Dire Straits by Helen Harper Page B

house. I know he always has a ready list of places to doss down in for both his mates and his clients. They’re usually temporary hidey-holes, where the real resident has gone off on holiday and left the place empty for a while. He has programmes which track flight and travel agency information. From there it’s easy to hack into email accounts and find out whether the hapless holidaymakers have anyone looking after their place and where they keep their spare key. I’ve never had to use this particular service before and I’m certain that the bill I receive from him once all this is over will be hefty. It’s worth it though. It’ll be even more worth it if he can also track down the mysterious Lucy.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
    Chapter Eight: Room by the Hour
     
    Once O’Shea has finished speaking to Rogu3, he passes back the receiver. I lift it to my ear but the teenager has already hung up.
    ‘What did he say? Can he do it?’
    ‘He mentioned the words “park” and “walking”,’ the daemon said grumpily. ‘And he said to tell you that this week’s word is pettifoggery.’
    I smile.
    ‘What’s that?’ O’Shea asks. ‘Some kind of code?’
    ‘No,’ I answer. ‘He just likes words.’
    He rattles the cuffs against the bed frame again. ‘Now will you help me get out of this?’
    I regard him for a moment. ‘I suppose so. If you run off though, you should know that it’s probably more than just the vampires that are after you.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    I tell him about the armed police who arrived at the house on Wiltshore Avenue just as we were leaving. His face pales. ‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ he babbles. ‘Why would the Families involve the human cops?’
    ‘I don’t know, mate. But whatever you do next, you’d better keep your head down.’ I find my lock pick and free him from the handcuffs. He springs up then winces; clearly his wounds and blood loss are affecting him more than he realises.
    ‘Are you okay?’ I enquire.
    ‘Do you care?’
    I consider his question. I have nothing against him, even if his near-death experience almost resulted in my incarceration. I’m not sure he’s done anything yet to warrant my care, however.
    ‘The fact that you have to think about the answer tells me what it’ll be,’ he gripes.
    I shrug. What can I say?
    He sniffs. ‘Maybe I’ll stick around here for a few days.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘If you don’t mind.’
    I’m surprised, but he’ll come in handy if I think of any more questions. ‘No, I don’t mind.’
    He looks at me curiously. ‘Why are you so invested in this?’
    ‘I was going to be framed for your murder.’
    For a second or two he doesn’t respond then he says quietly, ‘They were trying to put you away. But they were trying to kill me. Anything I can do to help, I will.’
    This time I believe him. ‘Then I’ve got a job for you while we wait for Rogu3 to get back.’
    I toss him one of the burner phones. I don’t want anyone to trace the landline to this flat, even if Rogu3 trusts it. Besides which, it wouldn’t be fair to run up the owners’ phone bill. It’s expensive enough living in London without my temporary break-in adding to the bills. I glance down at the headboard that is now lying in the middle of the living-room floor. I’m going to have to fix that before I leave, too.
    O’Shea waves the phone in the air. ‘What do you want me to do with this?’
    ‘A,’ I pause and search for the right word, ‘colleague of mine was recently taken into hospital. It’s related to this. See if you can find which hospital and whether he’s still alive or not.’
    ‘There are hundreds of hospitals in London!’
    ‘You’d better get a move on then. And O’Shea?’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Don’t tell them your name.’
    Irritation flickers in his eyes . ‘I’m not an idiot.’
    ‘Good. You’re looking for a man called Arzo.’
    ‘That’s it? Arzo? Is that his first name or last