Free The Loo Sanction by Trevanian Page A

them.”
    â€œWhat are you going to do now? After I leave you?”
    â€œI have to arrange some mechanical things. I don’t have clothes. I don’t have a place to stay. Once I’ve settled that, I suppose I’ll go to the movies.”
    â€œGo to the movies?”
    â€œBest place to lose yourself for a few hours. One of those porno houses where you can rent a raincoat.”
    â€œRent a raincoat?”
    â€œNever mind.”
    â€œWhat are you going to do about that man . . . we found? You can’t just leave him there.”
    â€œI can’t do anything else. Anyway, unless I miss my guess, he won’t be there in an hour. They don’t want the police in on this if they can help it. I wouldn’t be much use to them in prison. No, they were supposed to walk in on me and get hard evidence. A photograph or something. Then they’d have the leverage to force me to work for them. But something went wrong—what, I don’t know. Maybe we woke up too early and got out too fast. They’ll have to drop back and think up something else. And I’m hoping that will take them a little while.”
    She shuddered. “I’m sorry. I try not to think of him . . . the man in your loo . . . but every once in a while the image of him—”
    Jonathan looked up at her suddenly. “In my loo?”
    â€œYes. In your bathroom. What is it?”
    â€œThe man said a word just before he died. A name, I thought. I thought he said Lew, as in Lewis. Or Lou as in Louise. But he could have meant loo as in bathroom.”
    â€œWhat would that mean?”
    Jonathan shook his head. “I haven’t the slightest idea.”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    Just before they parted, after they had gone back over the arrangements for meeting after the Royal Institute lecture, Maggie made an observation that had occurred to Jonathan as well. “It’s an odd feeling. The change of tone between this morning and the bantering in the restaurant last night. I can’t help this curious sensation that we have known one another for years and years. In just a few hours we’ve been through laughter, and love, and all this trouble. It’s an odd feeling.”
    â€œI admire the way you’ve braced up under this.”
    â€œAh, well, you see, I’ve had practice. The troubles in Belfast got very close to me. The soul develops calluses very quickly. That’s the real terror of violence: a body gets used to it.”
    â€œTrue.” Indeed, he had surprised himself with the speed with which he had swung into the patterns and routines of a kind of existence he had thought was far behind him. “I’ll see you soon, Maggie.”
    â€œYes. Soon.”
    Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â 
    He stood in the red public telephone box and memorized the numbers of two railroad hotels.
    â€œGreat Eastern Hotel?” The operator’s voice had the singsong of rote.
    He pushed the twopence in. “Reservations, please.”
    At the Great Eastern, he reserved a room under the name Greg Eastman. Then he called the Charing Cross Hotel and reserved a room under the name Charles Crosley. Railroad hotels were the kind he needed. Quiet, middle class, very large, and used to transients. He would actually stay at the Great Eastern, where a lift could bring him directly from the Underground station into the lobby, making it unnecessary to go onto the open street. His reservation at the Charing Cross was only for a pickup of clothes.
    Next he called his tailor on Conduit Street.
    â€œAh, yes. Dr. Hemlock. May we be of service?”
    â€œI need two suits, Matthew.”
    â€œOf course, sir. Shall we make an appointment for a fitting?”
    â€œI haven’t time for that. You have my paper there.”
    â€œQuite so, sir.”
    â€œI need the suits this evening.”
    â€œ
This
evening? Impossible, Dr. Hemlock.”
    â€œNo, it isn’t.