Chapter 70
Ludo
I dashed out of Leicester train station and nearly got cleaned up by a cyclist whizzing past. Who puts a cycle path that close to the entrance of a major transportation hub?
“Taxi!” I shouted, out of breath with nerves. “Taxi!”
“There’s a rank over there,” a woman said, pointing towards the street corner.
I thanked her and ran for a cab.
“Newton Bardon, please,” I asked through the cab window. “How long do you think it will take to get there?”
The taxi driver, a distinguished-looking Sikh gentleman with a magnificent beard, carefully consider his calculations.
“Please, I’m in a terrible hurry.”
“About twenty to twenty-five minutes.”
Buggery bollocks. I was going to miss the press conference.
I had read through the questions Sunny had emailed me while I was on the train, and they were explosive.
I was going to miss Sunny giving the performance of his lifetime.
I was going to miss the downfall of Jemima Carstairs.
I was going to miss curtain-up on a thrilling journalistic spectacular. I jumped in the cab.
“If you can get there in fifteen, I’ll triple the fare.”
“Right you are, sir.”
I felt like we needed some chase music. The gentle traditional Hindi music coming from the stereo was completely incongruous. Still, you work with what you’ve got. I reached across and cranked up the volume as my driver ran an amber-but-tinged-red light.