Underlife - Robert Finn (recommended books to read .txt) 📗

someone like Warren — and that frustrated as well as frightened him. He’d been around some dangerous people, but you could usually tell when you were in trouble with them. They tended to shout a lot and threaten you, and they made it pretty clear when they were getting ready to do something physical. But who could work out what was going on in Warren’s head? Should Clipper assume he was safe for the time being — at least until Warren got out another knife? Or should he be freaking out right now and sprinting for the other end of the train? Which just seemed guaranteed to force Warren’s hand and make him do something unpleasant.

He looked over at Rachel to see how she was doing, and noticed tears in her eyes. She was looking towards the cab — to where Sebastian’s body lay — and he realised she was crying for the man who had been killed, and the fact that she hadn’t been able to save him — and that made Clipper feel worthless and low. He was busy worrying about his own safety while she was wishing she could have done more to help an injured man. He felt a wave of disgust with himself. This situation was just bringing home to him what he’d been feeling for a while now: he was a parasite who always put himself first.

He just hoped he could hide that from Rachel for a little bit longer. They were in a lot of trouble here, but it sort of felt like they were a team. And that was so much better than going through this on his own. Which meant he desperately didn’t want her to notice what a self-centred loser he was.

Dammit, he was doing it again: turning it around so it was about him. He was going to think about somebody else’s wellbeing for a change before his self-esteem just shrivelled up and blew away.

He reached out to touch Rachel’s arm and said quietly, “It’ll be OK.” He wasn’t sure what would be OK — it didn’t seem likely that anything very much would be — but that wasn’t exactly the point.

Rachel looked up at him, and he tried to think of something else to say that would help her to feel better. “You really tried,” he said, and he meant it. “You didn’t know him, but you still did everything you could for him.”

She didn’t respond to that, but after a few moments she nodded a little and he reckoned that maybe he’d consoled her a little. Neither of them spoke for a few seconds, until Rachel lifted her head and said, “I think you were right about him.” She meant Warren. “We should have just run.”

Well, he wasn’t going to get into that line of thought. And sadly, he couldn’t change the subject by explaining his genius plan to get them out of there because he didn’t have one. In fact there wasn’t really anything useful he could do, unless it was just to distract her a little. He said, “You know, I really would like to see those horses you mentioned. I’m just a bit worried your mum won’t take to me. She sounds like she can be awkward when she wants to be.”

Rachel give a single laugh and said, “Well if that’s all that’s spoiling your day, I can tell you now, there’s no way she’ll approve. But you shouldn’t let that put you off visiting. She hates it when people give up too easily.” She didn’t really smile, but she looked at him in a way that made him feel like they’d just shared a joke, which was what he’d wanted.

When Warren reappeared a moment later, Clipper felt like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been, though he wasn’t sure what. As Warren clumped towards them, passing between opposing rows of seats, he called out to them, “So what’s the story with you two? Friends? Co-workers?”

Before he even thought about it, Clipper said, “She’s my girlfriend.” He sounded defiant and realised immediately it was kind of an idiotic thing to say. But he felt like he needed to put up some form of resistance, to obstruct Warren in some way, even if he didn’t dare challenge him properly. Lying to him felt like a start; a small sign of independence. Plus, he couldn’t help feeling a little protective towards Rachel. He wasn’t exactly the expert, but out of the two of them, he had to imagine he’d spent more time around violent criminals than she had.

“Girlfriend? I doubt that,” said Warren, “but you clearly know each other.” Then he suddenly held his hands up, like he was making a big announcement, and said, “But listen, here’s the good news. I only need one of you. Right? So you can go if you want. I just need her to stay.” He sounded easygoing, but his eyes never left Clipper as he spoke.

When Clipper didn’t react, Warren said, “I mean it. You can go. Get to the other end of the train with all the other passengers. If you get asked to describe me later, make sure you do a bad job of it and we’ll be fine.”

Clipper was looking from Warren’s face to Rachel’s. Warren was doing that trustworthy thing again, spreading his hands a little, trying to sound reasonable, even a little bit amiable. Rachel on the other hand now had a sharp look of fear in her eyes. It was evidently dawning on her that, bad as this situation was, there were ways in which it could get a lot worse.

“I…” Clipper said, not sure of what he was going to say. It was only a matter of time before Warren remembered why Clipper’s face might be familiar, wasn’t it? And if things turned ugly, what was the sense in both him and Rachel getting hurt?

Clipper half expected Rachel to say something, to demand that he stay, to make some sort of protest. Maybe even to beg him. But she didn’t. She was making it easy for him; she was even avoiding his gaze. He studied her face trying to understand what she was thinking. She looked like she was working hard to keep the fear under control and… something else.

“Well?” said Warren.

But Clipper was still wanted to understand Rachel’s expression. Somehow it mattered. It was clear that Warren’s decision to split them up — and to let him go — had dropped the floor out from underneath her, but there was something else going on in her eyes besides fear. There was a struggle taking place. And then she spoke, quietly. “It’ll be OK,” she whispered. She was giving him permission to go, but her eyes were fixed upon her hands, which rested in her lap.

So that was it. He could read her expression now. She was struggling to persuade herself that she’d be fine on her own. She was clearly terrified, but she wasn’t going to drag this out. That’s why she wouldn’t look at him or beg him. In her mind, he was already walking away, and she was doing her best to prepare for whatever happened next. She must know what Clipper would be thinking: that no one in their right mind would turn down Warren’s offer of freedom just to keep a stranger company. He wondered, if things were the other way round, whether she would choose to stay. Well, she’d already decided against leaving him once. And now she was making it easy for him to walk away from her.

As always happened when he got stressed over some sort of decision, he found himself wishing he could ask Gary what to do. Of course Gary had never given him any advice for a situation like this. But he had once said something about nicking from people who might not be able to afford it. He’d told Clipper, “Don’t do anything you’ll hate yourself for. It’s not worth it.” And that was clear enough. Clipper wanted so badly not to be the kind of person who’d leave Rachel behind. He didn’t want to despise himself; in fact he was desperate for a reason not to.

“I… don’t want to leave without Rachel,” Clipper said. He felt he should give a reason, but he wasn’t about to launch into some crazy speech about his self-esteem. “You know how it is,” was the best he could manage.

Warren studied him. “You’re sure?” he asked. He was like one of those game-show hosts who tried to get you to change your mind the whole time, to make the game more fun for the audience. Clipper nodded.

And finally Rachel looked at him. He wasn’t quite sure what the look signified — it certainly wasn’t anything as straightforward as gratitude or relief. But at least she could look at him again. And he realised how much that meant to him.

“Excellent,” said Warren. “I was hoping you’d say that because I’ve got a job for you. And we need to make a start before someone tries to get this train moving again and I’m forced to do something about that.”

Clipper didn’t know how to react. Warren had a job for him? So what was all that about letting him go? Clipper had felt nauseous but sort of noble about his decision to stay for all of maybe three seconds, but now the situation had shifted again.

“You see, someone has to go down that tunnel and get Kieran’s things,” Warren explained. “For the time being, I’m having one or two mobility issues. So, um, Matt? Why don’t you go for me and I’ll stay here with… Rachel wasn’t it? I’ll look after her until you come back.” Warren laid his hand on Rachel’s shoulder, his fingers towards her neck — the fingertips were hidden inside the tumble of her hair. The gesture was both protective and unpleasantly intimate. Rachel looked like she wanted to pull away from him, but she didn’t.

Clipper didn’t need it spelled out: he knew how a protection racket worked. If Warren didn’t get what he wanted, he’d stop ‘looking after’ Rachel. Earlier, he’d just been testing Clipper to see whether he was prepared to give up a chance to escape for Rachel’s sake — and Clipper had passed. Or failed, depending on how you looked at it. Effectively he’d just volunteered Rachel to be his leverage.

It reminded Clipper of chess. In movies, whenever two people got into this cat-and-mouse stuff, someone would point out it was like game of chess. Well, Clipper hated chess. He’d tried it two or three times and couldn’t make any sense of it. The rules seemed like they were plucked out of thin air, and any time you thought you’d worked out what you were supposed to do next it just meant you were about to fall into a trap. This entire thing was exactly like chess and he hated it.

And besides all the mind games, Warren wanted him to go out into the tunnel. Well, the more he thought about that, the more he wasn’t too thrilled about the idea of being down there on the tracks. He also didn’t like to think about what state Kieran’s body might be in. It had been bad enough standing by the back door of the train and smelling something that shouldn’t be familiar but somehow was: a combination of burnt hair and overcooked barbeque meat. He tried not to picture what was waiting for him in the dark of the tunnel.

“What if the current is still on?” Clipper asked. He knew the trogs called it ‘traction current’; and if it was on it meant that the live rail could kill you.

Warren smiled unpleasantly. “Work something out,” he said. “Maybe you