J. Ballard - Cocaine Nights

‘That’s not quite true.’ Frank drew away from me, the defensive smile on his lips again. ‘It’s hard to believe, but I am guilty.’

‘Don’t talk like that!’ Impatient with him, I knocked his cigarettes to the floor, where they lay beside the policeman’s feet. ‘Say nothing to Danvila about the Gibraltar thing. Once we get you back to England you’ll be able to clear yourself.’

‘Charles … I can only clear myself here.’

‘But at least you’ll be out of jail and safe somewhere.’

‘Somewhere with no extradition treaty for murder?’ Frank stood up and pushed his chair against the table. ‘You’ll have to take me with you on your trips. We’ll travel the world together. I’d like that …’

The policeman waited for me to leave, carrying my chair to the wall. Frank embraced me and stood back, still smiling his quirky smile. He picked up his cigarettes and nodded to me.

‘Believe me, Charles, I belong here.’

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