The Clown Service Read Online Free Page A

fashion spread from GQ.
    ‘I don’t think he’s here to kill me, Tamar,’ Shining commented. ‘You can try to get some more sleep.’
    ‘I will keep the ears open,’ the girl replied, ‘and if he turns out bad you can shout.’
    ‘I certainly will.’
    Shining stepped back and gestured for Toby to make his way through the door ajar behind him.
    The office for Section 37 was a nest of filing cabinets and comfortable soft furnishings. Bookshelves lined one wall, framed black and white photographs another. A pair of leather sofas formed an avenue for the window to pour in North London light; it spilled out onto a carpet that was manila-envelope brown.
    ‘Sit down,’ said Shining, pointing to one of the sofas, ‘I’ll just get some coffee on the go.’
    He stepped out of the room and there came the distant sound of running taps and coffee filters being banged against the plastic of a swing bin.
    Toby walked over to look at the book shelf. It was a combination of geographical texts, political manuals, occult books and trashy horror novels. He pulled out a book and looked briefly at the blood-stained woman on the cover. Apparently it was a ‘thrill-storm of gore’ and ‘a meaty must-read’. He returned the book and moved on to the photographs. They were of locations all over the world, from obvious tourist spots like the Eiffel Tower or the Sphinx to other, more obscure locations: a West German alleyway; a rain-soaked street in Portugal; an icy bandstand freezing its wooden bones in an indeterminate landscape.Obviously they must mean something to Shining, but Toby couldn’t guess what. Places he’d worked possibly. If he’d been a member of the Service for as long as his age allowed, he must have seen his fair share of the world.
    ‘Do you take milk or sugar?’ came a voice from the kitchen.
    ‘No, thank you,’ Toby replied, having taken to drinking his coffee black as he kept running out of milk.
    ‘Then you’re easy to please,’ said Shining, coming back into the room with a pair of coffee cups, one of which he handed to his visitor.
    Toby took it and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, feeling stranded – in foreign territory.
    ‘My wailing wall,’ said Shining, nodding to the photographs before sitting down on one of the sofas and looking out of the window.
    Toby found the conviviality disturbing. First he had been made a drink; now
he
was standing while his superior relaxed by the window.
    ‘It’s a good spot,’ said Shining, nodding at the view outside, ‘though I have no doubt my paymasters would begrudge my saying so.’ He looked to Toby and smiled. ‘The only reason people get sent here is when they’ve made someone stupid but important hate them.’ He gestured once again to the opposite sofa. Toby sat. ‘Was that how it was for you?’
    Toby thought for a moment. Unsure whether to tell the truth or not. Eventually he decided it could hardly matter. ‘Yes,’ he admitted, ‘I let someone get away from me on a mission.’
    ‘We’ve all done that. Why was this a particular problem?’
    ‘I was cocky. I let him get away because I didn’t pay attention. I underestimated him.’
    ‘And he surprised you?’
    ‘Yes. He hit me over the head and ran.’
    ‘Hit you with what?’
    ‘Does it matter? A bust of Beethoven.’
    ‘It matters. It would hardly be funny were it a crowbar instead of a porcelain ornament of a dead composer.’
    ‘I don’t find it particularly funny anyway.’
    ‘No, but I bet your colleagues did.’
    Toby shrugged. ‘Probably.’
    ‘What do they call you?’
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    ‘After it happened, they must have given you a nickname – what was it?’
    Toby didn’t really see it was any of Shining’s business. He had hoped to leave the name behind with the transfer. ‘They called me Ludwig.’
    ‘Really? I would have guessed at Rollover.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because I’m old enough to know who Chuck Berry was. Doesn’t matter.’ He took a sip