Regiment. Me, I reckon you’re a bunch of wankers. Us Para boys were always first into the action, clearing up the shit so you Blades had it nice and easy and took all the glory.’
‘Just keep telling yourself that, mate.’
‘Nah,’ Killen said, peering down the Glock’s ramped front sights. ‘I’ll just kill you instead. Let’s see how your fucking SAS skills pull you out of this one.
Mate
.’
‘Slot me and you’ll regret it.’
‘What, your ghost’s gonna come back and haunt me?’
Gardner had to go for broke. He was a dead man, unless he gave Killen a reason not to blow his brains out.
‘You’re after John, right? But here’s the thing. There are people involved way above my pay grade, and they watch my every move.’
Killen hesitated, but it was impossible to read the black dots passing themselves off as eyes.
‘Nice try, kiddo,’ he said, shaking his head, a smirk on his sunburned mug. ‘I’m not a fucking idiot. Not like Terry. You couldn’t lie your way out of a Frenchman’s pocket.’
‘I’m telling the truth.’
‘There you fucking go again,’ he went on, ignoring Gardner’s protest. ‘Always thinking you’re smarter than the pack. Not this time you ain’t.’
Gardner braced himself for the bullet. Pictured the hollow-point Parabellum round penetrating his skull and bouncing around his head like a supersonic squash ball. Shockwaves from it tearing chunks out of his face, neck and shoulders. Dying in a seedy hotel at the hands of a two-bob ex-soldier. Shitty way to go. Five minutes ago he’d been contemplating the next five years of his life. Now I don’t have five fucking seconds, he thought.
‘Boom,’ Killen said, gesturing as if he’d popped a round. ‘You don’t get off that easy. You made Terry suffer. It wouldn’t be fair unless me and Eddie here repaid the compliment.’
Training the pistol at Gardner, he nodded at Stone.
‘All right, I’ll give you a choice. Balls or face.’
‘I don’t need to hear the story of how your mum and dad met.’
‘Funny fucking man,’ Stone said. Either he’d stepped towards Gardner, or a solar eclipse was happening right there in the hotel room.
He socked Gardner in the bollocks.
Gardner keeled over, his balls registering a million different types of pain. As Stone laughed the upper half of his body jogged on the spot.
Killen lifted Gardner’s head up by the chin.
‘Eye for an eye, Joe.’
Stone shoved him towards the bathroom. It was a cramped space, hardly big enough for two people to stand, let alone a third guy the size of a small planet. Killen sat on the toilet, Glock on his lap. Stone squeezed past and ran the bath taps. Water splashed against the porcelain tub.
‘They found Terry face down in a toilet. Drowned, they say.’
‘Maybe he slipped.’
He watched the water slowly rise. An inch, then two.
‘In about thirty seconds you’re going to know exactly how Terry felt.’
His mind raced through escape plans. Strike Stone on his solar plexus and throw him into the bath.
Yeah, and meanwhile Killen puts one through your head.
Or grab Killen’s gun, slot him and worry about Stone later.
But soon as you make a move on Killen, Stone’ll crush you.
Whichever way he looked at it, he was fucked.
The bathwater hit seven inches.
Stone forced Gardner’s head over the side of the tub. ‘This is where it ends, motherfucker.’
Eight inches.
Nine.
Gardner flung himself backwards at Killen, using his muscle mass to slam him against the wall. His elbow dug into Killen’s chest, then jabbed him in the gut. Killen released the Glock, which zipped along the cracked tiles. This was it! His big chance to bug out. Both guys were stunned. If he could just reach the door…
A force tugged at him like a bungee rope. Two bloated hands clamped on his shoulders. Stone wiped phlegm from his face and kicked Gardner in the ribcage. He tried to get up but that fat fuck lashed out at him. The pain in his ribs
‘Just keep telling yourself that, mate.’
‘Nah,’ Killen said, peering down the Glock’s ramped front sights. ‘I’ll just kill you instead. Let’s see how your fucking SAS skills pull you out of this one.
Mate
.’
‘Slot me and you’ll regret it.’
‘What, your ghost’s gonna come back and haunt me?’
Gardner had to go for broke. He was a dead man, unless he gave Killen a reason not to blow his brains out.
‘You’re after John, right? But here’s the thing. There are people involved way above my pay grade, and they watch my every move.’
Killen hesitated, but it was impossible to read the black dots passing themselves off as eyes.
‘Nice try, kiddo,’ he said, shaking his head, a smirk on his sunburned mug. ‘I’m not a fucking idiot. Not like Terry. You couldn’t lie your way out of a Frenchman’s pocket.’
‘I’m telling the truth.’
‘There you fucking go again,’ he went on, ignoring Gardner’s protest. ‘Always thinking you’re smarter than the pack. Not this time you ain’t.’
Gardner braced himself for the bullet. Pictured the hollow-point Parabellum round penetrating his skull and bouncing around his head like a supersonic squash ball. Shockwaves from it tearing chunks out of his face, neck and shoulders. Dying in a seedy hotel at the hands of a two-bob ex-soldier. Shitty way to go. Five minutes ago he’d been contemplating the next five years of his life. Now I don’t have five fucking seconds, he thought.
‘Boom,’ Killen said, gesturing as if he’d popped a round. ‘You don’t get off that easy. You made Terry suffer. It wouldn’t be fair unless me and Eddie here repaid the compliment.’
Training the pistol at Gardner, he nodded at Stone.
‘All right, I’ll give you a choice. Balls or face.’
‘I don’t need to hear the story of how your mum and dad met.’
‘Funny fucking man,’ Stone said. Either he’d stepped towards Gardner, or a solar eclipse was happening right there in the hotel room.
He socked Gardner in the bollocks.
Gardner keeled over, his balls registering a million different types of pain. As Stone laughed the upper half of his body jogged on the spot.
Killen lifted Gardner’s head up by the chin.
‘Eye for an eye, Joe.’
Stone shoved him towards the bathroom. It was a cramped space, hardly big enough for two people to stand, let alone a third guy the size of a small planet. Killen sat on the toilet, Glock on his lap. Stone squeezed past and ran the bath taps. Water splashed against the porcelain tub.
‘They found Terry face down in a toilet. Drowned, they say.’
‘Maybe he slipped.’
He watched the water slowly rise. An inch, then two.
‘In about thirty seconds you’re going to know exactly how Terry felt.’
His mind raced through escape plans. Strike Stone on his solar plexus and throw him into the bath.
Yeah, and meanwhile Killen puts one through your head.
Or grab Killen’s gun, slot him and worry about Stone later.
But soon as you make a move on Killen, Stone’ll crush you.
Whichever way he looked at it, he was fucked.
The bathwater hit seven inches.
Stone forced Gardner’s head over the side of the tub. ‘This is where it ends, motherfucker.’
Eight inches.
Nine.
Gardner flung himself backwards at Killen, using his muscle mass to slam him against the wall. His elbow dug into Killen’s chest, then jabbed him in the gut. Killen released the Glock, which zipped along the cracked tiles. This was it! His big chance to bug out. Both guys were stunned. If he could just reach the door…
A force tugged at him like a bungee rope. Two bloated hands clamped on his shoulders. Stone wiped phlegm from his face and kicked Gardner in the ribcage. He tried to get up but that fat fuck lashed out at him. The pain in his ribs
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