fund them al the way. Or someone must fund them, if not the Necroscope.
And a good many someones had; including the most powerful of Japan's Yakuza 'families,' whose illicit earnings were such that they operated their own bank, and several oil-rich, potentially dangerous potentates, and a Czechoslovakian arms manufacturer notorious for his dealings with terrorists. So far it had cost twenty milion pounds, or the equivalent, and the end was nowhere in sight. Another two or three months, Harry would have to top-up his fund yet again. But since there was no lack of rich villains, that shouldn't be too hard ...
But the idea of 'villainy' - the word itself, the thought of it - was sufficient to bring on other emotions. First among them (again), Harry felt himself victimized; by whom or what he couldn't say. Worse, he, too, felt like something of a vilain. It wasn't his series of grand larcenies (his 'fund-raising activities,' as he liked to think of them), because in that regard he felt more like some modern Robin Hood; no, it was his adultery. It was his guilt.
And no mater how many times he reminded himself that his wife, Brenda, had deserted him, stil he felt like the vilain of the piece; like some kind of animal, yes. The Necroscope had never considered, had never thought of people as animals before meeting B.J., but he did now. For his sexual appetite when he was with her was certainly animal. Likewise hers! Love? Perhaps he was in love with her, and she with him. But wild? No 'perhaps' about that! Together, they were wild! Harry told himself that for him it was a sort of frenzied making up for lost time - the taking back of something stolen from him, if only by circumstances - but at the same time he admited to a fascination he'd never known before. No doubt about it, B.J. was fascinating.
And for her? What was in it for her? Just lust? Maybe in the beginning, but Harry felt it was deeper than that now. How much deeper, then? What if he were to find Brenda now? What if she should change her mind, decide to come back, and suddenly appear? Where would B.J. fit in the scheme of things then? And would he even want Brenda back?
Thus his guilt complex - if that was what it was - ran in circles. And the idea of himself as some sort of lustful animal who cared only for his own sexual fulfilment was reinforced. It perhaps explained his dreams ...
Harry's dreams - specificaly his nightmares - had always been complex things, but never more so than now. While he could never remember the substance of certain parts, the animal motif was always present; the wolf fetish (inspired no doubt by those events in London almost three years ago) featured strongly.
He would dream of B.J., usualy when he was alone, and the nightmare would start when she was in his arms, gazing into his eyes. The moon's rim would rise above the window-sil, shining into her eyes. And they would change ...
... From slightly slanted hazel ovals, to feral yellow triangles, then from the colour of gold to that of blood. And finally ... finally they would drip blood! Then a swirl of strange motion, and dark against the disk of the moon, a silhouette ... always the same silhouette ... a wolfs head, thrown back in a full-blooded howl!
Thinking about this fragment (for that was al there was to it) was sufficient to bring it back into focus, and sufficient to chil the Necro-scope to the bone even though the morning was warm and sunny. Brilliant sunlight streamed in through his bedroom window, pooling on the polished boards of the floor, while Harry sat and shivered, and listened to an ululant, fading howl conjured from a dream ...
He gave himself a shake, slid his feet into shoes, tried physical as opposed to mental activity. He knew what he would like to do today: talk to his Ma. (God, something else to feel guilty about!) How long had it been? Far too long he was sure. She would be feeling neglected. But how could he talk to her? There were questions she was bound to ask that he couldn't possibly answer. And if he guarded his thoughts she would know it at once, would think he was hiding something. And of course he would be; he'd be hiding B.J.
Bonnie Jean. The woman was