Dead Tomorrow

over.
    ‘Down!’ sheyelled. ‘Humphrey, down!’
    Before Grace had a chance to prepare himself, the dog head-butted him in the balls.
    He staggered back, winded.
    ‘HUMPHREY!’ Cleo yelled at the labrador and border collie-cross.
    Humphrey ran back into the devastation that had been the living room and returned with a length of knotted pink rope in his mouth.
    Grace, getting his breath back and wincing from the stabbing pain in his groin, stared around the normally immaculate, open-plan room. Potted plants were lying on their sides. Cushions had been dragged off the two red sofas and several were ripped open, spilling foam and feathers everywhere across the polished oak floor. Partially chewed candles lay on their sides. Pages of newspaper were strewn all around, and a copy of Sussex Life magazine lay with its front cover half torn off.
    ‘BAD BOY!’ Cleo scolded. ‘BAD, BAD BOY!’
    The dog wagged his tail.
    ‘I AM NOT HAPPY WITH YOU! I AM VERY, VERY ANGRY. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’
    The dog continued to wag his tail. Then he jumped up at Cleo once more.
    She gripped his face in her hands, knelt and bellowed at him. ‘BAD BOY!’
    Grace laughed. He couldn’t help it.
    ‘Fuck!’ Cleo said. She shook her head. ‘BAD BOY!’
    The dog wriggled himself free and launched himself at Grace again. This time the Detective Superintendent was prepared and grabbed his paws. ‘Not pleased with you!’ he said.
    The dog wagged his tail, lookingas pleased as hell with himself.
    ‘Oh fuck!’ Cleo said again. ‘Clear this up later. Whisky?’
    ‘Good plan,’ Grace said, pushing the dog away. It came straight back at him, trying to lick him to death.
    Cleo dragged Humphrey out into the backyard by the scruff of his neck and shut the door on him. Then they went into the kitchen. Out in the yard, Humphrey began howling.
    ‘They need two hours’ exercise a day,’ Cleo said. ‘But not until they are a year old. Otherwise it’s bad for their hips.’
    ‘And your furniture.’
    ‘Very funny.’ She chinked ice cubes into two glass tumblers from the dispenser in the front of her fridge, then poured several fingers of Glenfiddich into one and tonic water into the other. ‘I don’t think I should be drinking anything,’ she said. ‘How virtuous is that?’
    Grace felt badly in need of a cigarette and checked his pockets, but he remembered he had deliberately not brought any with him. ‘I’m sure the baby won’t mind a wee dram or two. Might as well get him or her used to the stuff at an early age!’
    Cleo handed him a tumbler. ‘Cheers, big ears,’ she said.
    Grace raised his glass. ‘Here goes, nose.’
    ‘Up your bum, chum!’ she completed the toast.
    He drained his glass. Then they stared at each other. Outside, Humphrey was still howling. Him or her . He hadn’t thought about that. Was it a boy or a girl? He didn’t mind. He would worship that child. Cleo would be a wonderful mother, he knew that, unquestionably. But would he be a good father? Then he followed Cleo’s gaze across at the mess.
    ‘Want me toclear up?’ he asked.
    ‘No,’ she said. Then she kissed him very slowly and very sensually on the lips. ‘I’m badly in need of an orgasm. Do you think you might be up for that?’
    ‘Just one? Could do that with my eyes shut.’
    ‘Bastard.’

23
    Vlad Cosmescu chewed hisgum, his eyes following the ivory ball skittering across the trivets of the roulette wheel. It made a steady rattling sound at first, then clack-clack-clacked as the wheel slowed, followed by sudden silence as it dropped into a slot.
    24. Black.
    Adjusting his aviator glasses on the bridge of his nose, he stared with a satisfied smile at his stack of £5 chips straddling the line between 23 and 24, then watched the croupier scoop away the losing chips from other numbers and combinations, including several of his own. Shooting his cuff, he glanced at his watch and observed that it was ten past twelve. So far it was not going well; he was down £1,800, close to his self-imposed limit for a night’s outlay. But maybe, with this win on his Tier strategy, his second in two consecutive spins, his luck was turning.
    Cosmescu stacked half his winnings with the rest of his remaining chips, then joined in with the other players at the table–the reckless Chinese woman who had been playing all the time he had been there, and several others who had recently arrived–in laying out their new bets. By the time the wheel had been