Two-Way Split

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Book: Read Two-Way Split for Free Online
Authors: Allan Guthrie
Various other items bounced out of sight under the desk.
    "Muirton," Pearce said into the phone. He spoke to Thompson: "Can I have that pen?"
    Thompson stooped to pick up the biro that had come to a halt against Pearce's steel toe-capped boot and handed it over.
    "42 Lochend Drive West." With the pen, Pearce tapped the second drawer down. "Paper, please Pete."
    Thompson slid out the drawer and tore off a sheet from the notepad he found inside. Pearce took it from him and wrote down Jack Muirton's phone number. He wasn't home. Pearce left a message on his answering machine, warning Jack what would happen if he didn't pay up tomorrow. When the tape ran out he hung up.
    Thompson was scratching the back of his hand.
    Pearce placed his phone on the desk. "Take your trousers off," he said.
    "Wait a minute." Thompson swallowed. "Can't we sort this out?"
    "I don't know. Can we?"
    "You want money? I'll give you money." Thompson fumbled in his pocket, located his wallet and brandished it with a look of triumph. He snapped it open and held out a wad of bills. "Here." He waved the money at Pearce. "Take it."
    "I don't want your money."
    "Take it," Thompson pleaded. "All of it. There's a grand there."
    "That's a lot of money."
    "Never know when it might come in handy."
    Pearce said, "Thanks," and stuffed the money in his back pocket. A grand. Exactly the amount he'd borrowed from Cooper. Enough, now, to pay off only half the debt. "Remove your trousers."
    "Come on," Thompson said. "Let's be civilised."
    "Please," Pearce said. "How's that? Please take your trousers off."
    Thompson threw his empty wallet onto the floor. His voice was quiet. "What you going to do?" His fingers moved towards his belt and rested on the buckle.
    "Get a move on," Pearce said. "And you'll find out."
    "Can I have my money back?"
    "What do you think?"
    Slowly Thompson unfastened his belt, slipped it out of his trousers and folded it in half. He stroked the leather strap with his thumb, then held both ends and pulled it tight. Spinning, he lashed out. The strap hit Pearce high on his left bicep. Thompson roared and swung the belt again. Pearce caught it, held it firmly and dragged Thompson towards him. Thompson stopped yelling and let go of the belt. Pearce looked at the pink mark on his arm, then switched his gaze to Thompson.
    Without a word Thompson unbuttoned his trousers, pulled down his zip and dropped his trousers.
    "Off," Pearce said.
    Thompson untied his shoelaces, removed his shoes and stepped out of his trousers. Although his shirt hung over his groin, he cupped both hands in front of his boxer shorts. "What now?"
    "Take your pants off."
    "You're joking."
    "Do we have to go through this again?"
    "Fuck you. You want to see my cock, you poof? Well, fuck you."
    The belt buckle caught Thompson just above the eyebrow. He staggered sideways, a look of shock on his face. He started to moan. One hand left his groin to cradle the side of his head.
    After a while he said, "I'll leave Ailsa alone."
    Pearce watched him for a moment, and lowered the belt. "I know you will."
    "And Becky. I'll stay away from both of them."
    "I know you will."
    "I promise." He looked up. "I'll do whatever you want." He wiped his nose. Snot lodged in his moustache.
    "That's good," Pearce said. "I want you to take off your pants."
     
     
    11:50 am
     
    Just over an hour to go.
    Robin sat at a window table for four. At each place setting a plastic stand held a piece of white card with the word RESERVEDprinted on both sides in a bold red typeface. Outside, saplings in wire cages dotted the wide pavement in a parody of a Parisian boulevard. Fake cannonballs – sculptures alluding to the traditional one o'clock firing of the cannon from the Castle – pitted Leith Walk's paved, elongated traffic islands.
    In the café, music blared. Jazz, heavy on drums and sax, percussive piano muted in the mix. He spread his fingers and stabbed a few chords on the tabletop.
    When he was thirteen Robin had

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