The 45% Hangover [A Logan and Steel novella]. Stuart MacBride
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Название: The 45% Hangover [A Logan and Steel novella]
Автор: Stuart MacBride
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Приключения: прочее
isbn: 9780008123277
isbn:
Stoney put his cigarettes away. ‘How long they been on the game?’
‘Go’ to make ends meet, haven’t we? God knows we get sod all off the welfare state.’
Logan opened his mouth, then closed it again. Her use of the plural there wasn’t exactly conjuring up a happy image. ‘We need to speak to them. They’re not in trouble, we just need to ask them some questions about something they saw.’
The eyes brightened. ‘There a reward?’
‘No.’
‘Oh.’ She sat back again and stroked her pristine cat. ‘Are you sure?’
‘The Imperial March’ blared out from Logan’s pocket. ‘Sorry,’ he pointed over his shoulder at what looked like the kitchen door, ‘can I take this in there?’
‘Free country. Long as your pal gives us another ciggie.’
Logan slipped through into a galley kitchen that looked as if it’d been decorated by someone on a dirty protest. Though, presumably, it was food smeared up the walls. Please let it be food. A bin was heaped with ready-meal cartons and boxes, spilling out onto the floor and worktop. Cheap supermarket value own-brand lasagne, burgers, sausages, shepherd’s pie … Mystery meat and gristle with added sugar and salt.
The sink was heaped with dishes and cutlery. A thick dusting of dead bluebottles on the windowsill filled the space between empty supermarket-whisky bottles. A single clean patch was reserved for a placemat on the floor with three bowls on it. One water, the others heaped with glistening brown food. Going by the empty pouches on the cooker, Mr Seville was eating better than the people. The cat’s meals certainly cost a lot more.
Logan stood as far away from the units and surfaces as possible and pulled out his phone. ‘What?’
‘Sodding Clackmannanshire, that’s what! Fifty-four percent “No”, forty-six percent “Yes”. What’s wrong with people?’
He closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. ‘Did you call me up to tell me that?’
‘First result and it’s a “No”. Half one and we’ve already got a sodding deficit of nearly three thousand votes to make up!’
‘Go away.’
‘Laz, have you got any idea—’
He hung up, but the phone blared its Imperial theme at him again. He hit the button. ‘I’m working.’
‘Dundee turnout’s only seventy-nine percent. If every bugger had bothered their arse and showed up, that’d be another twenty-five thousand votes, right there! It—’
He hung up again. Scrolled through the menu system before she could call back and blocked her number.
At least now he might get some sodding peace.
Back in the living room, Aunty Ina was well down her second cigarette, while Stoney leaned back against the windowsill. The cat paused, then went back to washing an immaculate pink-padded paw.
Stoney nodded at the kitchen. ‘Something important, Guv?’
‘No.’ He stood in front of the couch. ‘We any nearer?’
‘Ina here says we can search Elaine and Jane’s room for twenty quid.’
She smiled. ‘Seeing as they’re family, and that.’
Stoney had a wee shudder as he straightened up and made rubber spiders with his blue-nitriled fingers. ‘I’m not even going to try to describe what it’s like under the bed.’
Aunty Ina stood in the doorway, another one of Stoney’s cigarettes poking out of the side of her mouth, the big ginger cat clasped to her chest like a purring baby. ‘Aye, they’re a bit manky right enough.’
A bit manky?
The room was an open landfill site for dirty clothes, takeaway containers, and abandoned gossip magazines. They made drifts in the corners, were piled up around the double bed, avalanched out of the battered wardrobe. It smelled like the inside of an old sock in here, one that had been marinated in cannabis resin and sweat.
Logan tried his luck with the chest of drawers in the corner. The top one creaked out with a groan. Nothing but cheap-looking frilly pants. Some of which hadn’t been washed.
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