Quintessence of Dust
Page 14
***
The Minotaur had moved into a terraced house, similar to the one John grew up in. He rented it from a Greek guy. John told him how nice the Greeks were when he and Alison spent their honeymoon on the little island of Zakynthos, and the Minotaur said his landlord was nothing but a rich, fat bastard that lorded it up like he was a king.
John arrived at the house at 4.00am. He knocked on the door and the Minotaur opened it with a look of relief on his face. Lit by the sodium hue from the street lamps, the two friends saw the little changes time had assigned to them. John had put on a little more weight around his face, which he put down to Alison’s home cooking, and the top of the Minotaur’s left ear was missing. He also had a nasty scar running through the tip of his noise, probably due to fighting. The Minotaur showed John into the front room where big boxes were stacked on each other. There was a peculiar smell in the air that Minotaur assumed was the remnants of the last occupants, but it reminded John of the day he went to see his grandfather in the chapel-of-rest, a mix of chemicals and cheap air freshener.
“So what’s going on?” asked John.
“Noises,” said the Minotaur.
“What kind of noises?”
“Sounded like something trapped under the floorboards, a rat, or something bigger than a rat.”
John looked over to the other side of the living room: a large area had been cleared of boxes, and the floorboards had been removed leaving a big dark hole that reminded John of a trendy black rug.
“You’ve probably lost your deposit,” said John.
“Probably.”
“Did you find anything?”
“Pipes mostly, and a few wires. I put down some traps and threw in rat poison, but it’s made no difference.”
“Why not call pest control, get the job done properly.”
Awkwardness descended between them, one that stopped the Minotaur from saying, Don’t you think I thought of that. Instead, he grunted and asked John to follow him.
“Where we going?” asked John.
“To the basement,” replied the Minotaur.