Читать книгу A Tricky Game - Seraphima Nickolaevna Bogomolova - Страница 16

On the bed, face down, MacBride lies. The daylight sifts through black organza curtains, framing the tall windows of the room. His clothes are scattered on the floor. Dirty paper plates and empty beer cans crowd the coffee table.

The mobile RINGS, stops and RINGS again.

MacBride lifts his head.

The mobile keeps on RINGING.

MacBride peels off the bed and scans the floor around him. Spotting his jeans, he picks them up, drags his mobile out of the pocket and hits ‘answer’.

MACBRIDE

(into the phone)

Yeah?

PAVEL (V.O.)

Hey, Mac.

MACBRIDE

(into the phone)

Pavel…?

PAVEL (V.O.)

Yes, man. Where have you been?

MACBRIDE

(into the phone)

Me?

PAVEL (V.O.)

Yes, you. I’ve been trying to get you since yesterday.

MACBRIDE

(into the phone)

I… was in a club. I met some girls…

PAVEL (V.O.)

You… fucking shit!

MACBRIDE

(into the phone)

Yeah, whatever, just get over here.

MacBride jabs the phone off. Staring at the mess around him, he catches a sight of a white envelope. He picks it up and tears it open.

A single typed note and a bunch of keys fall out.

MacBride reads the note.

INSERT —

Dear Juan,

Take the keys. Go to my flat and wait for me there.

Angela

The DOORBELL rings.