gns.theplutopact-第18部分

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　　'This！'
　　
　　He　stood　before　her；　holding　his　limpness；　the　foreskin　held　back　to　display　the　raw；　weeping　flesh。
　　
　　'Gor'　Blimey！'　She　edged　as　far　away　from　him　as　the　sofa　would　allow。　'You've　got　a　dose　of　the　pox！'

　　
　　'And　you've　given　it　me！'　he　snarled。　'It's　true　what　they　say　about　you；　you　dirty　little　scrubber。　You've　been　on　the　game　all　your　life；　and　you　can't　get　off　it。　You're　hooked　on　it。　Half　the　guys　in　this　bleeding　town　are　fucking　you；　and　all　the　time　you　were　trying　to　make　out　you　had　some　sort　of　crush　on　me。'
　　
　　'It's　a　lie！'　she　yelled。　'You're　lookin'　for　a　scapegoat。　It's　you　what've　been　sleepin'　around；　and　now　you're　tryin'　to　blame　it　on　to　me。　You　bleedin'；　low；　dirty　bastard。　Go　back　to　your　poxy　woman；　and　don't　never　e　back　'ere！'
　　
　　Richard　Coyle's　rage　erupted。　His　one　eye　was　virtually　sightless。　His　cheekbone　felt　as　if　it　was　broken。　The　pain　throbbed　right　up　and　over　his　skull；　terminating　at　the　back　of　his　neck。　But　that　was　as　nothing　pared　with　the　searing　sensation　below；　and　the　full　implications　of　it　all。　In　the　space　of　only　twelve　hours　he　had　been　brutally　struck　by　his　father；　and　discovered　that　his　girlfriend；　no；　his　sex…partner；　had　given　him　VD。　Someone　had　to　pay　for　all　that。　Right　now　only　revenge　mattered…and　somebody　had　to　bear　the　brunt　of　it　all。
　　
　　'You　fucking　little　whore！'
　　
　　The　full　weight　of　his　fourteen　stone　was　transferred　to　the　balls　of　his　feet　as　he　delivered　the　first　blow；　a　stunning　right　uppercut　which　caught　Linda　Lakin　full　on　the　point　of　her　jaw。　Bone　splintered；　bloody　broken　teeth　filled　her　mouth。　Her　head　flew　back。　He　hit　her　again…and　felt　sadistic　satisfaction　at　the　sound　of　her　small　nose　breaking。　Miraculously；　she　was　still　conscious；　gurgling　her　screams　as　she　swallowed　blood；　eyes　wide　with　horror。　She　attempted　to　scramble　up；　but　fell　back；　helpless。
　　
　　Richard　Coyle　was　now　in　an　uncontrollable　frenzy。　He　struck　wildly　at　her　eyes；　laughing　as　they　puffed　up　into　blue…black　swollen　sightlessness。　It　wasn't　her　he　was　hitting　now；　it　was　his　father…repaying　that　one　blow　with　interest。　Again　and　again。　His　knuckles　began　to　bleed；　they　felt　as　though　they　were　broken。　The　arms　which　had　initially　attempted　to　ward　off　his　blows　now　lay　still。　Not　so　much　as　a　whimper　from　her。　Her　head　was　twisted　at　an　unnatural　angle；　the　features　totally　unrecognisable；　the　nightdress　saturated　with　blood。
　　
　　Then　he　stopped；　a　numbness　enveloping　him　from　head　to　foot。　He　realised　that　she　was　dead；　but　it　did　not　worry　him。　He　hadn't　meant　to　kill　her…it　was　manslaughter；　not　murder。　That　would　be　the　verdict。　There　was　provocation。　She　had　asked　for　it。
　　
　　Slowly　his　brain　began　to　function　clearly　again。　He　turned　away　from　the　revolting；　bloody　corpse　and　went　back　into　that　stinking　alcove。　He　didn't　even　notice　the　smell　this　time。　Turning　on　the　single　tap　he　ran　water　into　the　cracked　basin　and　began　to　wash　the　blood　from　his　hands。　There　was　surprisingly　little　on　his　clothing：　a　few　splatterings　that　would　scarcely　draw　attention　to　him。　He　bathed　his　swollen　eye。　The　cold　water　was　soothing；　but　it　seemed　to　have　little　effect　on　the　burning　within　his　member。
　　
　　He　went　back　into　the　main　room；　lit　a　cigarette；　and　pondered　upon　the　course　of　action　he　would　take。　In　no　way　could　he　disguise　the　fact　that　he　had　killed　Linda　Lakin。　Her　body　would　be　discovered　in　a　day　or　two；　probably　when　the　landlord　came　to　collect　the　rent。　Richard　Coyle's　arrest　would　then　be　a　formality。　Still；　he　would　not　make　it　all　that　easy　for　them。
　　
　　He　had　no　intention　of　returning　home。　In　his　present　mood　he　would　probably　kill　his　father；　too。　Not　that　that　would　be　a　bad　idea；　but　in　his　predicament　it　would　not　help。
　　
　　First；　he　needed　to　visit　a　VD　Clinic。　That　was　what　worried　him　most。　He　had　read　all　about　venereal　diseases；　but　there　was　something　about　his　own　particular　symptoms　which　worried　him。　He'd　heard　of　guys　going　on　for　weeks　with　just　minor　disfort；　yet　this　pain　was　like　a　searing　heat；　radiating　through　the　rest　of　his　loins。　Maybe　it　was　a　different　type　of　pox。
　　
　　He　would　head　south！　The　thought　came　to　him　in　an　instant。　The　petrol　tank　of　the　Norton　was　almost　full…enough　to　get　him　to　London；　maybe。　He'd　been　there　once　before。　Guys　and　girls　slept　rough。　Nobody　bothered　them。　They　queued　up　at　the　VD　clinics。　Nobody　would　give　him　a　second　glance。　That　also　went　for　most　of　the　major　cities：　Manchester；　Birmingham；　and　such。
　　
　　'I　stayed　in　this　fucking　place　one　day　too　long。'　He　did　not　look　back　as　he　let　himself　out。　'Should've　moved　out　months　ago。'
　　
　　He　winced；　almost　cried　out　aloud；　as　his　genitals　came　in　contact　with　the　saddle。　Burning；　blinding　pain　seemed　to　be　eating　away　his　lower　regions；　as　if　they　were　being　consumed　by　fire　。　。　。
　　
　　He　kicked　the　starter；　it　fired　first　time。　Swaying　precariously；　mainly　because　one　eye　was　now　totally　sightless；　he　hunched　over　the　handlebars；　and　roared　off　into　the　early　autumnal　night。　The　journey　south　had　begun。
　　
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　6
　　
　　'Richard　didn't　e　in　at　all　last　night。　His　bed　hasn't　been　slept　in。'　Bob　Coyle　barely　glanced　up　from　the　morning　issue　of　the　Sun；　and　replied　with　his　mouth　full　of　toast：　'So　what？　He's　old　enough。　Sleeping　rough　probably。'
　　
　　'More　likely　with　that　whore。'
　　
　　'Well；　I'm　not　going　down　to　the　police　station　to　list　him　as　a　missing　person。　He'll　e　home　when　he　runs　out　of　money　and　gets　hungry。　Kids　his　age　are　doing　the　same　all　over　the　country。'
　　
　　'And　meanwhile；　you'll　pursue　this　obsession　of　yours　about　the　world　being　blown　up　because　some　ancient　wizard　put　a　curse　on　Craiglowrie。　Fathers　all　over　the　country　aren't　taking　that　tine；　thank　God。'
　　
　　'That's　just　the　trouble　with　the　British。'　He　pushed　his　empty　plate　away；　stood　up；　and　reached　for　his　coat。　He　wanted　to　be　out　of　the　house　before　Sarah　came　down。　One　bickering　woman　was　enough　at　that　time　of　the　morning。'
　　
　　'Going　out　early　aren't　you？'　There　was　resentment　in　Jane's　voice；　a　hint　of　suspicion；　too。
　　
　　'I've　a　lot　to　do　today。'
　　
　　'Which　means　you'll　be　late　home。'
　　
　　'Yes；　I'm　afraid　so。'　He　averted　his　eyes　from　her　searching　gaze。　'Don't　fix　anything　for　me。　I'll　eat　out　tonight　。　。　。　if　I　get　time。'
　　
　　'Sometimes　I　almost　think　it　would　be　better　if　you　had　another　woman；'　she　snapped。　'At　least　it'd　make　you　more　human。　Work；　work；　work。　And　by　the　way；　this　boyfriend　of　Sarah's　who　keeps　on　lavishing　all　these　clothes　and　things　on　her…why　doesn't　she　bring　him　home？　We　don't　even　know　his　surname。　Just　David。　What　are　his　intentions？'
　　
　　'Why　don't　you　ask　him？'
　　
　　'How　the　hell　can　I；　when　I　don't　know　who　he　is。　I　reckon　he's　a　married　man。　Maybe　Mrs　Bean　will　have　heard　something。'
　　
　　'The　town's　prophet　of　doom；'　Coyle　called　back　as　he　went　out　the　door；　hastening　at　the　sound　of　Sarah's　footsteps　on　the　landing　above。　'You'll　never　hear　glad　tidings　from　that　source。'
　　
　　The　printers　and　typesetters　were　surprised　to　see　Coyle　arrive　so　early。　He　nodded　to　them　as　he　passed　through　the　workshops；　and　flung　himself　into　the　battered　old　chair　in　his　tiny　office。　Anne　would　not　be　here　for　another　three…quarters　of　an　hour。　God；　how　he　needed　her；　just　her　pany。　He　pulled　the　much　depleted　bottle　of　whisky　from　the　cupboard；　and　poured　some　of　it　into　the　unwashed　glass。　He　needed　time　to　think。　It　was　too　early　to　make　any　phone…calls。
　　
　　Something　had　definitely　gone　wrong　up　at　Holocaust。　Maybe　it　was　just　a　repetition　of　what　happened　to　Wind…scale's　pilot　oxide　plant　in　1973。　That　meant　contamination；　however　slight。　He　wished　Sarah　didn't　work　up　there。　Christ；　there　were　obstacles　at　every　turn。
　　
　　Anne　arrived　promptly　at　nine；　in　time　to　catch　him　draining　the　last　of　the　whisky　from　the　glass。
　　
　　'My　God！'　There　was　concern　on　her　face。　'You　look　bad；　Bob。　Domestic　or　。　。　。　'
　　
　　'Both；'　he　sighed。　'Something's　definitely　gon