Read Online Angel Confidential by Mike Ripley - Free Book Online Page A

probably not much. He raised his masonry hammer and yelled and just ran at Dod, expecting him to get out of the way, as most normal people would have done. Dod just stood there though and, at the last minute, raised his right arm. He was holding a blue metal toolbox and Raider just sort of ran his face into it, like a cartoon character getting whacked with a flat iron.
    His legs kept going while the rest of him stopped dead. He pitched backwards onto the carpet, leaving a splat of blood on the bottom of Dod’s toolbox.
    Dod said, ‘Shit,’ and then looked at me.
    â€˜Angel, he’s only a kid …’
    Arsenal fan was staring at his poleaxed mate. He hadn’t noticed me coming round the desk at him.
    â€˜So call his social worker,’ I said as I swung the tripod.
    I only hit him the once. It was enough to make him drop the Stanley knife and clutch his arm and ribs, but there was nothing broken.
    I dropped the tripod with some difficulty. I had been clutching it so hard my hands hurt. Using a handkerchief, I picked up the knife and retracted the blade, then put it on the desk. On the floor, Raider groaned and began to feel for his nose with both hands, not understanding why they came away sticky and red. Dod, helpful as ever, bent over him, but only to wipe the bottom of his toolbox on Raider’s T-shirt. I bent over him to check his eyes. I reckoned the lift was working, just not getting to the top floor yet.
    â€˜Whaddyawanna do with ‘em?’ asked Dod in a stage whisper.
    I picked up Raider’s hammer by the iron head and put it on the desk next to the knife.
    â€˜I’m keeping them, okay,’ I said to Arsenal fan. He glared at me. ‘Now, we could give you a good kicking, but we won’t. Just remember we could have.’
    Arsenal fan giggled. He hadn’t meant to, and he bit his bottom lip to stop it spreading.
    At least he was trying.
    I put my face in his.
    â€˜And you get something clear in your fucking head, man, okay? We’re just here minding the shop. There’s no snooping going on that concerns you and yours. Got that? There’s nothing here for you to worry about. No pressure. Absolutely no sweat. Got that clear, man?’
    He stared me out, then nodded once.
    â€˜Then get out of here and tell your brothers you’ve sorted it, okay? There’ll be no more snooping from the old man. You’ve done that, you’ve got a result.’
    He didn’t take his eyes off me as he crossed the room to help Raider to his feet. He did look at Dod once as they reached the door, but it was like he was sizing him up. There was no fear there.
    As they clumped down the stairs, Dod moved to the window.
    â€˜Do you want me to go and keep an eye on Armstrong?’
    â€˜What for? They know that if they turn over a black cab that’s the last black cab their granny’ll see in this neighbourhood for a month of Sundays.’
    He nodded. ‘You got a point.’ He put his toolbox on the desk and pointed at the masonry hammer and the Stanley knife. ‘Want these?’
    â€˜Nah, help yourself. And, by the way, thanks for being here.’
    â€˜It’ll be on the bill. What was it all about anyway?’
    I took a minute to summon up all my reserves of deductive logic.
    â€˜Buggered if I know,’ I said.
    Â 
    I helped Dod put a new lock on the front door and then rehang the door again when the lock turned out to be slightly out of true. I agreed with him that the door must have warped overnight. It seemed churlish to criticise his carpentry.
    Most usefully, I popped out for a couple of burgers for lunch and then tried to rustle up a pot of tea. I was in Veronica’s kitchenette trying to find a tea bag not scented with anything other than tea when Dod yelled up the stairs.
    â€˜Angel, you’ve got a customer.’
    â€˜What?’ I yelled back, convinced I wasn’t hearing him right.
    â€˜Lady here wants to