The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 by David Carter (best finance books of all time .txt) 📕

crazily and said, ‘I like you Jago, you’re cool, I can’t wait to get back to your place and give it a whirl. Have you finished here? Shall we go, come on... the tabs are calling,’ and she stood up and headed for the door.

What a crazy bitch, he thought, am I lucky or what? This could be a night to remember, maybe above all others, and he jumped up and followed her out.

She was standing by the car, coquettish look on her face, waiting for him to open up. He pointed the key and fired, but nothing happened, key battery dead. Jago cursed and slipped the key in the lock and opened up.

She fixed her seatbelt, but he did not. Stared at her instead, waiting for her to turn and look at him, for he knew this was the point where he could land a kiss.

She knew what he was after, and saw him coming, swaying across the cabin toward her, eyes closed, lips puckered, glasses steaming. Yuck! Yuck! Yuck! At the last moment, she turned her head and allowed him to kiss her on the cheek.

‘Later, Jago, later,’ she whispered in a come on a voice. ‘Let’s get back to your place.’

‘Sure, babe,’ he said, struggling to keep the disappointment from his voice as he started the car.

JAGO CRIPPS LIVED IN a modern second-floor flat on the northern side of the city, next to a huge new health and fitness club that many of the block residents used. When he’d moved in, he checked out the fitness palace, saw the huge annual membership fee, and declined. Jago had never been much of a health and fitness fiend, so what was the point in starting now?

The flat boasted a fair sized living room, a sweet smell throughout, noted Sam, a modern kitchen and bathroom, and two bedrooms, one boasting a king-size bed where Jago did his thing. In the other bedroom he threw his junk and closed the door and hoped it would disappear. The apartment was exactly the same as ten million others that had sprouted up throughout the kingdom. In the sitting room was a huge flatscreen telly, bought on the credit card, and a soft white sofa, also paid for by Jago’s employers. It was only eighteen months old and already growing grubby.

‘Drinky first,’ he said, going to the kitchen.

Lena nodded her approval, and Jago smiled.

He ran into the kitchen; he seemed to run everywhere, and she heard the pop of a bottle of wine being opened. Perhaps it was a good bottle after all, no screw tops for him.

He grabbed two large glasses from the cupboard, and held them to the neon light. They were cleanish, but to hell with it, clean enough, and he emptied the bottle, half in each.

Then he was back in the sitting room. She was ensconced on the sofa. He handed her the wine, put his on the low table, and disappeared into his bedroom, saying, ‘I’ll get the business.’

She grabbed the glass and scurried to the kitchen, dumped half of it, and skipped back to the settee.

He came back, grinning, sat beside her, but not too close, clocked the half empty glass and said, ‘The wine all right?’

‘Fab, Jago,’ she said, kicking off her shoes and tucking her feet beneath her like a young deer.

Jago nodded, two or three times, as if he had a tick. Took an almighty glug from his glass, and set a neat, square box on the table, and a pouch from which he produced a spliff. A moment later, a disposable lighter in hand, he flicked a huge flame to life and began puffing, as Sam made a big show of taking another mouthful of German white.

Jago took in several breaths of burning skunk, held the thing toward her. Lena grinned and reached across and took it, brought it to her mouth, feigned to take in a big swallow, in reality took in a little, not too much, for she wasn’t that keen on weed, and passed it back to him. Pink lipstick on the butt. He noticed that, and he liked it too. It was the closest he’d been to it yet, though the night was young, as he sucked the lipstick away, drawing heavily in. Lena reached down and emptied her glass and set it on the table.

God, she could drink, this bitch, he thought, following suit, and retreating to the kitchen for an early refill.

When he returned, she had a strange look on her face. She looked out of it already. That was cool. The more out of it she was, the better.

Then she said, ‘Tabs I like,’ and she giggled, as if there could be rewards on offer.

‘Yeah?’ he said, unable to suppress the grin from his spotty face. ‘You’re in luck, just you wait and see what I have in here,’ and he opened his dinky box of treasure.

It was packed with pills. At least four different types.

He glanced wide-eyed into the box, and peered across at her, over the top of his specs, a manic look creeping over his face.

‘Ecstasy?’ she said.

‘Among others,’ he said, in a superior way. ‘These,’ he said, holding a large white tablet up at the side his face, ‘Are supercharged babies. Unbelievable!’

‘Fantabiosa,’ she said, pretending to drink more wine. ‘And,’ she added, ‘Seeing as you have been such a good boy, or a bad boy, in this case, I have not come to the party without contributing.’

‘Yeah?’ he said, grinning.

She grabbed her bag and flipped it open. Took out her purse, opened it, removed a long silver strip of sweeties, and set them on the table next to his precious box.

He gazed down at them as if they were diamonds. Then picked them up and brought them closer to his glasses. ‘What are they?’

‘Te-maz-e-pam!!’ she said with a flourish, an exclamation that reminded him of the American superhero comics he adored.

‘Te-maz-e-pam!!’ he repeated, ‘Bang, bang, bang, baby!’

She almost burst into laughter.