like something light, like an almond croissant, for example. "And a latte," he added.
Robin could see her fingers itching to touch her boyfriend's coat sleeve. Were they playing a game? Did they want him to guess, was that it? That fuck-me smile she gave him? Robin looked away. Outside, people were wrapped up tight as parcels against the cold. Traffic pulsed up and down Leith Walk. The heavy sky was the same dirt grey as Carol's eyes. He turned and, controlling his voice, said, "You ready for this one, Eddie?"
"Always." Eddie patted his coat pocket.
12:07 pm
Nothing like seeing a naked man to remind you of prison. Ten years of communal showers. Ten years of sex-starved cons leering at you. When he was released two months ago, Pearce had found immense pleasure in the simplest things. Like getting out of bed when he felt like it, putting the light out when he wanted to, choosing what he wanted for dinner, and shitting in private.
He realised he was staring at Thompson's dick. It was very pale, fat, and equipped with an enormously long foreskin. "Turn around," Pearce said. "Put your hands behind your back."
Thompson turned, the front of his thighs pressing against the edge of his desk. His hands moved slowly towards his side and stopped, hovering there. Pearce snatched the bastard's wrists and jerked them together. Thompson yelped. Pearce held both wrists in one hand and fumbled on the floor for the naked man's shirt with the other. When he found it he stuffed one of the sleeves in his mouth and ripped it off at the armpit. He bound Thompson's wrists together with the strip of material.
Thompson howled. "That's cutting me."
Enough. Pearce spun him around and head-butted him. Thompson swayed, jaw gaping, and as his legs buckled, Pearce shoved him backwards. He thumped onto the desk, head striking its polished surface with a crack. His eyes rolled upwards and his eyelids fluttered and closed. He lay still, head tilted to the side, mouth hanging open, tongue blanketing his teeth. Slowly, his chest rose and fell. When he exhaled he emitted a sound somewhere between a wheeze and a low whistle. Tied behind his back, his hands forced his hips in the air. His prick nestled in the crease between his balls.
Pearce grabbed his mobile and dialled Julie's number, even though he was sure she'd chucked her phone. You want to get engaged, Pearce? Hope was a killer, wasn't it? A bland English voice told him to leave a message. In the same strangled falsetto he'd used a dozen times before, he said, "You want to get engaged?" His chest felt tight and he was breathing heavily. Maybe she'd kept her phone, after all. He didn't know for certain. His voice whined. "Want to get engaged, Pearce? Want to get engaged?" The phone cracked in his hand, the casing split at the bottom. The hairline curve looked as if somebody had pasted an eyelash onto the plastic. He stopped squeezing it.
He flicked the switch in his head and his anger instantly disappeared. If he closed his eyes now he'd see his dog, Angus, cowering under the school bus, bright pink front leg stripped of fur and skin all the way to the shoulder. Pearce kept his eyes open and said in a normal voice, "Why is the world full of scum?" Thompson moaned. Pearce clipped the phone back on his belt. His forehead had struck Thompson between the eyes and they'd puffed up already. He moaned again. His eyes were open and he was dribbling out the side of his mouth. He looked drunk.
"Can you hear me?" Pearce asked him. Thompson tried to push himself up, but fell back immediately. Tied behind his back, his arms couldn't support him. Pearce leaned over the prostrate figure. "This is going to hurt," he said.
Thompson struggled to lift his head off the table. "I won't touch her again."
"Correct." Pearce stepped away from the desk to pick up the drawer Thompson had emptied in his search for the phone book.
"You don't need to hit me any more. I'll leave Ailsa alone. And Becky." Thompson's
Robin could see her fingers itching to touch her boyfriend's coat sleeve. Were they playing a game? Did they want him to guess, was that it? That fuck-me smile she gave him? Robin looked away. Outside, people were wrapped up tight as parcels against the cold. Traffic pulsed up and down Leith Walk. The heavy sky was the same dirt grey as Carol's eyes. He turned and, controlling his voice, said, "You ready for this one, Eddie?"
"Always." Eddie patted his coat pocket.
12:07 pm
Nothing like seeing a naked man to remind you of prison. Ten years of communal showers. Ten years of sex-starved cons leering at you. When he was released two months ago, Pearce had found immense pleasure in the simplest things. Like getting out of bed when he felt like it, putting the light out when he wanted to, choosing what he wanted for dinner, and shitting in private.
He realised he was staring at Thompson's dick. It was very pale, fat, and equipped with an enormously long foreskin. "Turn around," Pearce said. "Put your hands behind your back."
Thompson turned, the front of his thighs pressing against the edge of his desk. His hands moved slowly towards his side and stopped, hovering there. Pearce snatched the bastard's wrists and jerked them together. Thompson yelped. Pearce held both wrists in one hand and fumbled on the floor for the naked man's shirt with the other. When he found it he stuffed one of the sleeves in his mouth and ripped it off at the armpit. He bound Thompson's wrists together with the strip of material.
Thompson howled. "That's cutting me."
Enough. Pearce spun him around and head-butted him. Thompson swayed, jaw gaping, and as his legs buckled, Pearce shoved him backwards. He thumped onto the desk, head striking its polished surface with a crack. His eyes rolled upwards and his eyelids fluttered and closed. He lay still, head tilted to the side, mouth hanging open, tongue blanketing his teeth. Slowly, his chest rose and fell. When he exhaled he emitted a sound somewhere between a wheeze and a low whistle. Tied behind his back, his hands forced his hips in the air. His prick nestled in the crease between his balls.
Pearce grabbed his mobile and dialled Julie's number, even though he was sure she'd chucked her phone. You want to get engaged, Pearce? Hope was a killer, wasn't it? A bland English voice told him to leave a message. In the same strangled falsetto he'd used a dozen times before, he said, "You want to get engaged?" His chest felt tight and he was breathing heavily. Maybe she'd kept her phone, after all. He didn't know for certain. His voice whined. "Want to get engaged, Pearce? Want to get engaged?" The phone cracked in his hand, the casing split at the bottom. The hairline curve looked as if somebody had pasted an eyelash onto the plastic. He stopped squeezing it.
He flicked the switch in his head and his anger instantly disappeared. If he closed his eyes now he'd see his dog, Angus, cowering under the school bus, bright pink front leg stripped of fur and skin all the way to the shoulder. Pearce kept his eyes open and said in a normal voice, "Why is the world full of scum?" Thompson moaned. Pearce clipped the phone back on his belt. His forehead had struck Thompson between the eyes and they'd puffed up already. He moaned again. His eyes were open and he was dribbling out the side of his mouth. He looked drunk.
"Can you hear me?" Pearce asked him. Thompson tried to push himself up, but fell back immediately. Tied behind his back, his arms couldn't support him. Pearce leaned over the prostrate figure. "This is going to hurt," he said.
Thompson struggled to lift his head off the table. "I won't touch her again."
"Correct." Pearce stepped away from the desk to pick up the drawer Thompson had emptied in his search for the phone book.
"You don't need to hit me any more. I'll leave Ailsa alone. And Becky." Thompson's
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