The Devil Rides Out
“‘Heng orn and arl get him for you, Tony.’ She put her hand over the mouthpiece and hissed, ‘Paul! It’s Tony on the blower for you. Get a move on, will you, he’s ringing from London and this must be costing him a bloody fortune … Heng orn, Tony, he’s jist caming.’ Tony was still living in Southend-on-Sea, working for the Customs and Excise, hating every minute of it but sticking it out so he could get his promotion. He was ringing because he wanted me to go down to London as one of his wealthy ‘...gentleman friends’ had given him the keys to his pied-à-terre in Mount Street, Mayfair, for the weekend. Tony attracted wealthy men of a certain age like moths to a flame; he should’ve been living in the lap of luxury under the patronage of these old geezers instead of rotting in a crummy bedsit in Southend but he was hopeless at playing the whore. Instead it was Tony who spoiled them with gifts of expensive wine and opera tickets out of his paltry civil service wages. The idea of being a kept man was anathema to him.MoreLess
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