BLOOD DRAGON Freddie Peters (books to get back into reading .TXT) 📖

“I know you want to get over there and check, but we don’t even know whether that’s necessary yet.”

Cora ignored Nancy. She was evaluating what it would take for her to walk all the way across the various beams of the room to her studio without falling off.

“I can shuffle all the way there.” She was pointing to a central support beam.

“And then what?” Nancy’s raised voice echoed around the loft as she lifted her face to speak to her friend.

“Then I can swing towards the furthest column.”

“Please don’t make me regret mentioning those props.”

“Something prompted you, Nancy. You might remember if I tell you what I see there.”

“If you even attempt to get over there, I will cross the floor myself.”

Cora looked down and shook her head. “That is blackmail. You know I’ll never let you do that.”

“I don’t care. As long as it makes you come down again.”

The sound of broken debris being crushed underfoot stopped the conversation. Nancy swung her body around. The tall figure that was climbing the stairs towards the flat was not the police protection officer she was expecting.

* * *

The little cul-de-sac in Camden felt damp and seedy. Despite the broad daylight, the lane remained in darkness, squeezed between two derelict buildings that never allowed the sun to warm it up.

Rob was standing near an opening that must previously have been a large door. It was now kept closed with a sheath of corrugated iron and discarded hard plastic window panes.

“You’re sure it’s him?”

Rob nodded, pulling a sorry face.

“Let’s go then.” Pole exhaled.

Pole moved aside the broken objects that served as a makeshift door, lit a small torch and entered cautiously. The smell that struck Pole when he moved inside made him retch, acrid and vinegary, but unmistakable …

Heroin.

Cooked, smoked or injected.

The den was providing shelter for those who needed a fix. Mattresses strewn on the floor, bodies limp, alone or in groups. People preparing their syringes, oblivious to whomever was around.

Rob shone his light on the mass of bodies. Nobody flinched … they couldn’t care less. He fixed the beam of his lamp on the heap slumped near a pillar and started walking towards it.

“Hey mate … do you have a fiver?” a mumbled voice rose from a pile of garments that reeked of dirt.

Both men ignored the request, yet the voice persisted. More of the inert bodies that seemed asleep, came to life. Someone that did not belong was intruding.

“We need to get out of here … I’m not sure I want to be in the middle of a heroin den when these junkies wake up and smell cash for their next fix.”

“I hear you.” Pole tried to accelerate his progress towards Ollie’s body. He almost tripped over someone’s outstretched legs, eliciting a groan.

Rob reached the young man before Pole and flashed his torch into his face. It was ashen white, his lips were open, saliva had drooled down the side of his face and onto his T-shirt. Rob crouched, placed his index and middle finger on the young man’s neck artery. He pressed hard.

Pole squatted next to him. “Alive?”

Rob pulled one of Ollie’s eyelids open. The pupil had grown smaller than a pin prick.

The sight of people gathering themselves to stand up as best they could, alarmed Pole. He grabbed one of the young man’s arms, Rob did the same on the other side and they lifted the inert body. The dead weight was astonishingly heavy.

“Come on mate, you don’t want to finish up here.”

Those who had managed to stand started to mutter some indistinct words. A skinny arm reached towards Pole. He tried to avoid it and almost dropped Ollie. Rob braced himself and Pole managed to steady the young man’s body. Ollie’s head was rolling from side to side. His feet dragged along the floor, starting to bump into the people lying on the floor.

“Fuck …” Pole looked around for an easier route. “It’s impossible not to bump into people if we drag him like this.”

Rob was also looking around. More mumbled words were coming from the crowd but a few started to made sense … dosh, cash, dope.

“No, it’s not going to work. I’ll carry him … You clear the way.”

Pole braced himself and heaved Ollie’s body over his shoulders, his torso lying across them. One of Pole’s arms gathered Ollie’s legs, the other his arms. Rob pushed people away as they approached the exit.

The grumble of those they were disturbing rose to a new level, some shouting, some swearing. Rob ignored them. The junkies were awake, and they needed to get out immediately. Pole accelerated his pace. Someone tried to stand in his way. Rob pushed him back and he fell down. The whole den had come to life …

Rob increased the brightness of the torch beam and shone it into people’s eyes. They turned their heads away, yelling insults. Pole made a final push for the exit and within seconds they were out.

He didn’t stop to relax however. Some of the druggies were coming out in pursuit. Rob was calling for assistance when a beer bottle hit the back of his head. He stumbled forward almost losing his phone.

Pole was almost out of the small alley. His back screaming under the strain of the other man’s weight. Two police cars, blue lights flashing and sirens blaring, arrived from opposite directions, and screeched to a stop. Officers leaped out. The people who had come out of the den scattered.

Pole finally lowered Ollie’s body to the ground as gently as he could. The ambulance had arrived too and the paramedics took over. Pole slumped down onto the pavement against the door of one of the vehicles.

Rob joined him. “Well done …” Pole nodded and after a minute got up, still stiff. He walked towards the open back of the ambulance where one of the paramedics, a tall and lean black man, was busying himself over Ollie, fitting an oxygen mask over his face.

“How bad