The Physics Of The Dead - A Supernatural Mystery Novel by Luke Smitherd Page A

Gun.”
    Bowler rolled his eyes, but so Hart couldn't see.
    “Well, obviously, but that's easy. I mean his actual name. Scatter, Scamma ...”
    “ Scaramanga .”
    “Yes! You didn't get that from Triple Nipple? How many movie bad guys have triple nips?”
    “ Mmm . I'm sure I wouldn't know.”
    “So anyway. Him.”
    Hart considered it.
    “Yes...he was a good one. A good rival. That's what these new ones are lacking. No decent antagonists.”
    “Baddies.”
    “Yes.”
    They were sat in a pub, watching a game of darts. It had been Bowler's idea originally, and Hart had to admit it had been a good one. Pick a local team, and follow their exploits week by week. Learn about the people. Listen to their conversations. And if they said anything that interested them, they could follow them home and see how it all panned out, providing their activities were within the boundaries of The Foyer. Alhough it was rare that they were, it was always an exciting taxi ride along with them to see if they did indeed live inside the perimeter, to see if they could get a payoff. And, of course, they liked to watch the games and support the team. Maybe they'd feel a part of it after a while, Bowler had reasoned.
    Plus, Hart liked the pub. It was one of the few remaining in the town centre that still had brasses on the walls and carpet on the floor. Pubs should always have carpet, Hart thought. And absolutely, categorically, no TV, or at least TVs switched off unless there was some kind of event being televised. Pictures on the walls that actually had some relevance to the building, and that weren't just there for the sake of it. Music that wasn't at eardrum-splitting levels. Clientèle that weren't all 17. People that actually had conversations. There were even sometimes people playing dominoes. This was Hart's kind of place, and he took pride in that fact for some reason. Pride in himself.
    Yes, it was all fine by Hart. Yes, he and Bowler had to sit on the floor; there were never any empty seats, and generally any that were empty in the darts room invariably got taken. That meant being Passed Through when someone sat on you. So they sat in the corner, wedged half in and half out of the back door. It was a fire escape, so no one used it, no one leaned on it, and no one really came close enough to Pass Through them. Hart had been doing this sort of thing for years, and although Bowler had found it highly odd at first, he was used to it now.
    Bowler turned back to the board. Will had just got his first win of the season, shouting for joy as the rest of his team cheered. Bowler thought that, of course, they'd managed to pick the shittest team in the league, as evidenced by their sheer delight every time they won something, but they had the best pub in his opinion. Well...the best pub in so much as Hart didn't sit and moan all the time they were there, and Bowler was fairly easy about pubs. He was happy for Will though, who seemed good natured, even if he was a bit of an old drunk. He watched him shake his opponent's hand-who took defeat with good grace-and hug his team mates. Bowler felt a slight tug inside, but dismissed it.
    “Brian doesn't look happy,” sniffed Hart, nodding in the team captain's direction.
    “He's knackered,” replied Bowler, “He was up all night with Sherry.”
    Hart shrugged.
    “Well, if you booze all night, don't complain when you're tired.”
    Bowler looked at him blankly for a second, and then burst into raucous laughter. Hart was shocked at first, then confused, and as he watched Bowler breathlessly slapping the table-his hand passing through it as he lost control-whilst trying to compose himself, it occurred to him how long it had been since he'd heard the younger man laugh even slightly. Even so Hart couldn't help but smile at the tears streaming down Bowler's face, as he wiped them away and leaned forward to explain through hiccuping breaths.
    “ Sh ... Sh ...aha...Sherry is...is his daughter...she's