Page 72 of Everything That Kills Me
“Occasionally.”
“Write any about me?”
“I might have. About a moody, awkward guy who didn’t get in touch.”
Jack sighed. His eye caught the news story on the TV in the corner and Zeph turned to see what he was looking at. When the item was over, Zeph turned back to the table.
“Wow, that’s crazy. Someone getting shot in a hotel here? It wasn’t your hotel, was it?”
Jack swiftly ran through the consequences of lying. “Actually, it was.” He made sure he looked shaken.
“Bloody hell. I wonder if the police will want to speak to you.”
“They might. I could really do without that. I didn’t see anything anyway. I went to Grantchester first thing and walked back.”
“They’ll probably call you. The hotel has your number, right?”
“Yes. So tell me about your course.” He wanted the subject changed. “Incredibly hard? Relatively easy? What are the lecturers like?”
“Some subjects are tougher than others. Same for the staff. One of my supervisions is with a guy who’s brilliant and incredibly scary. He’ll ask a really difficult question, then stare at you without blinking until you come up with some sort of answer. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve answered and thought—that sounds fine—only for him to give me an even more difficult follow-up question. He keeps everyone on their toes but it’s a good way to learn, being in a small group, asking questions, discussing answers.”
“Thomas was a bit like that when he was teaching me. Just waiting until I said something. Give him ten reasons why Hitler came to power. Ten examples of coastal erosion. Ten reasons the Black Death spread so quickly. He wouldn’t let it go until I’d come up with ten things.”
“Where did you live in America?”
“Oregon for a while, West Virginia, Colorado.”
“I’d love to go to America. But then I’d also love to go to France and Italy and Portugal.”
“A European road trip? We could do that. I could buy a car. Do you have a passport?”
“Yes. You…” Zeph hesitated. “You really mean it about the holiday?”
Jack nodded.
“Oh my God. I can’t wait to go on holiday with you.”
When Zeph went punting, Jack set about buying tickets for one of the balls. There was a problem he hadn’t foreseen. Purchasers’ names were put on tickets to deter forgeries and control resale. Photo ID had to be shown on entry to the ball, either a passport or driving licence. It was possible to pay to change names but Jack wasn’t sure if that had to be done by the ticket holder. A bit of checking revealed some colleges allowed name changes online for a fee. Trinity was the most stringent.
Jack could have forgeries made. Thomas’s contacts were now also his contacts. He’d also have to hack into a college’s list of attendees to add his and Zeph’s names—whatever they decided to call themselves—to the list that would be checked on entry. But he knew what Thomas would think of him using resources for any of that and it relied on Zeph going along with a name change. So he decided on a different route.
Everything had a price. He found a number of people offering tickets to various balls at highly inflated prices. He didn’t care what he had to pay. It took three calls to find someone who still had tickets available, with fast-track and dining upgrades, and the seller wanted cash. Of course they did, but Jack would have paid cash anyway.
He arranged to meet them near King’s College and followed the directions he’d been given, going through a small wooden door near the college that led to an enclosed alleyway.
“Ben?” someone asked.
That was the name Jack had used. He turned to see three guys emerge from a doorway a little further down. They moved to form a semi-circle around him. They didn’t have the look of university students. This might be fun.
“Hand over the money,” the tallest one said.
“Where are the tickets?”
“We’ll post them. Promise.” The guy laughed.
Jack stepped towards the tallest, knowing he’d be the one to attack first, and was proved right. But the guy’s kick never reached him. On the other hand, Jack’s foot struck the man’s ankle so hard that he cried out and fell to the ground, rolling in agony. The other two were already heading towards Jack. Whether there were tickets or not, he had to disable all of them. A punch from the oldest was deflected by Jack’s elbow, dislocating the guy’s shoulder. The other—the smallest—was coming at him from the other side. Mistake.
In seconds all three men were on the ground. Two were unconscious and the one who wasn’t, but had a broken arm and dislocated shoulder, was crying.
