Читать книгу The Guilty Party: A new gripping thriller from the 2018 bestselling author Mel McGrath - Mel McGrath, Mel McGrath - Страница 17

1.25 a.m., Sunday 14 August, Wapping

As Bo walks by the burger bar he spots Dex standing at a three-quarter turn away from him, in the patch of ground between the food trucks and the chill-out tent.

Ah, so that’s where the old tosser went. Bo lifts an arm to wave then stills himself, aware, suddenly, that his friend is staring intently at something, or someone. He can’t get a clear view of what Dex is glaring at, but his stance seems wired, almost predatory. Could Dex be on the pull? Oh, now, this is interesting. An opportunity to see his friend in the wild.

Naturally, Bo’s had gay men making the moves on him for years, the way he looks, but Dex has never once tried it on. Mind you, though, Bo isn’t really Dex’s type. He already knows from Dex’s entries in the Big Black Book that he likes tough-looking guys with shaven heads and aggression rippling not far under the surface. The polar-opposite of Gav, in fact. Poor bastard, trapped by domesticity. Though at least he gets to play away, so he has it easier than Anna. Though women like that domestic shit, don’t they? Funny, it all seems to have happened while his eye was off the ball, his friends settling down, becoming that tiny bit more boring. He doesn’t envy any of it. Why would he? Look what life has laid at his door. A fabulous river-view apartment, a great set of wheels, friends who love him, stimulating, highly paid work, all the booze and drugs he could ever want, the best bloody pizzas in London courtesy of the Big Fat Pizza company (hats off to Dex for that recommendation), and access to a city full of women at the swipe of a screen. Wey-Aye, Man. Literally living the dream.

He’s jolted out of his reverie by movement. Dex is heading towards something or someone. Actually it’s more like a pounce. Like a cat, almost. Bloody hell, he hasn’t seen Dex move like that since they were both teenagers trying out for varsity football.

What’s this? A girl is standing by the chill-out tent with her back to them and Dex is tapping her on the shoulder. Thin girl, petite, dark hair, red dress. Hot, so far as you can tell from looking at the back. Hot, if you like that sort of thing. Which, as it happens, Bo does. But Dex? What possible business could Dex have with her? Plus she seems shaky on her pegs.

She’s turning round now. Dex has moved to one side and turned somewhat too, so his face is now partially visible. Whoa, Bo thinks, finally getting a purchase on that facial expression, stay well clear. It takes a lot to make Dex angry but that’s exactly how he looks at this moment with his eyes flaring and his mouth opening into a shout. Something odd about this. An unstable energy. For an instant he considers intervening to calm the situation. But that would mean getting involved in whatever shit Dex has got himself into. Bo positions himself behind a sign to avoid being spotted and peers at the scene.

The wiser part of him thinks he should just leave now. Better all round to be able to say truthfully that he didn’t see anything. Yes, that’s what he’ll do, he thinks. Walk away and go and get a burger. Maybe buy the girls a burger. Make himself popular. So far as he can recall none of them has eaten since they arrived several hours ago. And there were those lines he snorted, earlier, before the pizza. And the Viagra to get him in the mood. And the jellies maybe? Shit, he can’t actually remember. Plus he never actually ate that pizza, did he? In any case, all the food and drugs seem to have worn off now. Yeah, he thinks, trying to convince himself, I am actually hungry. He makes a move towards the bar and in that instant remembers: Dex spotted him as he was leaving the portaloos. Couldn’t have been more than a minute or two ago. More than that, they’d exchanged words. Bloody hell, what am I doing to my brain that I didn’t even remember that till now? He lets out a weird little laugh. What was that about? Anyway, he does actually recall Dex looking intense even then. Maybe even angry. Bo had watched him go and wondered what was going on.

Dex isn’t a man to lose his temper easily. In fact, Bo can’t remember the last time he saw Dex crack. Maybe when Dex’s dad refused to come to his wedding to Gav? But even then it wasn’t rage as such, just more like a kind of growl. But there’s some weird shit going down here.

Bo turns back to Dex. He’s already forgotten about pretending to be hungry. He watches, rapt, as his friend reaches out a hand and grips the girl’s upper arm in an attempt to spin her round. Bo has never seen a performance like it. Has anyone else noticed? He turns his head this way and that. Nope. It’s dark after all. Darkish anyway, despite all the lights. Why has Dex taken such a firm grip on her arm? Is he trying to help her? No, no, he’s definitely not trying to help her. In fact he’s tugging on her and she’s shaking her head and doing all she can to back away from him.

As she does so, Bo catches a glimpse of her cheek and the shape of her nose and a hint of the outline of her lips. Shit. Is it? No, how can that possibly be? The woman has turned a hundred and eighty degrees now and at this new angle her face is more fully visible. He blinks, takes a moment to compose himself, then blinks again. The sight before him remains. Can it really be the pizza delivery girl from earlier? It looks remarkably like her. What was her name? Bo searches his memory and comes up with nothing.

If it’s not her then it’s a dead ringer. He peers more closely, his mouth open with shock. He’d bet any money it’s her. What the hell’s she doing here? And what business does Dex have with her? Hang on, don’t they use the same takeaway pizza company? He wishes his head weren’t so fuzzy and thumps his knuckles against his forehead in the vain hope of forcing himself to think more clearly. Think, you stupid bastard. He hears his father’s voice saying, ‘Number one, number one.’ Why is that bloody worthless turdmonger still taking up Bo’s head?

Before him an increasingly hectic scene is playing out. Dex is shaking the woman now. What on earth is happening? Could she have sold him some dud grass? A few pills? No, hang on, Dex isn’t a pill head. Grass is more his speed. Bo smiles internally, amused by his pun. Speed. Ha ha. But the momentary hilarity is soon superseded by a rising wave of panic.

Didn’t the pizza woman say she was going on shift? He checks his watch. That was hours ago. Maybe she just came off. Was she wearing that red dress earlier? Bo thinks not. What can she have done to arouse such rage in Dex? Nicked something from him? Pretty girls think they can get away with stuff like that.

Bo is transfixed now. Dex is suddenly right in the woman’s face, one hand on her shoulder, doing his best to yank off her bag strap. To be honest, this looks really bad. Some random pissed cockwomble aggressing a woman at a festie. What the fuck is Dex up to? If he doesn’t back off right now, Bo will have to go over and sort it.

But no, shit, of course, he can’t do that because it’s her, and she might recognise him, put two and two together and then – boom! And even if she doesn’t, supposing some have-a-go hero pitches in? Dex isn’t in any fit state to fight back. Bo would have no choice but to intervene then.

So far no one has got involved, though Bo can see that others have noticed what’s going on. Not surprising in the circumstances, because Dex has grabbed the girl’s bag now, breaking one of the straps, and is peering inside. With his left hand he’s holding the bag while the right scoops around. The girl is literally crying, her hands in a tight knot.

Bo is working out his next move when a bloke built like a Viking steps from the chill-out tent. Bo watches as the Viking’s eyes flit from the girl to Dex and back again, sees the guy’s prey instinct kick in and feels himself freeze. This isn’t going to end well for Dex. A pressure ridge builds up at the back of Bo’s skull. Fight or flight? He has no idea. His head is such a jangle of clips and samples and dubbed-over noise. Any case, it’s not good. It is the very opposite of good, whatever the fuck that might be. He thinks for a moment but nothing comes. Words are the absolute least of all his worries right now. Oh crap. The Viking has swivelled on his heels and he’s striding over to Dex and the girl. What follows is a moment of intense conversation, if you can call it that. Dex is waving his hands and the woman is shouting and the Viking’s body language suggests he isn’t having any of it. This thing is ready to blow.

Bo’s fighting spirit, if that’s what it was, has suddenly drained out of him, the pressure in the skull replaced by a whorl of bees and a dry swelling in his throat. That guy is an Alp. Bo watches him move in and give Dex a shove, thinking, strike that, this guy isn’t any old Alp, he’s the Matterhorn, he’s Mont Fucking Blanc. He watches as if in slow-mo as Dex stumbles backwards but then gets his bearings and begins to come at the big bloke with a raised fist. The situation is beyond finessing. No way is Bo going to take on some Nordic gorilla just because his friend has decided to be a shite monkey. Did Dex seen him? Bo doesn’t think so. He could just slip away and no one will be any the wiser. Sorry, mate, but you know, you did bring this on yourself. Plausible deniability. Been doing a lot of that lately. Not great but a whole lot better than the alternative. Angling his body away from Dex, he lowers his head, digs his hands in his pockets and strolls casually away, taking the roundabout route back to the girls, shaking his head and muttering to himself. For fucketty fuck’s fucking fuck-sake.