IMPERFECTION by Ray Clark (e novels to read online TXT) 📗

vagrants had had any information. No one knew him; neither had they heard of him. He’d checked the other shelters, but Stan had not frequented those either. Having finally found the taxi driver and asked him where he had taken the man who resembled Sherlock Holmes, the answer had been the train station in Leeds.

Harry was puzzled by that one. That was another thing about Stan: he loved his puzzles.

“Hello Henry,” said a voice behind him.

Harry turned and saw the man he had been thinking about. Stan was staring down at him, dressed in his usual garb.

Poor Stan must have had a tough life. Harry estimated his age as mid-sixties, and because he had odd eyes, his expression was one of constant torture. Not only were they different colours, one was lower than the other, and bore the marks of a nasty scar. Harry had brought it up in an earlier conversation but Stan had refused to talk about it. His skin was extremely wrinkled and leathery to touch, like the hide of a bull. But for all that, he was well nourished. Although he ate little at the shelter, the man had to be eating somewhere.

“Stan, my man, how’s it hanging?”

“Oh Henry, I’m not at all sure I shall ever catch on to your use of language.”

“You should have done by now, what with living on the streets.”

Stan removed his pipe from his lips before speaking. “One cannot change one’s upbringing, Henry. A terrible place the streets may be, but because one lives there doesn’t mean one should lower one’s standards and adopt the ways of others who do.”

“I’ve not seen you for days, where have you been?”

“Keeping low, Henry, pondering over the rising violence within the city, and wondering where a man’s to go for safety in times of crisis.”

Harry wasn’t keen on the tone of conversation today. But Stan could be like that. One time he would be all cheerful and full of himself, talking of a life that Harry wasn’t sure he had actually lived or simply wanted to. It was saddening to hear. Other times he was very philosophical, taking the world’s problems to heart. Today was going to be one of those days. Perhaps it really would be best for him to tackle Stan about a change.

“Come and sit down, Stan. I’ll make a fresh cuppa, and then I’d like us to talk.”

Stan did as he was asked, returning the pipe to his mouth. Glancing at the floor, he suddenly asked Harry a question.

“What’s with the rope?”

Harry stooped and picked it up. It was about twelve inches in length and had a large knot in the middle. “Oh, it’s nothing, just something I’m checking out for a new project.”

“What kind of a knot is that?” Stan pointed.

“I’ve no idea, that’s what I’m trying to figure out. Anyway,” said Harry, “let’s not worry about that now, you and me have other things to discuss.”

When the tea was made, Harry placed a cup in front of his friend. “I’ve brought your favourites as well. Fig rolls.”

“Praise the Lord that I should ever have found a friend like you, Henry.”

“What’s troubling you, Stan?”

“Is this to be the subject of our conversation, what is bothering me?”

“Amongst other things, yes.”

Stan placed his pipe on the table and sighed and rolled his eyes upwards.

Harry thought again that he was so perfect for his play. It was simply a question of whether or not he could adapt to another life, and utilise what was very obviously a natural talent. It was one thing to convey expressions and mannerisms in everyday life, but to display them on a stage in front of a crowd of people was another matter entirely.

“I know things, Henry.”

“What kind of things, Stan? Come on, drink your tea and have a fig roll.”

“You don’t understand, Henry. Tea and fig rolls will not help alleviate the problems of the world.” Stan’s tone worried Harry. Despite knowing what he could be like, he had never seen him acting as weird as today. Another indication that he should make his move.

“Has something happened?”

The old man gripped Harry’s hands with a speed that startled him. “Do you not read the newspapers, Henry?”

“Which ones? What are you talking about?”

“There’s a murderer on the loose. He has to be stopped.”

“You don’t want to worry yourself about that. I’m sure the police will catch him before long.”

“I hear things on the street. The police have no idea who they’re looking for. They have no idea where he’ll strike next. The city of Leeds is no safe place.”

“When you say you know things,” said Harry, “do you mean you know things about the killer which could put you in danger?”

Stan remained silent for so long it really unnerved Harry. During the ensuing silence, his thoughts were sporadic. Was Stan’s life in danger? Did he know the killer, or something about him? “Where exactly do you stay at night, Stan?”

Stan’s glare created a feeling of depression within Harry. Their conversation was not going to plan. “The streets are unsafe.”

“Would you like to stay here tonight?”

“Is it any safer here than anywhere else?”

“Well, I’m here. There’ll be plenty of other people here tonight, we have a council meeting.”

“I’m not sure, Henry. You are too good a friend to me, I have no desire to place you in the danger I myself may be facing.”

“Nonsense, you’re worried, and I’d like to help. And there’s something else we can talk about tonight.”

Stan picked up the empty pipe and puffed on it, as if it contained tobacco. “What?”

“My work here is nearly done, Stan.”

“Are you leaving?” Stan’s eyes widened and his grip grew tighter, and it was only then that Harry realised his hands were still coupled