Déjà Vu: A Technothriller by Hocking, Ian (ebook reader that looks like a book .TXT) 📗

swirled in his stomach again. That old feeling. It spread to his fingertips and they seemed to sparkle. He took deep breaths and concentrated on the horizon though, in the blackness, there was none.

She sniffed. “This your first time?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, playing for time he would never need. His mind was almost paralysed by the proximity of this child and what she was prepared to do. In his coat pocket he felt the reassuring weight of his stun gun. There was an alley coming up. It would do.

“The first time you want a bit of underage?”

He tried to sound relaxed. “No. Not the first time.”

“Oh.” She sounded uninterested.

They walked past the mouth of the alley. David seized her by the hood and hauled her in. He could lift her with one arm. Nobody saw. He crouched. Their eyes were level.

“Have me, don’t kill me,” she said quickly.

“You’re not taking me to a chippy, are you?” His voice was controlled. His policeman’s voice. Everybody trusts a policeman.

She shook her head. He saw the fear in her eyes and saw it was controlled too. She was calculating, weighing options. “What’s in your pockets?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Let me see.”

A car drove past. The light did not reach them but some reflections caught her eyes as a glint moving from right to left. Slowly, she produced her hands. In each one was a fair-sized rock.

Clever girl, he thought. “Drop them.”

He saw her calculating again: crash the rocks into his head like cymbals.

She dropped them.

“You’re taking me a to a get-together, aren’t you? You got some friends and told them you had a sure thing. They were going to knock me about, nick my cards. Anything else?”

Now her eyes fell. Their light faded. “You are a copper.”

“We’re going to walk out of here. We’re going to have some fish and chips and a chat. And if you still want me to meet your friends, there’ll be fucking aggro.” He brandished the stun gun.

“You going to kill me?”

“No, I am not.”

“You going to rape me?”

“No.”

“Then what? Then what?” She looked at the stun gun. He put it away. Her brow knitted. “Oh, I get it.” Her voice rose. “You’re a hero. You’ll go home to your little family in fucking Chelsea and brag about how you played Dr Bernardo up north. I don’t want your money and I don’t want to eat your food. You think fish and chips and ten minutes of good society are going to make me grow up and want to be like you. You sorry bastard.”

David stood up. He did so casually, but the girl flinched. He took out his credit card. “Hold your fire. I’ll pay for your time. We’ll have a chat. I want half an hour.”

Her eyes settled on the card. They stuck. “Why didn’t you say that before? I thought you were going to kill me.”

David snorted. “You did not.”

“I don’t know what I thought,” she said, looking at her shoes.

“Would you have believed me? That I wanted a talk?”

“No. They all say that. But who says I’ll believe you now?”

David looked at her. She was so adult. “Nobody. You say. You choose. I’m going to have some chips. Maybe a coke. Lashings of salt and vinegar. You?”

“You’re weird.”

She followed him when he left, with fast, long strides to match his.

They sat in McCabe’s under off-white light. McCabe, who was Turkish, whistled behind a large counter, battering sausages, fish and burgers and frying chips. The air was heavy with grease, the floor slippery with it. The place was empty. They had taken a table for two in the far corner. David let the girl sit so she could look out of the window. So she would feel safer. She had no reason to trust him. Between them were two unfurled portions of fish and chips. David busied himself with vinegar while the girl stared at her food.

“Eat it before it gets cold,” he said.

She bristled. “I’ll eat it when I fucking want.”

“Who are you?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Your name.”

“My name is Janine.” She took a chip reluctantly. “What’s your name?”

“My name’s David. You have a surname?”

“Yes.” She ate a few more chips. At the counter, McCabe smiled at the father and daughter sharing a meal in his little chip shop. Janine lifted the fish and tore a great bite from the end. David watched her. She chewed once, twice and swallowed. “You have a daughter don’t you?”

“Sort of. I sent her away.”

She took another bite. With her mouth full, she waved him on. “Out with it, then. You’re paying me to listen – and paying well, by the way – so get your money’s worth.”

“My daughter is called Jennifer.”

“Me and her would get on like a house on fire, right?”

“Actually I’m not sure if she’s your type.” David glanced at her guiltily and Janine, seeing his expression, laughed. Particles of fish hit his fingers. “What I mean is,” he continued, “she’s quite old now. She’s twenty.”

Janine nodded. That was obvious. “Why did you send her away?”

“I could give you facts: she was a genius, a real genius. The schools in this country couldn’t do anything for her. I decided, on a friend’s advice, to send her to a school in New York for gifted children. Sent her aged twelve. That was eight years ago. I think she works for the American government now.”

“New York. Fuck, you have money.”

He shrugged and watched, his mind idling, as a customer walked in and placed an order. It was an old man in faded jeans. “Yes, you’re right. I have money.”

“So what else could you give me?”

“Hmm?”

“You said you could give me the facts. But that’s not the whole story. Am I right?”

David ripped a chip from its sticky pile. He pointed it at her. “You know, you’re good. You could do this for a living.”

She nodded seriously. “Yes. Now what about the rest of story?”

“I...” he began, and Christ if he wasn’t near crying. He could