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By Mike Ripley

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He didn’t hear a thing,’ Prentice said, nodding. Well, neither had I until Billy had either slipped or tried to open that skylight window. I lowered myself down off the fence. ’ ‘I’d got that far. ’ ‘You knew Billy …’ ‘Like hell. Briefly and very much in the past tense, and I don’t mean ‘cos he’s dead. I knew him once, a long time go. ’ ‘He hasn’t seen me or thought about me for ten years, as far as I’m aware, and he couldn’t have known I’d be in that house. ’ He put his hands in his pockets and walked off.

He’s coming home. ’ ‘I rang him last night, and he’s flying back today or tomorrow. I think it a good excuse to get away from his family. I don’t blame him. ’ He looked at me as if I’d crawled out from under the Axminster. ‘We are. Hey! ’ I shook my head and wondered if there was any room spare on the next space shuttle. ’ That wouldn’t take long. I was wearing most of it. ’ Merry Christmas. ’ He looked daggers at me, so I pressed on before they drew blood. ’ as part of the window-frame dropped onto the bathroom carpet.

There were no women. Come to think of it, I wasn’t that keen on it either, though it did serve a cracking pint of Young’s bitter. So good, I ordered a low-al lager so as not to get locked into a session. Bunny saw me and gave me a brief nod, then went back to talking to a young black dude wearing a blue trenchcoat and nursing a colour-coordinated Filofax. Only the die-hards used them now; that was the first one I’d seen in captivity for some months. Maybe only the really bad cases, those who were hooked, had to keep their habit going.

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Angel Hunt by Mike Ripley


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