Read Online The Collector Book One: Mana Leak by Daniel I Russell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Daniel I Russell
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join the rest of the bag’s contents on the ground. “There’s another zip in here…”
Jake peered up and down the street as he smoked. They weren’t that close to the centre of town but it was always better to be careful, being on a caution and all. He liked the police; so dependable. Someone gets attacked or mugged or killed, it takes them all day to get there, but controlling the hordes of tipsy women staggering out of the bars on a weekend, well, that was a different matter. Jake imagined himself as a copper: driving through red lights with the sirens wailing, taking hefty bribes to turn a blind eye, escorting drunken girls back to their homes in the back of his patrol car, in pairs of course…
Jake was torn from his fantasy as Adam hissed a quiet “Yes!” and pulled out a thick wad of rolled twenty pound notes, bound together by an elastic band, from the inner compartment of the purse. “Looks like we hit the jackpot here, bro!”
“How much?”
“A ton, at least.”
“Old ladies shouldn’t be carrying that kind of money around. What if they get robbed?”
Adam smiled at his brother and stuffed the bundle of notes back inside the purse. He closed the clasp and put the whole bundle in the pocket of his tracksuit top.
“That should take care of business,” he said, picking at an angry patch of acne at the side of his nose. “You wanna go see if the sweaty bastard’s home?” He nodded towards the house.
Jake threw the cigarette stub onto the pavement among the old woman’s belongings. The growing wind rolled it away.
“Yeah. Hope he has the heating on. It’s freezing out here.”
“The thought of Smithy sat next to a hot radiator makes me feel sick.”
“Come on.”
Jake headed up the neat garden path towards the front door, pulling leaves from the surrounding bushes. Adam followed, hand over the new bulge in his tracksuit. The brothers arrived at the door, and Jake knocked a cheerful tune on the wood.
“Queer,” said Adam.
Jake half turned. “What?”
“That was a queer’s knock.”
“So what is a straight knock then?”
Adam leaned over and hit the door hard three times.
Thud thud thud
“All right. I’m coming,” said a muffled, grumpy voice from within.
“See,” exclaimed Adam with a smug grin.
The door swung inwards.
Eric “Smithy” Smith swept his long black hair, which hung down to his shoulders, back behind his ears as he peered at his visitors from behind thick lenses. He sniffed.
“Oh. It’s you two.”
Jake tried his warmest, most convincing smile of greeting, but it proved hard work. The sharp waves of body odour emanating from the man had already been registered. They threatened to steal his breath.
“Smithy! Long time.”
Smithy retained his solemn look, the corners of his lips turned downward under a light, fluffy moustache. His gaze darted back and forth between the twins’ faces. “What do you want?”
“Business. We hear you’re carrying,” said Adam over his brother’s shoulder.
Smithy glanced at both of them and across the empty street. He sniffed again. “You’d better come in.”
He stepped back to allow them inside.
Something black dashed past. In seconds it ran between Adam and Jake and into a rose bush. The twins jumped back.
“Damn cats.” Smithy looked at the brothers who gazed around the floor. “Are you two coming in or not?”
“Erm…yeah,” said Jake. “Sorry.”
Jake stepped into the house, quickly followed by Adam, who still scanned the area behind him. They waited in the hall, and Smithy closed the front door.
“Fleabags, the lot of them,” he said, his voice low and grumbling. “Don’t know why she has to have so many.”
“She?” asked Adam.
“My grandmother. Eight she has. Eight!”
As if to confirm their presence, a black and white feline trotted from a doorway on the left, cast them an unimpressed stare and vanished into a room on the right.
“That was Princess. Hairy little shit.”
The
Jake peered up and down the street as he smoked. They weren’t that close to the centre of town but it was always better to be careful, being on a caution and all. He liked the police; so dependable. Someone gets attacked or mugged or killed, it takes them all day to get there, but controlling the hordes of tipsy women staggering out of the bars on a weekend, well, that was a different matter. Jake imagined himself as a copper: driving through red lights with the sirens wailing, taking hefty bribes to turn a blind eye, escorting drunken girls back to their homes in the back of his patrol car, in pairs of course…
Jake was torn from his fantasy as Adam hissed a quiet “Yes!” and pulled out a thick wad of rolled twenty pound notes, bound together by an elastic band, from the inner compartment of the purse. “Looks like we hit the jackpot here, bro!”
“How much?”
“A ton, at least.”
“Old ladies shouldn’t be carrying that kind of money around. What if they get robbed?”
Adam smiled at his brother and stuffed the bundle of notes back inside the purse. He closed the clasp and put the whole bundle in the pocket of his tracksuit top.
“That should take care of business,” he said, picking at an angry patch of acne at the side of his nose. “You wanna go see if the sweaty bastard’s home?” He nodded towards the house.
Jake threw the cigarette stub onto the pavement among the old woman’s belongings. The growing wind rolled it away.
“Yeah. Hope he has the heating on. It’s freezing out here.”
“The thought of Smithy sat next to a hot radiator makes me feel sick.”
“Come on.”
Jake headed up the neat garden path towards the front door, pulling leaves from the surrounding bushes. Adam followed, hand over the new bulge in his tracksuit. The brothers arrived at the door, and Jake knocked a cheerful tune on the wood.
“Queer,” said Adam.
Jake half turned. “What?”
“That was a queer’s knock.”
“So what is a straight knock then?”
Adam leaned over and hit the door hard three times.
Thud thud thud
“All right. I’m coming,” said a muffled, grumpy voice from within.
“See,” exclaimed Adam with a smug grin.
The door swung inwards.
Eric “Smithy” Smith swept his long black hair, which hung down to his shoulders, back behind his ears as he peered at his visitors from behind thick lenses. He sniffed.
“Oh. It’s you two.”
Jake tried his warmest, most convincing smile of greeting, but it proved hard work. The sharp waves of body odour emanating from the man had already been registered. They threatened to steal his breath.
“Smithy! Long time.”
Smithy retained his solemn look, the corners of his lips turned downward under a light, fluffy moustache. His gaze darted back and forth between the twins’ faces. “What do you want?”
“Business. We hear you’re carrying,” said Adam over his brother’s shoulder.
Smithy glanced at both of them and across the empty street. He sniffed again. “You’d better come in.”
He stepped back to allow them inside.
Something black dashed past. In seconds it ran between Adam and Jake and into a rose bush. The twins jumped back.
“Damn cats.” Smithy looked at the brothers who gazed around the floor. “Are you two coming in or not?”
“Erm…yeah,” said Jake. “Sorry.”
Jake stepped into the house, quickly followed by Adam, who still scanned the area behind him. They waited in the hall, and Smithy closed the front door.
“Fleabags, the lot of them,” he said, his voice low and grumbling. “Don’t know why she has to have so many.”
“She?” asked Adam.
“My grandmother. Eight she has. Eight!”
As if to confirm their presence, a black and white feline trotted from a doorway on the left, cast them an unimpressed stare and vanished into a room on the right.
“That was Princess. Hairy little shit.”
The
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