Read Online THE FIX: SAS hero turns Manchester hitman (A Rick Fuller Thriller Book 1) by Robert White - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert White
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dick-spring announced to half the boozer that his new batch of super kick-ass whiz was on its way. It was happy days. I’d started to spend my fifteen before I left the boozer.
I’d been forced to ditch the motor for the final night’s observations as it was starting to get attention from the local TWOC boys. I was reduced to lying in the mud on a piece of waste ground where I could see the front door of Alfie’s pad undetected. I wasn’t my idea of fun, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t done it all before.
I lay in constant drizzle, obscured by two overgrown bushes of doubtful origin, his whole place was in darkness and my spirits started to sag.
I started to think about Susan. Joel’s wife, if you could believe that. There was something about her that made me itch. She played the gangster’s moll all too well for my liking.
I checked my watch, half one in the morning.
Finally two very nervous-looking faces arrived on plot with a holdall. At last there was some action and lights appeared on in the house. The boys knocked on the front door and dropped the holdall in the doorway, and our Alfie took it from them. No cash was exchanged, which was a shame, I might have considered rolling the delivery boys too. The two faces fucked off quick sharp into the pissing rain.
So it was time for the dodgy bit. The reason I can make five grand a day.
From what I’d seen the past days, I reckoned Alfie, plus two maybe three others were on the plot. Alfie was a big lad and could be a handful. The others I’d seen enter earlier would be no worry. The only problem could be if people were coming and going out the back door unseen and I ended up with six meat-heads to contend with. I could only watch the front.
I strolled up to the door as cool as you like. My only extra was a black woollen hat that turned nicely into a balaclava.
Knock, knock .
I heard activity. Someone looked through the front door spy-hole.
“What d’ya want, mate?”
It was a stoned voice.
I’d heard Alfie call the tabs ‘green bombers’, so I used the same term. I told the kid I wanted twenty tabs. A hundred quid deal. I showed the cash at the spy and hey presto, he opened the door first time. Not noted for their educational qualifications, speed freaks.
The small hallway stank of fags, sweaty feet and hash, no carpet, and two pairs of foul trainers, kicked off and left to fester, were a less than fragrant greeting. The door opener told me to close it behind me and turned his back. He was a kid, seventeen maybe; scrawny with a glue sniffer’s mouth. I pulled down the mask, grabbed the kid by the hair and punched a .45 Magnum handgun into the back of his head. I had the youth’s undivided attention.
“How many guys are in the house, son?”
He whispered and I could feel him shake.
“Just me an’ Alfie, an’ Alfie’s mate, boss.”
I was feeling lucky, this was gonna be just fine.
As I walked into the room, Alfie and Alfie’s mate were counting tabs on a coffee table. A perfect little pair they were too.
Alfie was there stripped to the waist showing off some big Celtic tattoo, no shoes or socks, just trackies and a big open gob. His mate looked about the same age. He had the compulsory Burberry baseball cap, an absurdly large gold chain around his neck and the worst case of acne I had ever seen.
Once over the initial shock of my entrance, Alfie wanted to be brave and show his minions what he was made of, but when he saw the Magnum he thought better of it. He was still gobbing it though; his kind couldn’t help it.
“You’re a fuckin’ dead man!” he screamed every ten seconds or so. That and, “Do you know who I am?”
I handed Alfie a bunch of cable ties and, after some gentle persuasion he set about fastening his bezzie mates to two dining chairs whilst telling me how many different ways he was going to kill me. I seated Alfie on a third chair but didn’t tie him. I couldn’t have marks on his wrists.
Alfie was
I’d been forced to ditch the motor for the final night’s observations as it was starting to get attention from the local TWOC boys. I was reduced to lying in the mud on a piece of waste ground where I could see the front door of Alfie’s pad undetected. I wasn’t my idea of fun, but it wasn’t like I hadn’t done it all before.
I lay in constant drizzle, obscured by two overgrown bushes of doubtful origin, his whole place was in darkness and my spirits started to sag.
I started to think about Susan. Joel’s wife, if you could believe that. There was something about her that made me itch. She played the gangster’s moll all too well for my liking.
I checked my watch, half one in the morning.
Finally two very nervous-looking faces arrived on plot with a holdall. At last there was some action and lights appeared on in the house. The boys knocked on the front door and dropped the holdall in the doorway, and our Alfie took it from them. No cash was exchanged, which was a shame, I might have considered rolling the delivery boys too. The two faces fucked off quick sharp into the pissing rain.
So it was time for the dodgy bit. The reason I can make five grand a day.
From what I’d seen the past days, I reckoned Alfie, plus two maybe three others were on the plot. Alfie was a big lad and could be a handful. The others I’d seen enter earlier would be no worry. The only problem could be if people were coming and going out the back door unseen and I ended up with six meat-heads to contend with. I could only watch the front.
I strolled up to the door as cool as you like. My only extra was a black woollen hat that turned nicely into a balaclava.
Knock, knock .
I heard activity. Someone looked through the front door spy-hole.
“What d’ya want, mate?”
It was a stoned voice.
I’d heard Alfie call the tabs ‘green bombers’, so I used the same term. I told the kid I wanted twenty tabs. A hundred quid deal. I showed the cash at the spy and hey presto, he opened the door first time. Not noted for their educational qualifications, speed freaks.
The small hallway stank of fags, sweaty feet and hash, no carpet, and two pairs of foul trainers, kicked off and left to fester, were a less than fragrant greeting. The door opener told me to close it behind me and turned his back. He was a kid, seventeen maybe; scrawny with a glue sniffer’s mouth. I pulled down the mask, grabbed the kid by the hair and punched a .45 Magnum handgun into the back of his head. I had the youth’s undivided attention.
“How many guys are in the house, son?”
He whispered and I could feel him shake.
“Just me an’ Alfie, an’ Alfie’s mate, boss.”
I was feeling lucky, this was gonna be just fine.
As I walked into the room, Alfie and Alfie’s mate were counting tabs on a coffee table. A perfect little pair they were too.
Alfie was there stripped to the waist showing off some big Celtic tattoo, no shoes or socks, just trackies and a big open gob. His mate looked about the same age. He had the compulsory Burberry baseball cap, an absurdly large gold chain around his neck and the worst case of acne I had ever seen.
Once over the initial shock of my entrance, Alfie wanted to be brave and show his minions what he was made of, but when he saw the Magnum he thought better of it. He was still gobbing it though; his kind couldn’t help it.
“You’re a fuckin’ dead man!” he screamed every ten seconds or so. That and, “Do you know who I am?”
I handed Alfie a bunch of cable ties and, after some gentle persuasion he set about fastening his bezzie mates to two dining chairs whilst telling me how many different ways he was going to kill me. I seated Alfie on a third chair but didn’t tie him. I couldn’t have marks on his wrists.
Alfie was
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