Our new Indie Games subforum is now open for business in G&T. Go and check it out, you might land a code for a free game. If you're developing an indie game and want to post about it, follow these directions. If you don't, he'll break your legs! Hahaha! Seriously though.
Our rules have been updated and given their own forum. Go and look at them! They are nice, and there may be new ones that you didn't know about! Hooray for rules! Hooray for The System! Hooray for Conforming!
“Your tulips are full of water.”
The flower-woman shrugged. “They’ll live longer for it, Love.”
Peter Scott adjusted his umbrella so that rain tipped away from the soggy plants. “How much for three of the red ones?”
“No Love, I told you: They’re full of water. They’ll live longer!”
Scott sighed, and deposited the coins into her cupped fist. He picked out three of the least damaged articles, and shook them gently. As he stepped out onto the footpath he opened his coat-jacket and placed them in the breast pocket. There, the wet stems pressed against his newspaper, the photograph of Lucy and his pocket watch.
On the street once more he raised his umbrella, stood on the verge of the gutter and scanned the length of Mornington Crescent. The Grey Flannel Man was still following.
Scott had hoped the crowd clustered under the eaves of the station would confuse his line of sight. No such luck. He briefly considered bolting for the waiting train, but it had only just arrived, and the man was closing fast. So he stepped to the edge of the crowd and closed his umbrella. By the time the man reached him, he was lighting a cigarette.
“Care for one?”
The man’s face was pink, and flushed with perspiration. “No thank-you,” he wheezed. Then he gestured with a thumb: “Pub?”
“It’s eleven am!”
“God, suit yourself!” The Grey Flannel Man closed his umbrella and pressed close against the crowd. Standing next to him, Scott could smell sweat and stale lager over the cigarette.
“I guess I’d be wasting my time if I asked for your passport?” the man asked.
“Why on earth would you need it? I’m a British citizen!”
The Grey Flannel Man sighed. “I thought as much. My name is Detective Inspector Innes, and we’ve been keeping a close eye on you, Monsieur Leroy.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m sure. We have quite a few questions for you. If we could do this in a civilised fashion, in the pub with a beer, for example, I’d greatly appreciate it.”
“Even if I did know what you were talking about, Mr Innes, I’m sure I wouldn’t join you for a beer before noon. And if I was the man of whom you speak, I’d be very wary of spending any time at all in the company of a British police officer.”
“We just want to talk.”
Leroy sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. “Very well.”
“Thank God,” Innes said, and bent to open his umbrella.
Calmly, Leroy planted a single calf-leather shoe in the centre of Innes' rump and kicked the detective face-first into the street.
By the time Innes was standing, Leroy was already on the platform and leaping into the waiting train.
“Stop that man!” he yelled, but the doors were already closing.