I took the address and photo Lisa had given me and headed to King’s Cross by bus and tube. I didn’t need the aggro of a motor that early in my search, and it was a fine summer’s day.
King’s Cross was a shithouse those days. There was the station with beggars and thieves on every other corner, and on the other corners, ladies of the night were doing business although it was only eleven in the morning. Even in my scruffs I still had to fight off some of each.
I’d checked the street of the address in my A-Z before leaving home and headed towards it. It was in the boonies of the worst side of the area. Huge, empty buildings lined the roads, waiting for demolition or the gentrifying that almost certainly had to come to even this, the bad side of town, but not that day. The buildings seemed to
