Zorilla At Large! Read Online Free Page A

“What a waste of time!”
    â€œPerhaps the CCTV footage will show something,” Miller tried to sound optimistic. “Usually does.”
    Brough emitted a groan.
    â€œI know it’s not the kind of film you’re used to,” she continued, “but honestly, David, while you’re still on the job, try to focus.”
    He glared at her.
    â€œAnd while we’re ‘on the job’ as you so prosaically put it, you don’t get to call me David.”
    Miller gave up. She went to chase up Barry Morgan for the CCTV footage, leaving Brough to check his phone. But Hollywood star Oscar Buzz had sent no messages.
    Time difference, I expect, Brough told himself. In Australia it’s already tomorrow.
    ***
    â€œWell, it won’t be here, will it?” said Pattimore at the kerb. Heavy traffic trundled past, its flow around the roundabout interrupted every few yards by sets of traffic lights. “It’d never get across this road.”
    â€œDon’t underestimate the furry fuckers,” said Stevens, jabbing at the button repeatedly. The little man above it remained a resolute red. “Call of the wild, isn’t it? Creature like that operates on instinct. All they think about is filling their bellies and emptying their ball sacks. Propagating the species. Feeding and fucking.”
    â€œReminds me of somebody,” said Pattimore archly.
    â€œToo fucking right,” said Stevens. “And that little fucker must be hungry, so he’ll have followed his conk here.”
    He gestured to a small gathering of fast food outlets standing before Dedley’s multiplex cinema. “Stands to reason. There’s always food and shit all over the place. Discarded chicken bones and what-have-you. The rats have a field day.”
    â€œIt’s not a rat, it’s a weasel.”
    â€œPotato, po-tah-to. Same difference.”
    The little red man was replaced by a little green one accompanied by insistent beeping. Stevens jogged across the road. Shaking his head, Pattimore followed.
    â€œSo, we check all the bushes, do we? Or are you going to lie on the path and pretend to be a chicken drumstick?”
    â€œFuck that,” said Stevens. He jerked his head towards the nearest establishment. “Let’s try in here.”
    Pattimore peered through the restaurant’s tinted windows. It was already bustling with an early lunchtime crowd. “To see if anyone’s seen anything.”
    Stevens pulled a face. “You can if you want. I’m after the peri-peri wings.”
    â€œFollowing your belly,” said Pattimore. Oh well, he consoled himself as he traipsed after the detective inspector over the threshold of Sam ‘n’ Ella’s Chicken Shack , at least he’s not looking for a fuck.
    ***
    Harry Henry was sweating. He was not used to being undercover and even though this particular cover demanded no more of him than smiles and nods and handshakes, he could not rid himself of the terrible sensation of foreboding. It could all go belly-up at any second.
    Flashes from the cameras blinded him. The Mayor of Dedley was no more than a fuzzy silhouette at the end of Harry’s fingers. Voices were haranguing him to ‘look this way’ and to lift up his chin; Harry was careful not to respond to them, remembering that his cover was not supposed to understand English.
    That Jeff bloke was there, spouting about the valuable gift - the ‘zorilla’ - and the partnership it symbolised between two nations. Some rubbish about the stripes along its back: the white helping the black to stand out, and vice versa. Borderline racist, thought Harry Henry and then remembered not to react.
    His nose began to itch. The animal was still covered and Harry had been careful to position the Mayor between himself and the cage. But still his nose was itching.
    Harry’s breath caught in the back of his throat. His eyes screwed tightly shut. Mouth open