Free C.T. Brown - Second Time Lucky? by C.T. Brown Page A

are all over it there
really isn't much else to look into. They might also get funny ideas because
Emily was my girlfriend, not something suspicious in, and of, itself you might think but as my previous girlfriend had
also been murdered in murky and, as yet, unexplained circumstances and I was
still the prime suspect they might make a connection. Terrible how people can
jump to conclusions isn't it?
    Pausing
to take a deep breath I decided that for ten seconds I'd let it in, let myself
feel the loss of the only person who didn't treat me with suspicion, the woman
who loved me and who I loved in a way I'd never thought possible. It was a good
thing I was the cafe's only customer, a guy sitting down calmly and then
bursting into tears and shaking uncontrollably for ten seconds can generate a
lot of funny looks, fortunately only the owner was present and the owner of a
twenty-four hour cafe in the West End soon learns not to notice anything his
customers do. If they don't they tend to have unpleasant nightmares and messy
mental breakdowns. Gradually the tears stopped and my hands stopped shaking
long enough for me to scald my tongue and the roof of my mouth by taking a
slurp of tea which had been heated to the point of near nuclear fusion. I
looked around at the largely plastic cafe interior and wondered what the hell
was going on? A panicked phone call at five in morning brings me to Soho and
the dead body of the love of my life. Who would want to kill Emily? She was a
student and, even though I loved her I had to admit, not exactly a star pupil
either. What had she gotten into? Why hadn't she brought me in on it once it
got dangerous? How would I cope without her? No, I couldn't think like that. A
cathartic bout of depression and grief would do no long term good, last time it
had just led to six months on remand for a murder I didn't commit. Two girlfriends murdered and only nineteen years old. Delayed entry into university because I was on remand. There
was no way I was ever escaping this, things just couldn't get any worse. Just
as I thought that, even more trouble walked in through the door.
    Dave
'Fingers' Mackeye . A middle aged weasel of a man in a suit that must have looked cheap
when he'd bought it, somewhere over a decade ago by my guess. Nicknamed
after what he collects if you can't pay the money you owe, a man with a deep
seated hatred of me that I returned with gusto. Like most Scots settled in
London his belief that all things Scottish were greater than all things English
had only strengthened over the years, however unlike most he actually was
genuinely homesick for Scotland. Unfortunately a youthful incident between
himself and a Celtic fan that had resulted in serious injury for both and a
fire which destroyed two streets in Glasgow, there was no homecoming likely in
the near future. Unusually he was solo, normally he
was accompanied by a couple of dark suits stuffed with muscle, and just about
enough brain to tie their own shoelaces. Scraping back the orange plastic seat
across the table from me he was brave enough to sit down without brushing it
down, a serious risk in some of the greasier spoons in the area.
    "You
need my help."
    "Thanks,
but no thanks, Fingers."
    "I
wasn't offering, just saying you need it. You ain't getting it."
    He
looked smug, not a good sign. Dave collects grudges like rotten meat collects
flies and he had a special place in his bile for me, anything that made him
smile at me boded ill. "So why are you interrupting my breakfast?"
    "I
like to gloat."
    "No,
really?"
    "You
might think you're smart you gobby little student but you're in deep this time,
the fuzz have found your bit of skirt already. How long do you think you've got
'til they find you?"
    Taking
his mobile phone from his jacket pocket he looked straight at me, no doubt he
was hinting he could just tell the old bill where I was. 'Get lost, Dave, you
aren't going to turn me in. Even a brain-dead idiot like you doesn't need