Read Romeo's Tune (1990) for Free Online Page A

it and waited for the pulley to bring the cardboard back to me. As I waited I turned and regarded the two men.
    ‘Nice gun,’ I said. They looked amazed. Algy got to his feet and made for me. McBain stopped him with a look.
    ‘Let’s see his score first,’ he said.
    The target stopped by me with a clunk and I checked my score. Three bulls, four inners, one outer. Shit.
    ‘Pulls up and to the left,’ I said.
    ‘Dead right,’ replied McBain. ‘I can’t get the sights spot on no matter what I do.’
    ‘I know someone,’ I said. ‘He’ll do it for you in a minute. He can play Rachmaninov on a gun like this.’
    ‘I’d like to meet him,’ said McBain wistfully, ‘but I don’t get out much any more.’
    ‘I’ll get him to pop by someday, but don’t play tricks on him like you did on me. He’s got a lousy sense of humour.’
    ‘Sorry about that,’ said McBain. ‘We’ll know better in future. Let me see if I can beat that.’
    He picked up the Colt and moved over to a table covered in ammunition. He chose a clip, checked it, slid it into the butt of the Colt and smacked it home with the palm of his hand. That was the biggie. If he was going to get weird it would be now. But he was cool, he just walked up to the next bench to the one I’d used, gave me a big smile and blasted off nine shots as quickly as I had. The sound was ear-drum-busting but he didn’t seem to care. He pulled the target back and gave a shout of delight.
    ‘Gotcha,’ he yelled. I went over and checked his score. Five bulls, all closely positioned and four inners.
    ‘Sweet,’ I said, although I could hardly hear my own voice for the ringing in my ears.
    ‘I do know the gun,’ I almost lip-read. ‘But even so, not bad.’ He clapped me on the shoulder and I swallowed to clear my ears.
    ‘About the money,’ I said.
    ‘Yeah, the money,’ said McBain. ‘I should make Algy pay the bill himself, the big wanker, he racked up the car.’ He grinned another big stoned grin. Algy looked disgusted. ‘But as you’re here, I suppose I might as well cough up. Come on.’
    McBain spun on one boot-heel and walked away. I looked at Algy who shrugged and I followed the man in black. Algy fell into step behind me and the three of us left the firing range and returned to the big house, through the maze of corridors again, and back to the hall. This time I was led up a wide centre staircase. The further we climbed, the shabbier it got. The carpet ran out three steps from the top and we were on bare boards.
    We went down a hall that looked like the first cousin of a demolition site and through a heavy, soundproofed door into what appeared to be a small recording studio.
    It was a long, narrow room that had probably been made by knocking two smaller rooms into one. An RSJ had been cemented from one supporting wall to the other to strengthen the ceiling, into which were mounted spot lights and microphone booms which hung down to head height. Other mikes stood around on stands and were wired into a PA system which looked several times too big for the studio. Amplifiers were scattered everywhere and connected to a control board mounted on a dais in front of two chrome and leather seats.
    The walls were covered with baffle-board and shelving. On the shelves were a series of linked cassette recorders, more amps and a bunch of equipment that I couldn’t begin to identify. In the studio the floor was covered with thick-pile red carpet. There was a full-size drum kit in one corner complete with a Chinese gong about six foot in diameter standing next to a massive electric organ flanked by two speakers you could park cars in. Both speakers had some kind of horn arrangement mounted on top which looked powerful enough to handle Richmond’s air raid warning system. Other speakers of various sizes were standing against three of the four walls. By the door through which we had entered was a big leather sofa. It was freezing cold in the room.
    ‘Algy, stay