Dire Straits Read Online Free Page B

recent exploits. There’s nothing that stands out. I’ve served a few other summons, but their recipients have accepted them with equanimity. And my other work has involved me staying out of sight on routine surveillance missions.
    ‘I’ve been squeaky clean.’ Just for the hell of it, I smirk humourlessly at the old man. ‘Can you say the same?’
    He snorts. I scratch at my neck. O’Shea’s blood is congealing on my skin and starting to feel uncomfortable. I check my watch, focusing not on the panic which is swirling in my veins but on what I need to do next.
    ‘I’ll be back around nine,’ I say. ‘Can you hold the fort until then?’
    He gives me a droll look. Say what you like about the old bastard, he’s as tough as old nails. If the daemon’s attackers are smart – or stupid – enough to come calling, they’ll be in for a great surprise. I turn to leave but he grabs my arm. ‘Be careful.’ His tone is serious.
    I nod, then walk out.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
    Chapter Three: Clean and Call
     
     
    My car door is still hanging open. The cat, pretending to be asleep on the pavement beside it, half-opens one green eye as I approach. It lets out a tiny guttural meow and clambers to its feet, stretching out its forelegs then padding off. I peer inside, taking in the blood-soaked seat and sigh. I’d only just forked out a wad to have it valeted the previous week. Slamming the door shut, I walk round to the driver’s side and get in. I’m tempted to head straight for the office to face Tam and demand to know exactly what is going on. I know that wouldn’t be the smartest move though, so instead I turn on the engine and shift into first gear. This is one of those times when it pays to be friends with all sorts of people.
    As I drive, I pay close attention to the roads leading in the direction of Wiltshore Avenue, just in case the police van shows up again. There’s no sign of it. I make a few u-turns, once pulling into a service station and stopping for a minute with my eyes fixed closely on my rear-view mirror. When I’m about as certain as I can be that I’m not being followed, I drive across town. The worst of the lunchtime traffic seems to be over, but I avoid the busier streets. I have a lot to do if I’m to return to pick up O’Shea at nine. I can’t afford to waste time waiting in a grid-lock. Fortunately, it’s not long after two when I pull up outside The Steam Team.
    The pedestrians milling around on the street make me tense. At least they’re only human and far enough away not to catch the scent or sight of blood. That’s another good reason to wear black. I duck inside the shop, breathing in the clean scent of dry cleaning, and grin as I spot Rebecca behind the counter.
    She raises her eyebrows. ‘Bo. I’m surprised to see you here again this month. Haven’t you already had your annual clean?’
    ‘Ha ha. Just because I only come for dry cleaning once a month doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use a washing machine.’
    ‘You forget I’ve seen the inside of your car.’
    I grimace. Not recently she hasn’t. She twigs that something is wrong and her expression grows serious. ‘What’s the problem?’
    I point at my clothes. ‘I need these cleaned. And I need to borrow something to wear in the meantime.’
    Although her eyes light up with curiosity, she doesn’t ask any more questions, filling me with gratitude. She just lifts up the counter and beckons me inside. As I pass by her, she draws back, evidently smelling O’Shea’s blood.
    ‘Whoa, okay. I guess you need a shower too.’
    ‘Do you have one?’
    She makes a face. ‘Sort of.’
    She leads me into a sparsely furnished back room. There are a few industrial shelving units with large bottles displaying complicated chemical names. In the corner there’s a tap with a rubber hose and a rusting drain set into the floor next to it.
    ‘Our power shower at its finest,’ she