I think you misunderstand my, ah, situation. That is, I have occasionally intervened on behalf of certain friends, or