Someone Who Isn't Me, Danuta Kot [good books to read for adults TXT] 📗

stared at Curwen. Curwen hesitated, wondering whether to ask the man about Lavery, but right now, he wanted to get into the pub before the landlord returned. He filed the homeless guy away for future consideration.

Time to find out what had gone so wrong. He stepped through the pub door.

Chapter 7

Curwen sat at a table on the far side of the room, ignoring the drink in front of him. He was watching the girl behind the bar; Becca the Barmaid.

She was fiddling with her phone, picking it up and putting it down, cleaning the beer taps, rearranging the glasses, and exchanging the occasional word with the guy who was working with her – a geeky student type who spent more time playing on one of the games machines than he did serving.

Right now, he wanted to locate the two people whose names he had: Stoner, the man Andy was supposed to be contacting the night he vanished, and Doc, whose involvement was less clear. But whatever contact had been made, the information had died with Andy.

He was pretty sure the proof was here. Somewhere. Something that linked this pub to the drugs that were moving up and down the coast. He was still betting on the cellar. These old buildings had a lot of obscure nooks and crannies. Every copper’s instinct Curwen had told him it was here. They’d missed it, that was all.

He turned his attention back to Becca the Barmaid. Time to make contact. She might know Doc and Stoner, but the most important thing he wanted from her was information about who Andy hung out with when he was here, and what went in and out of the cellar.

He strolled across towards her, trying to make eye contact before he got there, but she didn’t even bother to look up from something she was doing around the cold shelves. She continued to ignore him even when he stood in front of her. Frustrated, he banged a fistful of coins down on the bar, making her jump. Good. ‘You serving or anything?’ he said.

She looked at him blankly. ‘What?’

‘Got any food on?’

‘No.’

He sighed and spoke with exaggerated slowness. ‘OK. What have you got? To eat?’

She shrugged. ‘Crisps. Nuts.’

‘What are those?’ He pointed behind her.

‘Pork scratchings.’ She reached for the card hanging on the wall. He remembered his grandfather telling him that there used to be a picture of a naked woman under the bags, so as they were sold, the punters gradually got the chance to see a nipple. Nothing more than that – which said a lot about the kind of world his granddad had grown up in. But he wasn’t spending money on bits of rancid dead pig. There was something about her monosyllabic indifference that got right up his nose.

‘Didn’t say I wanted any, love. Just asking.’

She rolled her eyes and dropped her arm to lean against the bar, waiting. Had Andy really liked her, this sullen chav? He was tempted to see how long he could keep her here, changing his mind, asking for this, saying no to that… He wanted to make someone else’s day as bad as his, and a bit more.

Then the light caught the faint line of a scar running down from her nose to her upper lip, giving it a slight twist, and he realised where he knew her from. He’d seen her in the custody suite a few months ago. They’d been dragging her out of a cell where she’d spent the last hour screaming and throwing herself at the wall – off her face on something.

A user.

That could be useful… she was exactly the kind of contact he needed. Maybe this was why Andy had been so wary about making her an official informer. He’d been right to approach with care. ‘OK, what flavour crisps have you got?’

The girl sighed and reeled off the list. ‘Plain, cheese and onion, salt and vinegar.’ He could hear the subtext – Make your mind up and piss off.

‘No prawn cocktail?’

‘No. No dog shit either.’

Comedian. ‘OK, salt and vinegar.’ She put a bag on the counter. He kept hold of the note in his hand. ‘I’m getting a drink as well. What have you got on tap then?’ Curwen smiled amiably, a good-natured punter chatting with the barmaid.

‘Beer.’

He laughed. Genuinely. He was starting to enjoy her relentless spikiness. What was it Andy had said? She’s nice… once you get past the claws. He realised, as he thought about it, that he didn’t know exactly how far past the claws Andy had got. Shit! He should have thought of that. Andy wouldn’t have… not with her. Or would he? He pushed the thought away. It was something for later. ‘Yeah, OK, got that. Tell me about this one.’ He pointed at one of the taps – The Earl, an IPA. Curwen could talk beer with the best of them.

‘It’ll make you drunk. So will that one and that one and that one. Right?’

‘Sounds OK to me. I’ll have a pint. You worked here long?’

‘Long enough.’ For the first time, her gaze focused on him, as if she was beginning to realise he wasn’t just some arse chatting her up. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘I’m looking for my mate who comes in here.’ He watched her closely as he spoke. ‘He’s called Andy. He’s in here a lot.’

He saw her face flood with colour as her eyes moved towards his quickly, then away. She was definitely listening now, still not meeting his gaze, but she was on the alert as she pulled his drink.

‘Andy,’ he said. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know him.’

‘OK, I won’t.’ She pushed the drink across the bar to him.

‘He might have got into trouble. With the kind of people you really don’t want to get on the wrong side of, if you get me.’

She gave him the same quick glance, but her expression was guarded now. She wasn’t giving anything away. ‘Yeah, well,