Read Online Forced Assassin by Natalie Dae and Sam Crescent - Free Book Online Page B

what did a name matter, anyway? Slicing off his bollocks and feeding them to the fishes was all he needed to make him feel better. Rook being introduced to the Thames would be satisfaction enough for Rook gaining his trust the way he had when he’d worked for him. Mind you, a bit of torture passed the time, didn’t it? Gave them all a laugh, a bit of a breather, so toying with Rook before they offed him was definitely on the cards.
    “Right, you have his location, you say?” Waterman asked Frankie, deliberately keeping Kemp out of the conversation.
    “Yep. Our CCTV man worked out Rook lives in some remote farmhouse in the sticks. Fifteen or so miles away, give or take.”
    “Right.” Waterman picked up a half-smoked cigar from his ashtray and used it to crush the ash in the bottom. “And our CCTV bloke—how was he after he gave that information?”
    Frankie stuck out his chest, prancing from foot to foot as though in the corner of a boxing ring, more than ready to start the next round. “Reckoned he wouldn’t do anything like that for us again. Went on about him losing his job if he did. Same shite as last time.”
    “And how did you respond?” Waterman had a damn good idea, but he liked hearing his employees relate their actions all the same.
    “Gave him a Cheshire cat, didn’t I?” Frankie nodded a few times, still prancing.
    “Nice one. He knows we mean business. He’ll be in my employ now, I think.” Waterman lit his cigar, holding the smoke in his mouth before blowing out smoke rings.
    “Yeah, I told him he might be,” Frankie said, finally halting his irritating dance.
    “And you, Kemp.” Waterman stared at him, leaning back in his chair to take another puff of his cigar. “What did you come up with?”
    “I didn’t find anything out,” he said, trying and failing to keep his eyes from darting left to right.
    “Ah, well. Doesn’t matter,” Waterman said jovially. It does—oh, it fucking does, you tosser. “So long as we got the result we wanted. Right. Frankie, get on the blower and tell what’s-his-name to get the car ready. Kemp…you sit your arse down here and have a nice drink with me while we wait.”
     
    Although it was the middle of the night, Waterman wasn’t affected by being out at such an hour. Most of his work was done in the darkness, his body clock set to him kipping during the day and coming alive in the evening. Daylight had a habit of showing up all the starkness of blood, the colour so much more startling when the sun shone. Had a habit of alerting the good citizens of London that something was amiss. A man stabbed in broad daylight while out shopping with his missus. A bloke mowed down by a bus as he crossed the road on his way to the local boozer. Although some jobs had to be done in daylight hours, he preferred the majority of them to be completed in the shadows. Less chance of witnesses. Better chance of getting away with it.
    He sat in the back of the car, What’s-his-name driving them to their location, the man unaware of why they were going, and not enquiring why, either. He was a good sort. Did his job, looked the other way, and, as far as Waterman was aware, kept his mouth shut. Frankie and Kemp sat opposite, Frankie looking pleased with himself for a job well done and Kemp appearing decidedly queasy. Waterman had plied the latter with brandy and a tab of LSD—two large shots that had Kemp wincing as Waterman encouraged him to drink up quick—and Kemp had eyed him oddly, no doubt sensing the tension that had sprung between them once Frankie had left the room.
    Fucking tosser ought to know me better by now. I carry no one, let no one take the piss out of me.
    “You all right there, Kemp?” he asked, keeping a poker face. “Only, you appear to be a bit peaky.”
    “I’m fine thanks, Guv,” Kemp said, staring out of the window at the countryside spilling by, eyes glazed, fingers twitching on his knees.
    Waterman followed suit. No street lamps here, only