Free Morning Frost by Henry James Page A

out-of-town woman at that; she’d try and squeeze him a bit.
    ‘Five hundred.’
    The big man rocked back in the chair and laughed. ‘ Cheeky! No.’
    The door went. Palmer glanced over.
    ‘Seven fifty,’ she said quickly.
    ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Now hop it – before I change my mind.’

Thursday (9)
    ‘Are you sure this is wise?’
    Frost ignored Waters’ question, blinking at the glare from oncoming headlights on the other side of the Rimmington Road. He pulled his hip flask, which he’d refilled before leaving Eagle Lane, from his inside suit pocket and wound down the window a fraction.
    ‘I mean, you did headbutt your brother-in-law before you left, or have you forgotten?’
    ‘No, I’ve not forgotten.’ Frost screwed the cap back on the flask and lit a cigarette. ‘But I need to get the Cortina. The keys are in the in-laws’ house.’
    ‘The motor can wait, Jack.’
    ‘It can’t – gotta get it washed before I hand it back. Then on Monday it goes.’
    ‘Goes where?’
    ‘Auction, I guess. I get a new one. New model, a Tiara or something …’
    ‘ Sierra . Looks like a jelly mould on wheels.’ Waters shook his head. ‘One seriously ugly motor.’
    ‘That’s something to look forward to, then.’ Frost pulled out the hip flask again.
    ‘Go easy on that, eh?’
    ‘Who are you, my mother?’ Frost said testily, then regretted his sharp tone, as he was grateful for Waters’ concern. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate you running me out here like this late at night.’
    ‘Don’t worry – I’m not doing you a favour. I want to check out a pub on the stripper circuit in Rimmington. Should just catch it before closing time.’
    ‘Right. Was that a lead from the bird who worked for Baskin?’
    ‘Nah. All I got from her was a couple of names.’
    ‘I think it’s unlikely Baskin was hit by a stripper, don’t you?’ said Frost. ‘Call me old-fashioned, but if Harry had been tampering with a girl she’d have got her old man to sort him out. This is a different ball game, although it doesn’t explain why he’s still alive …’
    ‘Rachel Rayner did say one thing,’ offered Waters, ‘along the lines of, if it wasn’t for her he’d never get any girls to work for him. What do you make of that?’
    Frost looked out into the blackness. ‘Not much. If you were a nineteen-year-old girl, would you want to be leered at by someone old enough to be your grandfather?’
    Waters grimaced.
    ‘Here we are,’ said Frost as they pulled into the Simpsons’ road.
    ‘Are you sure you want to do this? Haven’t you had enough for one day?’
    ‘Told you, got to pick up the motor …’
    ‘Come with me instead. This boozer does after hours.’ Waters gave an imploring smile as Frost pushed open the door. ‘I’ve missed our cosy evenings together.’
    ‘Yes, it’s been a while. How about tomorrow, when I’m a bit fresher?’ Frost paused, half out of the door, a plan hatching in his mind. ‘Come to mine! We’ll blow the dust off the chess board, flip on a couple of the old seventy-eights, order in a ruby …’
    ‘Can’t, pal, sorry.’ Waters’ head dropped slightly and he sighed. ‘Promised Kim the movies – Blade Runner … but soon, eh?’
    ‘Sure thing.’ Without saying goodnight Frost softly closed the car door and trudged towards the house of his estranged inlaws. A warm glow radiated from the curtained front windows. It was almost 11 p.m., but to Jack Frost it could’ve been any hour at all, so tired and lost to the world was he on the day he buried his wife.

Friday (1)
    Frost stood at the edge of an opening in the earth. The sky was bright orange, as if the horizon beyond the churchyard was ablaze. He took a step back, but the grave before him grew, swallowing up the surrounding grass, leaving his feet on the lip of an expanding black abyss. He felt unstable, and knew if he tried to move more than an inch, he’d topple into the hole. All the while a pain was growing