Read Online The Collector Book One: Mana Leak by Daniel I Russell - Free Book Online
Authors: Daniel I Russell
Tags: the collector
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woman carefully tried to get the old dear back on her feet with looks of sincere concern on their faces. Another man, obviously the have-a-go hero of the group, sprinted up the street to recover the stolen handbag.
Jake laughed. He failed to hear his own glee ring out over the noise of the engine, but the vibrations rattled in his head. He lifted a hand from Adam’s shoulder and waved the bag in the air over his head in triumph.
The bike slowed as Adam drifted to the right hand side of the street, widening the angle before he swerved down a road to the left. The scene of the old woman and her rescuers fell behind a row of closed shops.
They would be at Smithy’s soon. The wind had grown harsh and its icy bite had finally found its way inside the folds of his coat and through his T-shirt and jeans. His limbs shook from the cold and the adrenaline of the successful bag snatch.
Be glad when we’re there, need to get warm.
He smiled when the handbag bumped into his chest.
…and we get to see what goodies we have in here…
He hung onto Adam, keeping his head low, riding out the rest of the short journey to Smithy’s house.
4.
Adam pulled the bike over in front of the home of Eric “Smithy ” Smith and killed the engine. The house, although small, put the Dean twins’ home to shame. The windows were immaculately clean; white lace curtains hung inside, with frames freshly painted a deep brown that matched the front door. Slate tiles lined the roof, not a single one missing. All this suburban perfection sat behind a well-tended garden, with a short-trimmed lawn, rosebushes and various other flowers. Not the typical abode of an opportunist drug dealer.
Groaning, Jake dismounted the bike and stretched his legs. He loved the bike, but the vibrations fucking hurt after a while. He rubbed his sore areas, the backs of his thighs and his rear, the handbag swinging around as he tried to get his circulation going again. An onlooker might have mistaken him for a cross-dressing Goth with cramp. He felt like he’d crossed the west on the back of a mule, not across a small town on a motorbike.
“Hey,” said Adam, climbing from the bike and leaning it on the kick stand. “If you’re not too busy fondling yourself, toss me the bag.”
“You’re so fucking funny, you know that?” Jake replied, squeezing the tops of his legs. “You should be a comedian with that cutting wit of yours.”
“Nah, don’t wanna entertain’ faggots like you. Give me the bag.”
Jake threw it, and Adam easily made the catch with a two hand grab. He opened the zip that ran across the top of the black leather and rummaged inside.
“Crap!” he said, lifting out a tube of lipstick and throwing it onto the pavement. Its transparent casing shattered, and the plastic cylinder rolled off the curb and into the road. A small mirror, a laminated bus pass and a hairbrush quickly followed in a rain of belongings. “Crap…crap…crap…crap…”
Jake straightened from his self-massage and searched his coat for his cigarettes. “Don’t tell me that all she got is a bag of junk. I’ll fall off the fucking bike doing that stunt one of these days.”
“Bingo!” said Adam, his hand pausing inside the bag as he grabbed something. “Look what we have here.”
He pulled out a small red purse with a buttoned clasp holding it closed.
“Looks like the old dear was worth it after all.” Jake lit a cigarette. “How much?”
Adam popped the clasp open and spread the purse wide. He riffled through the contents.
“Cards, three of ‘em. Two banks, one credit. Might be useful. Steve deals with cards, doesn’t he?”
Jake nodded. “Might get twenty for each.”
“Bit of change…ah, what’s this?” He pulled out a small piece of paper, looked at it and sniggered.
“Let me see.”
Adam turned it around. It was a photograph of a naked newborn baby lying on a blanket.
“Cute. Anything else?”
Adam let the photograph fall from his hand to
Jake laughed. He failed to hear his own glee ring out over the noise of the engine, but the vibrations rattled in his head. He lifted a hand from Adam’s shoulder and waved the bag in the air over his head in triumph.
The bike slowed as Adam drifted to the right hand side of the street, widening the angle before he swerved down a road to the left. The scene of the old woman and her rescuers fell behind a row of closed shops.
They would be at Smithy’s soon. The wind had grown harsh and its icy bite had finally found its way inside the folds of his coat and through his T-shirt and jeans. His limbs shook from the cold and the adrenaline of the successful bag snatch.
Be glad when we’re there, need to get warm.
He smiled when the handbag bumped into his chest.
…and we get to see what goodies we have in here…
He hung onto Adam, keeping his head low, riding out the rest of the short journey to Smithy’s house.
4.
Adam pulled the bike over in front of the home of Eric “Smithy ” Smith and killed the engine. The house, although small, put the Dean twins’ home to shame. The windows were immaculately clean; white lace curtains hung inside, with frames freshly painted a deep brown that matched the front door. Slate tiles lined the roof, not a single one missing. All this suburban perfection sat behind a well-tended garden, with a short-trimmed lawn, rosebushes and various other flowers. Not the typical abode of an opportunist drug dealer.
Groaning, Jake dismounted the bike and stretched his legs. He loved the bike, but the vibrations fucking hurt after a while. He rubbed his sore areas, the backs of his thighs and his rear, the handbag swinging around as he tried to get his circulation going again. An onlooker might have mistaken him for a cross-dressing Goth with cramp. He felt like he’d crossed the west on the back of a mule, not across a small town on a motorbike.
“Hey,” said Adam, climbing from the bike and leaning it on the kick stand. “If you’re not too busy fondling yourself, toss me the bag.”
“You’re so fucking funny, you know that?” Jake replied, squeezing the tops of his legs. “You should be a comedian with that cutting wit of yours.”
“Nah, don’t wanna entertain’ faggots like you. Give me the bag.”
Jake threw it, and Adam easily made the catch with a two hand grab. He opened the zip that ran across the top of the black leather and rummaged inside.
“Crap!” he said, lifting out a tube of lipstick and throwing it onto the pavement. Its transparent casing shattered, and the plastic cylinder rolled off the curb and into the road. A small mirror, a laminated bus pass and a hairbrush quickly followed in a rain of belongings. “Crap…crap…crap…crap…”
Jake straightened from his self-massage and searched his coat for his cigarettes. “Don’t tell me that all she got is a bag of junk. I’ll fall off the fucking bike doing that stunt one of these days.”
“Bingo!” said Adam, his hand pausing inside the bag as he grabbed something. “Look what we have here.”
He pulled out a small red purse with a buttoned clasp holding it closed.
“Looks like the old dear was worth it after all.” Jake lit a cigarette. “How much?”
Adam popped the clasp open and spread the purse wide. He riffled through the contents.
“Cards, three of ‘em. Two banks, one credit. Might be useful. Steve deals with cards, doesn’t he?”
Jake nodded. “Might get twenty for each.”
“Bit of change…ah, what’s this?” He pulled out a small piece of paper, looked at it and sniggered.
“Let me see.”
Adam turned it around. It was a photograph of a naked newborn baby lying on a blanket.
“Cute. Anything else?”
Adam let the photograph fall from his hand to
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