Page 13 of Reinventing Cato
Vigge gave a heavy sigh.
Cato thought about admitting he wasn’t a priest. Better not to start with a lie, though the moment he opened his mouth to tell him, he changed his mind. Just let them get going first. He followed Vigge outside.
If anything, the weather seemed worse. Cato looked up into the sky, blinking as flakes landed on his glasses. It didn’t seem as if this was going to stop anytime soon. The rental cars—and there weren’t a lot of them—were covered in a blanket of snow. Vigge held out the key fob and lights flashed on a vehicle about twenty metres away. As they walked over to what turned out to be a Mazda, Cato wondered if he was crazy to consider a long drive in these conditions.With a guy I don’t know. With a guy I’d like to know. With a guy who thinks I’m a priest.Though maybe he could have fun with that.
He was an idiot. So much for his New Year’s resolution. He used his sleeve to wipe the snow off the side windows and from the wing mirror, and after tossing his bag and coat onto the back seat, he climbed in. Vigge wiped off the snow on his side and joined him.
Once the heating was on and the windscreen wipers had done their work, front and back, Vigge programmed the satnav. The estimated journey time was six hours and fifteen minutes.
And longer in these conditions. They skidded even before they left the parking area.
“Try not to kill me,” Cato said.
“Not deliberately. Well, not unless you annoy me.”
Cato laughed. “Ah, I might do. Apparently, I can be very annoying, though I find it hard to believe.”
“That must be a disadvantage in your line of work.”
“In any line of work. But annoying demons is an absolute pleasure. So is the smacking.”
That got him another “Hmm”.
“Are you religious?” Cato asked.
“No.”
Cato almost said,me neither. “Have you ever believed?”
“No.”
They pulled out of the airport and found themselves behind a gritter.
“If only he was going all the way to Heathrow,” Cato said. “Do you live in London?”
“No.”
Oh God.He was one ofthosesorts of guys. Cato’s phone vibrated, the nameDevanflashing up on the screen.
“Hi, Devan.”
“I just saw the airport’s closed. I assume because you’ve answered that you’re not on the plane. Anything I can do?”
“A guy who’s assured me that he won’t kill me unless I annoy him is giving me a lift.”
“You want to be cremated or buried?” Devan asked.
Cato laughed, though maybe it wasn’t a bad idea to make his wishes known. “Cremated. I want my ashes blasted into the air in a spectacular firework display.”
“What? All of you? How many rockets would that take?”
“Yes, all of me. I don’t know how many rockets. If I survive the night, I’ll do the calculation and let you know. I want music too. Billy Joel’sWe Didn’t Start The Fire.Just in case you get into trouble.”
His brother laughed, Vigge didn’t.
“Sure you’re okay?” Devan asked.
“So far. I don’t think he’s a psychopath. He has a twitchy eye, but there’s only a small axe in the glove compartment, though you know I’m easily fooled.”
