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Posts Tagged ‘zabeel’

Outside his little room the crowds are on the street, jubilant, a mass of them forcing their way from Charlton Church Lane onto Floyd Road. Banners are flying, confetti falls from the air. Mortimer can hear them, their excited chatter, the cheering.

He puts the finishing touches to the miniature rocking chair he’s been working on all week. It is perfect, he feels a slow sense of pride.

Oh Chrissy Powell, Chrissy Chrissy Chrissy Powell!

The crowds keep coming. Men and women, girls and boys. They’ve got their Charlton back, and they’re loving it, every minute. Mortimer frowns, rests his head on the window pane.

What’s wrong with you Morts? Can’t you just get out there, get among them and celebrate?

But there’s something wrong, he thinks. Something that just doesn’t add up. Slater, Jiminez – sure, they’ve made a popular move, and it sends a message. But there’s something missing.

Mortimer feels the old instincts take hold of him again. Follow the money, Morts, follow the money. You follow the money, you find out who’s really at the top. Who’s really pulling the strings. What kind of Charlton we’ve really got.

Mortimer wheels around – there’s a scuffling at the door, a hand pressed against the reeded glass. What is that, blood? Mortimer reaches for his desk drawer, feels the reassuring touch of cold steel.

‘Who’s there?’ he rasps.

The handle of the door turns, and it gives with the weight of a man. He falls to the floor. Mortimer rushes forward. The man’s face is covered with bruises, scratches, smeared with blood. Mortimer leans forward.

‘Parkinson?’ he says, disbelieving.

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