“This is where I live,” she said, and she stuck her tongue briefly in his ear.
Trotter found her presence intoxicating, and the thought of what they might do, and what he might do to her, even more intoxicating.
“Does your friend live here with you?” Roper asked.
“No,” said Kat. “He lives down the road.”
She opened the door and gently pulled Roper in. He didn’t quite trust her, so he clutched the steering lock in his free hand in case he needed a weapon.
They went inside. The place was quiet.
“No point in putting off the inevitable,” said Kat, unlinking Roper’s arm and taking hold of his hand, “Come with me to my bedroom. We’ll get refreshments later.”
She pulled him upstairs, but, to be fair, he didn’t need much pulling; he bounded up the steps behind her. They entered the bedroom and Roper threw off his clothes. Kat took off her boob tube and skirt. She was wearing only her heels and scanty knickers.
“I like to be on top,” she said.
Roper grabbed hold of her hair.
“If anyone’s going to be on top, it’s me,” he said.
But he was wrong.
In an instant he found himself on his back, on the bed, with Kat on top of him. She somehow wriggled out of her panties and then came his worst nightmare.
At least, he thought it was his worst nightmare until Fletcher entered the room.
“I don’t normally do this sort of thing, you know,” said Fletcher, “but any port in a storm and all that.”
Again, he thought this was his worst nightmare until Rampant entered the room.
After that, Kat looked at his groin and licked her lips.
And somehow he knew that she wasn’t thinking about pleasuring him.
CHAPTER 8
Roper had looked after himself; he was lean and muscular — and far too big to fit in a single stew-pot. Rampant made a number of other dishes, some of which were cooked in the oven and some of which were done in a frying pan. When he finished each dish, he carefully dolled it out, ensuring that he and his two companions all got the same amount.
By the time they’d finished eating Roper, they’d each had a substantial meal, but they were still hungry.
“What now?” Fletcher asked, tilting back his head and sucking the marrow from a thigh-bone.
“We lie low,” said Rampant, “we regroup, and we plan. And sooner or later, we claim the world for our own.”
Fletcher belched loudly.
“I meant, what are we eating next?”
“Oh, I see. You and Kat can go out hunting again. See if you can bag a couple, next time. I’ll get Bob to do the washing up.”
CHAPTER 9
It was late evening and Henderson was prowling around the houses on South Stonker Lane. His instincts, or possibly his amazing sense of smell, propelled him in the direction of one house in particular.
CHAPTER 10
There was a meowing at the door. Rampant got up and opened it.
“Oh my goodness, it’s so good to see you again,” he said.
Floyd Rampant stood back and allowed Henderson to enter, then he closed the door. Henderson rubbed himself around Floyd’s legs.
“You remember me, don’t you, boy? Where have you been, you naughty thing? Do you know, I haven’t said anything to my friends, but I’ve been worried sick about you. Anyway, it’s your lucky day, follow me.”
Rampant walked down the corridor into the kitchen and Henderson followed, meowing loudly.
Fletcher and De Vine were sitting at the dining table eating, while Bob Trotter was mopping the floor clean of blood with a glum expression on his face.
“Is there any of that stew left? The whatsit stew?” Rampant asked.
“Do you mean the Ainsley-Dyson stew? There’s stacks. They were both big blokes,” said Fletcher.
Rampant glanced at the hob. There was a huge cooking pot on it with a thick liquid simmering in it and appetising bones sticking up out of it. Several more cooking pots were lined up along the worktop, all of them brim-full.
“Good,” he said. “I’m going to give some to my little friend here.”
“Where did he come from?”
“I don’t know. I suppose he ran off when they bombed St George’s Square, but you know what cats are like. They get wanderlust. They can go missing for weeks and even months and then turn up out of the blue.”
He looked fondly at Henderson.
“That’s right, isn’t it? You chaps are very naughty sometimes, aren’t you?”
He took a small bowl from a kitchen cupboard then put it back and took out a large pasta bowl instead and used a ladle to fill it with Ainsley-Dyson stew, making sure that he scooped up a good few lumps of meat into it. While Rampant was preparing the bowl of stew, Henderson reached up with his forelegs so that his front paws were on Rampant’s right hip, his claws digging into the fabric of Rampant’s cream linen suit, while his hind paws remained in contact with the floor.
“Meow Meow Meeow.”
“For goodness sake, be patient you little devil. You really have very little in the way of manners; do you know that?”
Rampant set down the pasta bowl and Henderson stuck his head in it, quickly lapping up the delicious juices and taking the lumps of meat in his mouth one by one, and chewing them with his head held sideways as he did so. He made little growling noises of pleasure while he ate.
“Do you know, boy, you sound just like my friend Gaz does, when he’s eating. He doesn’t have any manners either,” said Rampant.
Kat laughed loudly and Fletcher rolled his eyes.
When Henderson had finished eating, Rampant picked him up and carried him into the front room. He settled down with Henderson on his lap and used the remote to switch on the television. After a while, Kat and Fletcher joined him, leaving Trotter to clear away their dirty plates and do the washing up. Henderson purred loudly and nodded off. After a while he woke up and jumped off Rampant’s lap. The lounge door was slightly ajar. Henderson pushed it open with his nose then squeezed through into the hall and stood by the front door, meowing loudly.
“What does he want this time?” Kat asked.
“He wants to go out,” Rampant replied.
He went to the door and opened it, and Henderson left to resume his adventures.
CHAPTER 11
Prime Minister Camemblert looked up and frowned. The Times crossword was, as usual, proving too difficult for him. He threw the Times into the bin and opened the Sun, a down market tabloid with a considerably easier crossword to solve. He soon fathomed the clue for one across.
“That’s better,” he said to himself, as he pencilled in the answer.
He was busy mulling over the next clue when the door to his office burst open and his Aide Johnson came in.
“Can’t you bloody well knock, Johnson?” He demanded, hiding his newspaper behind a pile of official documents. “I was in the middle of something important.”
“Sorry Prime Minister, but I’ve got urgent news for you.”
The PM sighed.
“As if I don’t have enough on my plate already, without having urgent news to contend with. All right, what is it, Johnson?”
Johnson’s face looked unsure of what expression it should adopt.
“Good news and bad news, Prime Minister,” he said.
Camemblert frowned.
“I always hate it when people say that. The bad news is always bloody awful, and the good news is slightly less bloody awful. I suppose it’s traditional to ask for the bad news first. I’m sitting down. You might as well tell me what’s gone on. What is it? Another opinion pollster claiming that the opposition is trouncing us again?”