Hello Darkness by Anthony McGowan Page B

often, so the Shank – that’s the Deputy Head – has me down as a suspect. But the Principal – Mr Vole – well, he’s three-quarters senile, but he’s basically OK, and he’s got me trying to figure out who’s behind it all. But things are getting murkier. Someone’s trying to frame me. Or maybe just scare me off. Or perhaps just mess with my head. I don’t know. And then there are the Queens—”
    “The
what
?”
    “The Drama Queens – you know, the theatre club.”
    “OK.”
    “Well, they’re mixed up in this, and the Queen Mum – don’t ask – well, she’s on my back as well. And when I went to the Lardies to try to find out who had hired Big Donna to sing me to sleep, all I got was a faceful of hot flab and a ticket to go visit the Dwarf.”
    “Dwarf?”
    “That’s what we call the school caretaker. Evil little dude lives in the Underworld.”
    “The Underworld…? This dwarf lives in Hell?”
    “It’s a figure of speech. The Underworld is the basement area beneath the Interzone. The ass-end of the ass.”
    The cat snickered. Couldn’t tell if she was laughing
with
or laughing
at
.
    “I see now why you look tired. Any good news?”
    “Well, someone’s trying to help me. There’s a girl—”
    “I thought so. There’s always a girl.”
    “Zofia.”
    “Hey, a zed name. I like a zed name.”
    “Funny, that’s just what
I
said. Well, I helped her out when those two stiff guinea pigs showed up in her locker… OK, I see I’m losing you here, Cat.”
    “It is all a bit far-fetched. I guess you’ve got a lively imagination.”
    I grunted and pulled the crumpled Warrant out of my trouser pocket. “What about this, then?”
    “Means nothing to me. I can’t read. Oh, do you hear that?”
    “What?”
    “Phone. Better answer it.”
    “It’s only Mum.”
    “Not this time, I don’t think.”
    “Psychic?”
    “Feline intuition. Go, tiger.”
    Then the cat leapt up and over the roof like Spring-heeled Jack, and I scrambled for the phone.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
S TARBUCKS
    HER : “Hi.”
    It took me a couple of seconds to place the voice.
    Me: “Hi.”
    Her: “You take some tracking down.”
    Me: “You’re quite the sleuth. How did you…?”
    Her: “I’d rather not reveal my methods. A girl needs a little mystery.”
    Me: “I suppose I should thank you for—”
    Her: “Thank me? I don’t get it. No, I called to see if … well, do you ever go out?”
    Me: “Under cover of dark. Sometimes.”
    Her: “I thought maybe I could buy you a coffee…”
    Me: “Well, maybe you can.”
    Her: “And maybe you could also tell me what the hell’s going on.”
    Me: “I’ll tell you what I know, but the truth is that it doesn’t add up to much.”
    Her: “That’ll do. Starbucks?”
    Me: “Sure.”
    Her: “Eight – is that enough time to switch to your night plumage?”
    Me: “Eight’s good.”
    Click
.
    I had a grin on my face, and a date with a zed name.
    At one minute to eight I pushed through the door of the Starbucks on the high street.
    With a little choke, I saw that Zofia was already at the glass counter. She looked like a black flamingo. She was wearing a long skirt, the colour of night, and a tight jacket with something lacy happening at the wrists and neck. Very Morticia Addams. In a good way.
    I walked over and rested my hand lightly on her back. She turned and smiled and I felt that short, sharp punch in the guts that beauty gives you sometimes by way of “hello”. Her skin was pale and perfect and covered, as far as I could tell, the whole of her body.
    “Sorry if I kept you waiting.”
    “I just arrived.”
    I bought her a coffee – she wanted some weird mix with cinnamon and vanilla. I ordered mine black. I hate black coffee, but I thought it might impress her.
    I led Zofia over to a quiet booth against the wall. The place was dotted with idlers reading newspapers or gazing into space, which meant that there wasn’t quite enough of a buzz to disguise the