Read Bloody Horowitz for Free Online

he was a professor of history at Edinburgh University. He was very serious, completely focused. Nothing ever rattled him. Most of the bookies had made him the favorite to win.
    RAIFE PLANT (30). The newspapers loved Raife. He was a thin, curly-haired man with a roguish, handsome face despite his broken nose and crooked teeth. Raife had been sentenced to twelve years in jail for armed robbery. The trouble for Danny was that he had spent that time taking an Open University degree and reading hundreds of books. He was a huge fount of knowledge and—with his unconventional background—he was definitely the housewives’ choice.
    MARY ROBINSON (49). The oldest contestant, and the only female, was a computer programmer from Woking. Her photograph showed a slim, unsmiling woman with dark hair swept back and very simple gold earrings. Nobody was quite sure how Mary had amassed her astonishing general knowledge. She gave away very little about herself, although she had let it be known that, if she won, she wanted to become a man.
    BEN OSMOND (27). Ben was the only contestant that Danny actually liked. They had met during the audition process and had struck up a sort of friendship. Ben’s grandparents had come from the West Indies and from them he had inherited a sunny, easygoing manner, treating the quiz—like the rest of life—as a bit of a joke. He had written poetry, climbed mountains, studied in a Tibetan monastery and campaigned for animal rights. Now he was doing this. He seemed to be enjoying it.
    Just four faces left. Five, including his. Danny thought about all the contestants he had met along the way. There had been Gerald, the fat, jolly headmaster from Brighton. Abdul, the taxi driver who had been so certain he would win. Clive in his wheelchair, hoping to claw something back in a life that had been wrecked by a car accident. Susan, who had complained when she had been asked to share a makeup room. So many different people. But they had all gone now.
    And in a couple of hours, there would only be one left.
    There was a knock at the door and the soundman came in with the little microphone that he would clip to the collar of Danny’s shirt. Danny had chosen jeans and a simple open-neck shirt for the final, although he had been told that the other contestants had been offered thousands of dollars to wear—and promote—designer labels. He had briefly considered it himself, but he felt comfortable in his own clothes and that was important. Staying relaxed was half the battle.
    â€œHow are you feeling?” The soundman was cheerful as he slid the microphone into place. Theoretically, the technicians weren’t meant to talk to the contestants, but Ed didn’t seem to care about the rules.
    â€œI’m okay.”
    â€œGood luck. I’ll be rooting for you.”
    The makeup girl left with the soundman, and for the next twenty minutes Danny was on his own. He knew he was nervous. He could feel his heart beating. It was hard to swallow. There was a tingling feeling in the palms of his hands. He forced himself to empty his mind and stay calm. A certain amount of nervousness was perfectly understandable. He just had to control it. That was all. He couldn’t let it knock him off course.
    At last the floor manager arrived. She was a big, smiling woman in her twenties, always carrying a clipboard and with a large microphone curving around her neck.
    â€œWe’re ready for you!” she said cheerfully.
    Danny stood up.
    He hadn’t let his parents wait with him. They were even more nervous than he was and he hadn’t wanted to be distracted. He knew that he wouldn’t see the other contestants as he made his way to the set. The studio had been specially designed that way. Just for a moment, he felt very alone, following the woman down a tatty, creampainted corridor with neon lights flickering overhead. It was more like a hospital than a television studio, he thought.