Darren Shan - Procession of the dead

"OK. See you-" But he'd hung up already.

I couldn't concentrate after that. I endured the office for forty-eight minutes, then had to get out. I called for Thomas and told him to drive around for a while. I rolled the windows down and let fresh air sweep into the car. After a while that wasn't enough. I needed something to take my mind off my impending meeting with The Cardinal. "Thomas, do you know any good sports centers?"

"Yes, sir."

"Take me to one."

"Any special preferences, sir? Bowling, badminton, gymnastics?"

"I don't care. I just want something that leaves me panting for-" Then I saw the face of the woman again and this time she was holding a tennis racket, laughing. "Do you know a good tennis court?" I asked hesitantly, trying to hold the image but failing.

"Yes, sir."

"Then get me there quick."

The club was one of the best. Champagne on ice in the clubhouse, immaculately maintained courts, umpires and ball boys, ex-professionals to teach beginners. All the players oozed money, tanned and greased, sporting the chicest gear, pausing between sets to ring their stockbrokers.

The receptionist was snotty at first. They didn't favor blow-ins who turned up without appointments. But he warmed to me when I flashed my card from the Skylight. The Cardinal's reach extended everywhere. Only a fool turned away one of the Skylight's guests. You couldn't afford to make those sorts of enemies.

I had to shop for my equipment first-no rentals here. I'd picked up a few credit cards since my time with Theo (all arranged through illegal channels), so I put the skimpy T-shirt, shorts and sneakers on one of them and tried not to look at the price.

My instructor had only played semipro but I didn't hold that against him. He asked if I'd played before. I had an impression of the woman serving to me, and could vaguely recall hitting a few balls back to her, but that was all. I told him to treat me like a beginner. He started me slowly, stressing that since this was my first lesson I couldn't expect too much.

I slipped him a tidy wad of notes and said I wanted to let off steam and while away a couple of sweaty hours without having to worry about work. I told him to hit balls at me hard. He was a practical man. He believed in putting the wishes of his clients first. Grinning, he pocketed the cash, moved to the far end of the court and let fly.

He slaughtered me to begin with. I chased hopeless balls, flew from one side of the court to the other, puffing and panting, feeling like an idiot. But toward the end of the first set I improved. In the space of a couple of games I shed my hunched pose, found my feet, adjusted my grip and shifted up several gears. A few games into the second set, I was returning everything he threw at me, beating him on my own serve, dictating play. He was chasing the game now. I was thrashing him soundly, ex-semipro or not.

I won the second set 6-4. The third 6-1. Match to me.

He stormed over angrily. "You've played before," he snarled.

"No," I said. "That was my first time."

"Bullshit! You destroyed me!"

"Beginner's luck."

"Like fuck!" He poked me in the chest. "You're a pro. No amateur could have torn me apart like that. Who sent you? Did Sheryl pay you to humiliate me? Is this her idea of a joke?" He poked me in the chest again.

I grabbed his hand and twisted it back until it was a creaking bone away from snapping. "Do that to me again," I said as he yelped, "and the only thing you'll be serving up is a plate of beans. Nobody sent me. I guess I'm a born natural or you're simply not as flash as you think. My advice-take that money I gave you, grin and bear it, and get the fuck out of my face."

I let go and walked away, high on the buzz of the action. Not having wasted as much time as I wanted to, I hit the squash and handball courts. I wasn't as good there but surprised myself, displaying an athletic prowess I'd never suspected. If I was this good first time out, there was no telling where I might get with some practice. Maybe I'd missed my true vocation and a career on the tennis circuit beckoned.

I popped into Shankar's later. I was feeling fresh and alive. This was shaping up to be a great day. I could see The Cardinal throwing his arms around me, giving me the keys to his empire and the freedom of his kingdom.

I dined with Y Tse and Leonora. Told them about my ensuing meeting. They were thrilled, especially Y Tse.

"This could be the start of it, Capac," he crowed. "He probably won't say much tonight-it won't feel like anything big-but your entire future could depend on what happens at eleven."

"How should I approach him?" I asked. "Should I act casual, treat him like an old pal? Keep my eyes down and speak only when spoken to?"

"Act naturally," Leonora advised. "Dorry will have been monitoring you. He knows what you are like. Do not put on an act. Answer his questions truthfully. Be yourself."

"Yes," Y Tse agreed. "There's no need to fawn or dazzle him. He just wants to see how his newest recruit is getting on. He might have a small errand for you. If he does, it'll seem no different from any other task, but it will be important to him. Treat it like any other assignment, like it's no big deal, but don't fuck it up."

"Got you." I bit into my burger. They cooked them magnificently here. Black as sin and packed with just the right amount of sauce and salad. "Have either of you seen Adrian the last day or so?" I asked between bites.

"Who?" Leonora said.

"Adrian. My driver."

"I do not think I know him. Have we met?"

"I'm not sure, but you've probably seen him with me. Young guy, always smiling, a bit of a clown."

"It rings no bells," she said.

"You?" I asked Y Tse.

"One young man looks pretty much the same as any other to me."

"A lot of help you are," I complained.

"It is our age, dear." Leonora smiled. "The mind starts to go when you are old. Memories fragment. Some days I struggle to remember my own name. Do you agree, Y Tse?"

"Who?" He laughed.

"If I ever live to be as old as you two," I said, "I hope someone has the good grace to put me out of my misery." I stood. "I'd love to stay but I've a career to build. See you later."

"Good luck," Y Tse said.

"Yes, luck, Capac," Leonora added.

From there it was back to the Skylight. I had a shower, my third of the day-the city knew how to make a man sweat. Conchita was waiting when I stepped out, towel wrapped around my waist. "Hello sailor," she said in a passable Katharine Hepburn impression. "I'm up for The African Queen tonight. You game?"

"Sorry," I said. "That's one river trip I'll have to skip. I'm meeting my boss. Could be in for a promotion." I opened the wardrobe and searched for clothes. Nothing fancy. Neat trousers, a shirt, a loose tie. No jacket-too hot.

"What time will you be back?" Conchita asked.

"Don't know."

"Should I wait up?"

"Not too late. Stick around a few hours. I'll ring from Par-the office if I get away before midnight." I didn't want her hearing about The Cardinal. She still thought I was an insurance agent. I wanted to keep it that way. What she didn't know about me couldn't hurt her.

Thomas drove silently to Party Central. He didn't speak much, responding to my conversational questions with short, curt answers. The sooner I got Adrian back, the better.

Party Central thrummed with the sounds of the night shift. It wasn't as hectic as it got in the middle of the day, but it was by far the liveliest building in the city at that time of night. The Cardinal's interests stretched across the face of the globe. His company was a twenty-four-hour-a-day machine, an economic monster that required constant feeding.

The Troops were on guard, cold and alien as ever. There'd been a bit of bother in the press lately. It happened every few years as young politicians tried to make names for themselves by pushing for the disbanding of The Cardinal's personal army. It normally went on for a couple of weeks, giving the citizens time to vent their anger and get it out of their systems. Then the aggravating hotshots were either bought up or plowed under and that was the end of it.