The Girl Who Tweeted Wolf - Hobson & Choi Case One

FIFTEEN - A Long Weekend

"Really? Even though I nearly died and had to be rescued by a chubby housewife?"

"Maybe not a total superhero, but y'know." Tony shrugged. "No publicity is bad publicity, right?"

"So my assistant tells me. Not sure I'm agreeing, though."

"This the Asian girl?"

"Yeah, Choi." Hobson said. "She's got one of her two weeks left to finish me off."

"Finish you off? John, she's made you a star!" Tony said, lunging forward to gesticulate into Hobson's face. "Have you checked your office email in the last two days?"

"I've been avoiding them."

"Do it, man. Two of my friends asked if I could fast-track their cases 'cause we're mates. I'm telling you, Johnny, you're like the Simon Cowell of crime."

"Tony, I know the Simon Cowell of crime and he ain't me. And don't call me Johnny."

Tony flopped back in his chair to shake his head at Hobson. The rest of the pub kept going around them, clattering, drinking and chatting. Even this quiet shithole lit up on a Saturday night – it was awful.

"What's your problem, John? You solved the case, you're not dead, you're crime-fighting flavour of the month – it's all good, innit?"

"Firstly, I'm meant to be staying away from violent crime, I don't need it phoning me up. Secondly, I won't be getting shit from that case because the client got dogged to death."

"Ah, that's some balls. Didn't he leave you anything in his will or nothing?"

"No, he just..." Hobson sat straight upright, drawing stranger looks from Tony. "Wait."

"What?"

"Just remembered, he did leave me something. We might be alright after all." Hobson grinned to himself for a few seconds, then looked up at Tony. "Now hurry up and get me a drink, I'm fuckin' disabled over here."

*****

After some wheedling and begging, Angelina negotiated an overnight stay at her friend's house. Wouldn't last forever though. Zoё had ballet class for three hours the next morning, and Angelina couldn't follow her there.

She tried, but Zoё got weird about it after a few minutes. Even the library could only kill a couple more hours. So she went home at lunchtime on Saturday, as the wind whipped harder outside.

Could she make it up to her loft without confrontation? Angelina got one foot on the bottom stair before her Mum emerged from the kitchen. Eyes staring as ever, usual look of recent crying around her face.

"Hi, Mum." Another stupid impotent wave – must stop doing that.

"Angelina. Are you... are you okay?"

"Yeah. I was fine. You saw on the news? Never in any danger."

"Except when you were in the house with the murderer for twenty minutes."

"That doesn't count."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Angelina dropped to the ground floor, groaning. "Because it doesn't, okay Mum?"

"Are you going back there on Monday?" She spoke and at a measured, careful pace, determined not to lose her temper.

"Hope so, as long as Hobson's okay. Are you going to try and stop me?"

"No."

"Right. Look, I'm sorry I threatened you and stuff, okay? That was... that wasn't good of me."