[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
that true, Freeman? You didn’t find this boy through any interest of your own – you were paid to!
And although I doubt that fucking him was in the job description, you’ve done that, too, safe in
the knowledge that there’s no better way to run a recalcitrant fugitive to ground than to keep him
in your bed.” His voice lowered even further. “Maybe there’s a bonus for that, Freeman. You
make sure you ask your client.”
He turned and nodded to one of his men that he was ready to go. He glanced back at me only
once. Maybe he was satisfied with what he saw, because he was still smiling. Then they strode
quickly from the room.
The door slammed shut behind them, rocking on its hinges. There was a sudden absence of
activity, the air stilling around us. The fluorescent light was harsh and over-bright in the shabby
room. I could hear my breathing very clearly, and it was far too fast.
Kit turned slowly around to face me.
Freeman – Chapter 21
“What G said…” I didn’t want to sound defensive, but was afraid that I did. “That’s not how it is.
It’s not all true.”
Kit just looked at me. “So how is it, then?” His voice was soft, but with little expression.
Somehow, that was worse than outright anger. “You tell me. What parts are true?”
I tried to breathe normally but the tightness in my chest was restrictive. “I was sent to find you,
that’s true. Contracted to find you – a runaway, someone I knew only by name and brief
description.” That’s my job, after all. Find things; source things. But I don’t always know what I’ll
find when I start.
His eyes were wide but blank, as if he’d shut off the emotions within. It was so unlike the lively
young man I knew.
Thought I knew.
He teased his lip between his teeth. “So who hired you? The police? Some social worker or
other? Arran?”
I kept my gaze steady. “Your mother.”
PDF Created with deskPDF PDF Writer - Trial :: http://www.docudesk.com
It shocked him. “What the fuck -? No, Freeman, that’s a lie to start with. She told me to get the
fuck out. She said she wished she’d never had me. She said I was a selfish, aggressive little
faggot and she wished I’d vanish off the face of the earth.”
I grimaced. Those words were an almost exact match to the ones I’d been told. “And she’s cried
every night since she said them. She’s sorry, Kit. Bitterly sorry. She’s been afraid that you might
never see her again: that you might put yourself in danger.”
“So she sent you to chase me back home.” His tone was harsh: he sounded much older.
“No. It’s not like that. She asked me to find you, just to see that you were OK. That’s all she
wanted: not to argue with you; not to plead her case with you; not to try to make you go back.”
Just to watch over you. I remembered the woman’s frightened tears; her distress. Her genuine
love for a son she’d always clashed with - a son she didn’t understand, and with whom she
couldn’t seem to empathise, but loved regardless.
It had moved me far more than I’d expected.
Kit was silent for a while. He took a few steps towards the booths, maybe looking for somewhere
to sit down. He glanced over at the exit. He stopped, looked down at his feet. His breathing was
quick and shallow.
Seemed that neither of us knew what the hell was going on.
“So you’ve known it was me, from… the beginning?”
“No.” I shook my head, but he wasn’t looking at me. “Not that first night. I wasn’t actively
searching when I came to the club: I genuinely didn’t know you were the one I was looking for.
It's just common procedure, to check out the nightclubs and the casual labour in the city – where
the hell else is there to run away to? - and the next day, when I went back over some of the
details, that's when I realised.” His mother had sent me some old, blurred photos in the mail,
asking haltingly for their return as soon as possible… photos of a laughing, joking, self-conscious
younger son, in happier family times. “I saw the likeness. I recognised you then.”
“You knew about Arran? Being a cop here in the city as well?”
“No. I never knew anything about the rest of your family until recently.” The things I didn’t know
far outweighed those I did. But those weren’t the things that mattered to him.
“But you knew who I was when you gave me my name.”
It was my turn to be shocked. “Yes, I suppose I did. But you didn’t want to use your real name,
and Kit fitted you – it seemed good.”
“And it’s short for Christopher,” he said. That was his real name, of course.
“You knew that, too,” I said, softly.
He grimaced. “Don’t push this back on me, Freeman. You’re the one who lied; you’ve kept your
identity hidden, too. Your motives, at least.”
“I never -”
“Fuck off,” he hissed, the anger flaring at last. “Oh, of course, you didn’t lie, did you? That’s too
obvious for you. That’s Freeman – he doesn’t lie, but he never gives away enough of the truth to
incriminate himself. Keeps it all to himself. No lies, but plenty of half-truths.”
PDF Created with deskPDF PDF Writer - Trial :: http://www.docudesk.com
I didn’t know what to say to him. No-one had ever faced me with that before.
“You’ve been watching me ever since. Spying on me.” He sounded puzzled, like the time he’d
been filmed. “Why? Why didn’t you just tell her I was OK, and let me get on with my life?”
“I tried to,” I said, truthfully. I’d never been personally involved before with a client, or a client’s
business. Until now. “But she wanted me to stay on it. She wanted to know if you had any plans
to go home.” Her breathless, frightened voice had asked me to stay on his track. She’d had no
idea what she was asking of me.
“You told her about G? About my jobs?”
“No.” I hadn’t thought that was necessary, but then those very things had created my desire to
keep a personal watch on him.
That – and the fact that I wanted him. The tension growing inside me was a tangible ache.
“Shit.” Kit was shaking his head, like he was running through our last few weeks together and
finding other, alternative explanations for things that had happened. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He
was really saying, You could have saved me from a lot of this.
I accepted that. He had a right to all of this, now. “I promised her I wouldn’t. She was my client.”
“So what the fuck was I?” he snapped. He flushed, deeply. “No, don’t fucking answer that. I was
just your meal ticket, right?”
“No, you weren’t. You think I need her money?” I snapped back. I couldn’t help myself. “But she
still deserves confidentiality, same as any other client. And you wanted to lead your own life,
didn’t you? You’re not some kid who needs a nursemaid. Right?”
He gasped. He looked angry, but there was pain in his eyes as well. “Right. Of course – my eyes
were wide open, I knew what I was doing. I made my choices, even though plenty of them were
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]