Free The Devil in Green by Mark Chadbourn Page A

Miller. In religion, in politics, in the military, in business ... the simple act of seeking high office is a signifier of a peculiar, unreliable, controlling, unpleasant pathology that means they shouldn't be allowed any kind of power. And I'll keep saying that over and over again until everyone on this planet listens.'
'That's ridiculous. If we followed that line of thought we wouldn't have any leaders at all.'
'And your point is?'
'You can't have a religion without leaders—'
'Who says?'
Miller squirmed with irritation. 'I hate it when you do this. Why are you picking on me?'
'Because your life's just too perfect, Miller. You need to be brought down to everyone else's level. Just see me as your own personal tormentor, a living horsehair shirt for the soul.'
Miller took a deep breath. 'You can't have a religion without leaders because you need discipline—'
'No, you don't.'
'—to help the followers find the true path to God through all the confusion.'
'You can do it yourself.' Mallory jabbed a finger sharply into Miller's sternum.
No, I can't.'
'You just don't think you can. You can do anything you want, Miller.'
'Thanks for the vote of confidence, but you don't know me. Besides, that sounds faintly blasphemous.'
Miller started to brood over what Mallory had said, chewing on the nail of one of his little fingers. Mallory returned to his beer, hiding his smile, but after a moment he was drawn back to the neo-hippies whose humour was both infectious and comforting. Mallory realised how rarely he had heard anyone laugh in recent times.
His attention fell on a woman who was doing nothing out of the ordinary but who had a presence like a beacon. He realised he'd been aware of her from the moment he walked in the pub, even though he couldn't recall looking at her; all around people were glancing at her as if they couldn't tear their eyes away. She was in her mid- to late twenties, wearing a faded hippie dress beneath a bright pink mohair sweater; a clutter of beads and necklaces hung around her neck. The others in her group, even the older ones, deferred to her, nodding intently when she was serious, laughing at her jokes. Mallory liked the sharp, questioning intelligence he saw in her face, but it was coupled with a knowing quality around the eyes that was deeply sexy. To him that was a winning combination.
'Do you like her?' He had been so lost in his appraisal that he hadn't noticed Miller studying him.
'She's put together OK.'
Miller chuckled. 'Is it the hair?'
'I wouldn't be so shallow as to be attracted by the merely physical.'
'You make me laugh, Mallory!' Miller put his hands behind his head. 'What I see is long brown hair that you just want to touch, full lips that curl up at the corners, and big, big eyes—'
'Steady on, Miller. They'll have to hose you down when we get back.'
The woman stared at Miller, her brow furrowing; she'd obviously caught him watching and talking about her. Miller blushed furiously and looked away. Mallory jabbed a thumb at him, then raised one eyebrow at the woman. She shook her head wearily.
'Mallory!' Miller protested. 'She thinks I'm after her now!'
'That'll teach you to stare.' Mallory chortled to himself before downing the remainder of his pint in one go.
'You're such a lad .' Miller sighed, becoming gloomy as memories surfaced. 'Did I tell you I was going to get married?'
'Yes.'
'Sue and me had been going out since we were at school. I thought we'd always be together. No great beauty . . . not too smart, either . . . but that didn't matter. She really made me laugh. She didn't mind that I was a brickie's mate, didn't nag me to get a better job.' He was staring at the floor, lost to his thoughts. 'You know how it is when you're with someone so close it's like you're with yourself?'
'No.'
'You don't have to put on any act,' Miller continued dismally, 'you can be the same sad loser you know you are without pretending to be anybody else and they still love you.'
'I said, no.' Mallory