Read David Raker 01 - Chasing the Dead for Free Online Page A

mausoleum. You take the tourists out of here and all you’re left with are a few empty fudge shops. Want to hear my theory?’ He paused, but only briefly. ‘If you put a bullet in the head of every Cornishman in the county, no one would even notice until the fucking caravan parks failed to open.’ He laughed again, putting a hand to his mouth as if trying to suppress his amusement.
    I pretended to check my phone for messages. ‘Nice theory,’ I said, staring at my empty inbox. When I was finished, he was still looking at me.

    ‘I’m a salesman.’
    He rocked his head from side to side, as if to say he didn’t think I was the type. ‘My friend’s a salesman too.’
    ‘Yeah?’
    ‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘A different kind. He sells ideas to people.’
    I smiled. ‘You mean he works for Ikea?’
    He didn’t respond. An uncomfortable silence settled between us. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t taken the hint yet. He cupped his pint glass between his hands, rolling it backwards and forwards, watching the liquid slosh around inside.
    ‘I bet you’re thinking, “How do you sell ideas to people?” – right?’
    Not really
.
    He looked up at me. ‘Right?’
    ‘I guess.’
    ‘It’s pretty simple, the way he tells it. You take something – then you try to apply it to people. You know, give them something they really
need
.’
    ‘Still sounds like he might work for Ikea.’
    He didn’t reply, but his eyes lingered on me, as if I’d just made a terrible error.
There’s something about you
, I thought.
Something I don’t like.
He took a few mouthfuls of beer, and this time I could make out some of the tattoo –
‘
And see him that was possessed
’ – and a red mark, running close to his hairline, all the way down around his ears and along the curve of his chin.

    ‘Sorry?’
    He looked up. ‘The mark on my face. Fucking towelhead jammed his rifle butt into my jaw.’
    ‘You were a soldier?’
    ‘Do I look the salesman type?’
    I shrugged. ‘What does a salesman look like?’
    ‘What do any of us really look like?’ His eyes flashed for a moment, catching some of the light from a fire behind us. He broke into a smile, as if everything was a big mystery. ‘Being a soldier, that teaches you a lot about life.’
    ‘Yeah?’
    ‘Teaches you a lot about death too.’
    I tried to look pissed off, and started cutting away at some of the pie’s pastry – but the whole time I could feel him watching me. When I looked up again, his eyes moved quickly from me to the food then back up.
    ‘You not hungry?’
    ‘Looks better than it tastes,’ I said.
    ‘You should eat,’ he replied, sinking what was left in the glass. ‘You never know when you might need the strength.’
    He placed the beer glass down and turned to me, his eyes disappearing into shadow again. They were impenetrable now; like staring into one of the abandoned mine shafts along the coast.
    ‘Where you from?’
    ‘London.’

    ‘Is it?’
    ‘You telling me it isn’t? Millions of people whose only reason for being anywhere
near
that hole is so they can live on the top floor of a skyscraper and try to convince people poorer than them to live beyond their means? That’s a city of salesmen, believe me. Take a step back from the rat race, my friend – see what’s going on. No one’s there to help you.’
    ‘Thanks for the advice.’
    ‘You jest,’ he said. His eyes locked on to mine. ‘But I’m being serious. Who’s going to be there for you in that city when you wake up with a knife in your back?’
    I could hardly make him out now, he’d sunk so far back into the darkness. But I wasn’t liking what I was hearing. I looked away and focused on my food.
    ‘Do you want to be left alone?’
    He had a smile on his face now, but it didn’t go deep. Below the surface, I caught a glimpse of what I’d seen before.
    A second of absolute darkness.
    ‘It’s up to you.’
    He continued smiling. The smell of aftershave drifted across to