Free High Moor 2: Moonstruck by Graeme Reynolds Page A

you’re on report. Again.”
    The sounds of grumbling came from the cell. The toilet flushed, then after a few seconds flushed again. The handle was pushed two or three times in quick succession, making Jonesey swear under his breath. Ten seconds later he stumbled out with one shoe still in his hand and his shirt on inside out. He sniffed at his hand, shrugged and turned to the officer with a wide grin plastered across his face. “There we go, guv. All ready. Are they doing the marinated quails’ eggs this morning? Or is it the deep fried slop for a change?”
    The officer shook his head. “Well, why don’t you get your arse down there and find out. And for fuck’s sake, Jones, wash your hands before you set foot in that dining area.”
    As the officer walked away, Jonesey winked at John. “Mr Phelps will make someone a lovely mother one day.”
    They made their way down to the morning roll call, then filed into the dining area. The blocks were brought in, one at a time, with A block usually the first through the doors. A few officers stood around the periphery of the room, keeping a close eye as the inmates queued for food.
    John picked up his breakfast: fatty bacon with a couple of forlorn sausages drowned in baked beans. He grabbed a mug of coffee and followed Jonesey to a table in the centre of the room. The adrenaline coursed through his body, making his stomach do somersaults and his heart hammer. Fuck it. Now or never.
    He turned to Jonesey and smiled. “I’m really sorry about this, mate…” Then he slammed his hot cup of coffee into the other man’s face.
    Jonesey screamed and fell to the floor, holding his hands to his scalded face. John leapt to his feet and began kicking the prone man in the ribs, feeling the bones crunch under his feet.
    Within seconds, the guards had swarmed over John and pounded at him with their batons, forcing him to the floor. John’s beast snarled and tried pushing its way to the surface. His body had become slick with sweat and he could feel the first itching of the transformation begin at the tips of his fingers and back of the jaw. Still the blows rained down, breaking his concentration, giving the beast more of a hold. “No more,” he panted. “Please, no more.”
    The beating stopped and his hands were forced behind his back. Cold metal restraints gripped his wrist. He was dragged to his feet. John shoved the snarling wolf back into the deepest recesses of his mind, feeling relief flood through him as the itching subsided and his temperature returned to normal.
    Mr Phelps lifted John’s head and looked into his bloodshot eyes. “Now, Simpson, I know Jones is an arsehole, but that’s no excuse to beat the shit out of him and spoil everyone’s breakfast.” He turned to one of the officers holding John’s arms. “Get him cleaned up, get the Doc to check him over, and stick the bastard in isolation. He can bloody well rot there until his remand hearing as far as I’m concerned. And someone get Jones down to the infirmary before he bleeds all over the floor.”
    The other inmates glared at John with murder in their eyes. Jonesey was popular here, having a knack for getting hold of certain luxury items. John’s attack hadn’t gone down well, but he didn’t care. As he was dragged away he grinned at them through bloodied teeth. It didn’t matter what happened next. His plan had worked like a charm.

Chapter 5

    12th December 2008. Market Tavern, Durham City. 11.35.
    Gregorz pushed open the door, smiling at the rush of warmth from the bar. He stepped inside, closely followed by Daniel. The interior was dimly lit, with old stained wood floors and an oak counter that was probably close to a hundred years old. The pub smelled of old wood infused with decades of spilled alcohol and cigarette smoke. Rickety wooden tables stood on the dance floor, with small laminated menus laid on their surfaces. The lunchtime crowd had not yet arrived, so the place was almost empty,