Where you wanted an enemy to be was a long way away.
Roderick Ho lived a rich, full life. Admired by all who knew him, envied by all the men; and if he weren’t committed to Kim, he’d be up to his neck in hopeful women every night of the week. So a player, definitely, and one who could handle himself – his Pokémon agility underlined that – not to mention an active agent of the security services: he was basically born for situations like this. So how come his knees were turning to water, and he couldn’t move from this stair?
Seconds passed. There was no more creaking from above, as if whoever it was had also frozen in place, and was waiting for Roddy to appear. If they were an enemy, they’d be armed. Nobody broke into a place intending harm without carrying the tools for the job. And if it were a friend … His reasoning broke down. The only person who had a key was Kim, and she’d never used it.
Stay or go?
Fight or flight?
His hands curled into fists.
Whoever was up there, they were hiding in the dark. That would be because they knew about Roddy, knew his reputation, knew they needed darkness and surprise. Well, they’d already lost one of those, and didn’t even know it yet. Roddy knew they were there. He also knew his house the way a cat knows its whiskers. He could glide through its rooms like a phantom on a skateboard while an intruder would blunder haplessly into unexpected doors and furniture. It would be the work of a moment to assert his dominance. This guy, whoever he was, had better be prepared to rue the day. Roddy was coming for him. He took a step up, caught his foot on the riser, and fell flat on his face.
Which wasn’t great, but the momentum was there now, the decision taken. Roddy had to move, and move fast. Scrambling to his feet, he launched himself up the remaining stairs and burst into the darkened room like a lightning bolt, adrenalin flooding his system: his hands now chopping machines, ready to slam into an opponent’s throat; his feet deadly weapons, aching to kick and bruise and kill. He snarled, a low deadly sound. His teeth were bared. Victory was his for the taking.
From a corner of the room Lamb said, ‘Not now, Cato.’
‘Standish has been on at me to get more healthy, so I’ve had a little detox. Found some sparkling water in your fridge. Knew you wouldn’t mind.’
‘… That’s champagne.’
‘Is it? Thought it tasted funny.’
Lamb scowled at the treacherous beverage.
‘… Er … Why are you here?’
‘Just checking to see if you’re dead.’ Lamb belched, paused, then belched again, more loudly. ‘No need to thank me. But if you want to ring out for a pizza, it wouldn’t go amiss.’
‘There might be some in the fridge.’
‘Yeah, there was, but I fancy a hot one.’
He had dragged a chair into the corner and taken his shoes off, though he still had his coat on. Bits of left-over pizza were scattered on and around his frame, and the champagne bottle dangled loosely from his hand.
‘So. Anyone try to kill you or anything?’
‘… No.’
‘Pity. Would have been nice to get this sorted, one way or the other.’ Lamb stood suddenly – he was capable of sudden movement when least expected – and peered through the big window. What he saw out there provoked what might have been a chuckle, if it wasn’t another belch. He turned back to Ho. ‘And there was no one tailing you?’
‘I’m pretty sure I’d have noticed,’ Ho said, allowing himself a quiet, professional smile.
‘So either you’re getting worse or your colleagues are getting better. Fuck me, that’s a puzzler.’
‘Why do I need protecting?’
Lamb shrugged. ‘I’m not convinced myself. That you’re worth protecting, I mean. But someone’s clearly got it in for you. I mean, look at the facts. Dander saw someone try to run you over, and you seem to have a girlfriend. I’m not a conspiracy theorist, but something’s going on.’
‘… I don’t get it.’
Lamb turned and clapped Ho on the shoulder. The younger man nearly buckled under the weight. ‘We should get that sewn onto a sampler for you. Save a lot of chat. Now, where’s the bed? This champagne of yours has made me right sleepy.’
‘… Bed?’
‘Yeah, it’s starting to look like you’re too tight to stand your boss a pizza. And some of us have offices to run in the morning.’
‘I thought you were here to keep guard.’
‘Christ no. What gave you that idea? I’m here to make sure somebody else is.’ He nodded towards the window. ‘Give her a sword and a helmet, she’d look like a brave little hobbit. Now, I’ll give you five minutes to change your sheets. And I’m busting for a piss. Where’s the nearest basin?’
Ho pointed towards the landing, numbly.
‘I’ll have a fry-up in the morning,’ Lamb said, heading in that direction. ‘But no beans. They play havoc with my constitution.’ He farted on exit, to illustrate the problem.
Ho moved to the window and looked out. A hobbit? He couldn’t see anyone. He rubbed his eyes, but that didn’t help. And Lamb, here, at this hour? For half a moment he constructed a world in which Lamb had got word to Kim, warning her to keep clear of the house tonight, and this made things a little happier, but unfortunately didn’t make sense. Maybe it was true, though. Maybe he was on somebody’s list. He stepped back from the window abruptly, in case there was a nightscope trained on him, and felt his foot crack the fragile neck of the discarded champagne bottle. It was starting to feel like things were not going entirely his way.
He wondered if he had clean sheets.
When two rolled round and rolled away again, and nobody came to relieve her, Shirley had a brief moment during which she rained imaginary hellfire down on Louisa and River, and then thought: sod it. Being here was her idea. She could either man the fuck up or head the hell home. And home had its own issues, being haunted this time of night by memories of her ex. Might as well be standing at a bus stop, cold and hungry, keeping a watch over a colleague she had no particular interest in keeping alive. It wasn’t, anyway, the need to save Ho that was keeping her here. It was that she hadn’t been able to save Marcus.
And again she felt the wrap of cocaine in her pocket, and the needle-sharp suggestion it was making to her fingers: take me.
Yes, okay.
But not quite yet.
Something moved.
It was a man, briefly caught by a streetlight, walking towards her on the opposite side of the road. Shirley was cloistered in shadow and didn’t think herself visible. Even so she held her breath as the figure reached Ho’s front door and let itself in using a key.
Ho has a housemate?
Not possible. It couldn’t be possible to share a house with Roderick Ho.
She was already moving towards the door, though the figure had closed it behind him. The house remained in darkness, quiet as a nunnery, but damage required no noise; he might emerge in seconds, leaving silent carnage in his wake.
Lamb should have let me have the gun.
Though actually, it’s not entirely clear how useful it would be right now.
She reached the front door and stood for a moment. She had a set of skeleton keys she’d inherited from Marcus, but not with her. Kick it in?
Yeah, right. And break a leg.
But there was a ground-floor window, and she had a fist. She shrugged her jacket off, rolled it round her right hand and drew her arm back to punch through the glass.
Inside, somebody screamed.
There was someone in his house.
Hadn’t he already had that thought? If so, he was having it again:
There was someone in his house.