Read Online The Stretch (Stephen Leather Thrillers) by Stephen Leather - Free Book Online Page A

nodded slowly. He looked into Baz’s dark brown eyes, trying to see if the man was being honest with him or not.
    ‘I didn’t shed any tears over Snow,’ said Baz. ‘He went loco years ago. He needed killing.’
    ‘Okay,’ said Terry.
    ‘So what are your intentions, then?’
    ‘To get out of here as quickly as possible,’ said Terry.
    ‘That’s easy to say. I was wondering more about your intentions on the wing.’
    ‘It’s your wing, Baz. There’s going to be no boats rocked.’
    ‘It’d be a difficult boat to rock,’ said Baz.
    ‘Absolutely,’ said Terry. ‘I just want to keep my head down.’
    ‘You’ve been buying cards, big time. Pushing the price up.’
    Terry nodded. ‘I’ve things that needed sorting on the outside,’ he said.
    ‘You and me both,’ said Baz. ‘But pushing the price up is gonna piss me off.’
    ‘Message received,’ said Terry.
    ‘Gambling, smokes, drugs, booze, I run them all,’ said Baz.
    Terry nodded.
    ‘Any problems on the wing, you talk to me before sorting them.’
    ‘Fine by me,’ said Terry.
    ‘Anything you need bringing in, you talk to me. I don’t like contraband coming on to the wing without me knowing.’
    ‘Okay,’ said Terry.
    Baz smiled. ‘That’s all the rules,’ he said. ‘Break them and I’ll break you.’
    Terry stood up. ‘Thanks for your time, Baz.’
    ‘Be lucky,’ said Baz.
    Terry left, closing the cell door behind him and nodding at the two heavies. He walked back down the landing to his own cell. He hated having to kowtow before a thug like Baz Salter, but he knew he had no choice. Terry didn’t plan to stay behind bars for long and he didn’t have time to wrestle for control of the wing. If Baz wanted his own little prison empire, all well and good. Terry had bigger fish to fry, and they were outside the prison walls.
    ∗      ∗      ∗
     
    The manager made Sam wait for almost an hour before his secretary ushered her into his office. It was austerely furnished, as if the bank was keen to demonstrate how little money it was spending on decoration. The manager was in his thirties with thinning sandy hair and a sprinkling of freckles across his nose and cheeks, and wore a suit that was slightly too small for him, so that he constantly pulled at the sleeves to cover his shirt cuffs. A wooden nameplate with black plastic letters announced his name as Mr Phillips. No first name. He even introduced himself as Mr Phillips when he offered Sam his slightly sweaty hand, the emphasis on the Mr, as if he was desperate to prove his gender.
    He punched his computer keyboard with his index finger and frowned as he read what was on the screen. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I see what’s happened.’ He tapped the screen even though all Sam could see was the back of the VDU and a tangle of wires. ‘The account is still in the black, but there wasn’t enough to cover the direct debit payments. So they weren’t processed.’
    ‘Why didn’t anyone tell me?’ asked Sam.
    Mr Phillips squinted at the computer screen. ‘Strictly speaking, you should have been told. I’ll speak to our admin department.’
    ‘So you can make sure the payments go through? It is important.’
    Mr Phillips looked surprised at her suggestion. ‘Oh, I couldn’t do that, Mrs Greene. You don’t have sufficient funds.’ He peered at the screen again. ‘In fact, as of today there is just under three hundred pounds in the account.’
    ‘My husband and I have another joint account here, don’t we? It pays the mortgage on the house and the household bills.’
    The manager tapped on the keyboard and made a slow whistling noise through his teeth. ‘That’s also perilously close to being overdrawn, Mrs Greene. Up until a few months ago payments were made into the account on a regular basis from one of your husband’s business accounts, but they appear to have stopped. In fact I’m glad you called, because I’ve been wanting to talk to you about your