Watching the Wheels Come Off Read Online Free Page B

simple answer to a profound question. ‘Will you need me back for a follow-up? Fear of God soon evaporates.’
    ‘We’ll see.’
    The detective looks up into the big man’s empty eyes, and recognises irrefutable evidence for that awful Darwinian truth: a truth borne out by reality but too often ignored by those who think of themselves as civilised.

five
    T he double doors to the Residents’ Lounge part slowly. Mark’s smeared face peers into the deserted foyer. He slips silently across the worn carpet towards the front exit.
    ‘Got a minute, have you?’
    Mark freezes, then turns to find Springer swaying in the door of his office.
    ‘Me?’
    ‘Yes, you, dear fellow.’
    ‘I’m rather pressed for time, Ace.’
    Mark consults the replica Rolex, fat as a shackle on his wrist. ‘Is it important?’
    ‘The Grand Atlantic pays a not inconsiderable retainer for your services, Mark. Is that important enough?’
    * * *
    Every inch of wall space in Springer’s office is crammed with war photographs, framed medals, ribbons and battle maps. Every conflict is represented: World War II, Malaya,Korea, even Vietnam. On closer inspection, the observer will notice that Ace himself is not featured in any, although his image is sprinkled among them in the form of snaps taken at his numerous weddings, holidays abroad, staff outings, or posing with the glazed stars of summer shows and Christmas pantomimes. In each he is holding a drink; in none is he wearing a uniform. The source of his nickname remains a mystery.
    ‘Bad show, dear fellow, losing a client like that.’
    He is already fixing himself another large brandy when Mark enters the office, closing the door behind him.
    ‘Born in a trunk is one thing; dying in one is another. Hope you haven’t any lousy publicity stunts lined up for those peculiar American people arriving tomorrow.’
    ‘No.’
    ‘What do they do, exactly?’ Springer eyes him suspiciously.
    ‘Management training, high-powered stuff. Lots of charts, graphs, objectives, forecasting, marketing, feasibility studies. All to do with investment planning.’
    ‘What’s it called again?’
    ‘The PII. The Personal Improvement Institute.’
    ‘Jesus, who’d believe it? An institute for personal improvement?’ Springer shakes his head incredulously.
    ‘So what exactly do they teach? Greed, ruthlessness… dishonesty? Odd how most vices are now considered to be an improvement . And who better to teach us than our American cousins.’
    He looms up close to Miles, close enough for brandyfumes to practically sear his face. ‘You’re too young to remember the GIs in the war. Overpaid, oversexed and over here; that’s what we used to say about them, and now it seems the same can be said about you .’ He sinks his brandy in one, then lurches for a refill: ‘Aside from that damned ridiculous accent you put on, it turns out that you have something else in common with the Yanks. Like them you’re cunt-struck. That’s if Harvey’s not given to exaggeration.’
    ‘Harvey?’
    Mark knows what’s coming. He turns away as casually as he can, suddenly finding a new interest in the photos on the wall. Winston Churchill, phallic cigar clamped in his mouth, gives him the V-for-Victory sign.
    ‘Yes, Harvey. That leprous night porter of mine was shooting his mouth off in the staff latrine this morning, not knowing I was squatting in a stall trying to bring a spell of constipation to a happy conclusion. He went on at length to one of our Polish waiters about your nocturnal exploits in the numerous empty bedrooms of my humble hostelry, old chap.’
    The phone on the desk starts to ring. Springer eyes it malevolently until it stops.
    ‘It seems your carnal activities have even extended, on several occasions, to our communal rooms, including the Hertz rental office. I trust the name of that particular location didn’t put the young lady off?’
    Again the phone rings. Springer lifts the receiver an inch, then lets it