By Christopher Brookmyre
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Extra resources for A Tale Etched in Blood and Hard Black Pencil
Whit aboot the rest ay these lodges? Whit if there’s a bookin? ” “Don’t know. Never bother. ” “Aye. So whit are we daein wi the bodies? ” “Naw. Are ye fuckin daft? Bury them? Dae ye no read the papers? Some cunt oot walkin his dug ayeways finds them when bodies get buried. Or some cunt sees ye cairryin a shovel, an that’s you fucked again. Nae danger. ” “Aw fuck, man, you’re no talkin aboot choppin them up an bungin them through a mincer or somethin, are ye? ” “D’ye think I could fuckin handle that?
So whit are we daein wi the bodies? ” “Naw. Are ye fuckin daft? Bury them? Dae ye no read the papers? Some cunt oot walkin his dug ayeways finds them when bodies get buried. Or some cunt sees ye cairryin a shovel, an that’s you fucked again. Nae danger. ” “Aw fuck, man, you’re no talkin aboot choppin them up an bungin them through a mincer or somethin, are ye? ” “D’ye think I could fuckin handle that? Are ye forgettin who these cunts are, lyin there? Naw. ” “Dissolvin them? ” � “Fuck, man, it’s no workin.
She doesn’t know whether it normally accommodates block bookings, but today it looks like the place is hosting a small-scale polis convention. Alex and the other men in white coats appear to be in charge of the asylum, their activities centred on one lodge, second from the far end of the shallow arc of buildings. Karen has to laugh at the sight of one particular Dibble earnestly engaged in applying police tape to the exterior. This is not the kind of place you’re likely to find a lot of curious passers-by.