Ventriloquists Read Online Free Page A

her. And she would like to pay you to find her. You impressed her, boy.’
    Yasser’s heart was calming and steadying. A cauldron of questions bubbled in his mind, but one in particular made a much louder pop and flashed an image of a pair of Gucci loafers.
    ‘How much is she offering?’ Yasser asked.
     
    4.
    Maggie was early. Yasser knew she was early without needing his wristwatch: he was early himself and she arrived only a few minutes after him. Without so much as a word of invitation from Yasser, Maggie entered on his passenger side.
    ‘Not a bare hint of petrol,’ she said by way of a greeting.
    ‘They were bullshitting me.’
    ‘They were testing you. There’s a big difference.’
    ‘How did you get here?’ Yasser asked.
    ‘How do I get anywhere? The 61 bus... Thanks for meeting me.’ Maggie had yet to meet Yasser’s eyes; her focus was straight ahead. ‘I’d’ve understood if you told me no.’
    Yasser started the engine. ‘Where to?’
    ‘Do you know Hockliffe?’
    Yasser moved the car towards the car park’s exit ramp. ‘It’s a name on a sign,’ he told her. He reached out the window to feed his ticket to the machine. The barrier rattled erect to let them out.
    ‘I’ll direct you... A prepaid ticket, eh? Man of means.’
    Yasser indicated left. ‘I paid for thirty minutes. That’s all I was gonna wait,’ he said.
    Maggie laughed. ‘Treat em mean and keep em keen, eh Yasser? What happened to a woman’s prerogative to be late for everything?’
    ‘What happened to a child’s – to live like a child?’
    ‘Amen to that,’ Maggie whispered, and turned Yasser’s way for the first time. She only saw him in profile – he was watching for a space in the Dunstable traffic on West Street – but perhaps he had sensed her. ‘We need to turn right, by the way,’ she said, blinking back tears. ‘Then left at the crossroads, up the A5...’
    After nearly a minute a works van and a motorcycle allowed them to cross the thoroughfare and ease into traffic. Having negotiated the manoeuvre, Yasser experienced a failure of patience with Maggie. ‘Tell me about your little girl,’ he said. ‘Where did you lose her?’
    ‘I didn’t lose her. She was stolen .’
    ‘Where was she stolen?’
    ‘In Hockliffe.’
    ‘...Are you serious? You’re taking me to the scene of the crime?’
    A red light at the crossroads held them still. For the first time in this vehicle their eyes met. Something nervous but mischievous tinkered with the left side of Maggie’s mouth.
    ‘Where else did you have in mind to start the search?’ Maggie wanted to know.
    ‘I haven’t agreed to anything yet!’ Yasser protested.
    ‘Yes you have, Yasser. You turned up.’
    ‘To discuss it!’
    ‘Baloney... The light’s green. And besides, I’ve got something in my handbag for you. It’ll soothe your doubts, to be sure.’
     
    5.
    Hockliffe is a pleasant Bedfordshire village, smeared a brown-chrome combination this morning, about eight miles from the camp where Maggie lived. She knew the way adroitly: as though she were directing Yasser to her own refrigerator.
    For Yasser’s part, he had believed he was being led to a house or a pub – either of which would have fit. But this ?
    ‘A dog-grooming shop?’
    The sign outside said LEIGHTON PAMPERED POOCH.
    ‘Bridget lives here. Follow me. Though don’t speak too much,’ said Maggie, opening the passenger side door.
    ‘And who’s Bridget when she’s at home?’ Yasser demanded, stifling the murmurs of the expensive engine.
    ‘She is at home. She’s my cousin. She used to look after Paloma.’
    It was the first time that Yasser realised that he didn’t even know the name of the allegedly abducted daughter. Well, now he did. And furthermore, he knew a bit more than the black and white of fib versus truth. The existence of a child carer lent Maggie’s story a puff of wisdom and verisimilitude.
    If this is a set-up, Yasser considered, it’s a good one.
    He had