Lifting the Lid(28)

Through his earpiece, which he was now holding a couple of inches from the side of his head, he heard a car engine starting up and possibly the word “tosser”.



* * *



Despite his lean and athletic appearance, Colin Statham had a long history of avoiding anything which remotely resembled physical exercise, and so he was not the best equipped for a high speed chase on foot. Fortunately for him, however, his target on this occasion was going nowhere fast.

Must be completely trollied, he thought, as the man weaved this way and that, his arms flailing around in front of him as if he were negotiating his way in total darkness. His lack of forward progress meant that even Statham had little trouble gaining on him, and when he was within ten feet or so, he contemplated a headlong dive to bring the guy down in a spectacular looking rugby tackle. But he immediately decided against it when he noticed the bogginess of the ground. Instead, he drew the Glock 17 pistol from the holster inside his jacket and held it flat against his hip, pointing downwards so as not to arouse unnecessary attention. He grabbed hold of a flailing arm and spun the man round to face him. A pair of severely bloodshot eyes blinked back at him several times as they attempted to focus.

‘Get off o’ me, ya wee shite.’

Statham easily dodged the wayward punch and thrust the barrel of his gun into the man’s groin. ‘Shut up and keep still if you value your nuts.’

‘What d’ye want? Money or wha’?’

Statham raised the cuff of his jacket to his mouth. ‘You there, Grumpy? This is Sleepy. I have our man. Repeat. I have our man. Where are you?’

‘Grumpy? Sleepy? Yir havin’ me on, right?’

Statham did not respond.

‘Ye Special Branch or somethin’?’

‘Nasty cut you’ve got there,’ said Statham, nodding at the blood dripping from the gash on the back of the man’s hand. ‘I’d get that seen to if I were you.’

‘’Cos if ye are, yir making a very big mistake here, pal.’

‘Oh really?’

‘Anything happens ta me an’ the whole deal’s off. Ye know what I’m sayin’?’

Statham was beginning to feel uneasy about this whole situation and stole a glance over his shoulder to see if Patterson was about to come to his rescue in deciding what to do next. What he saw instead, and for the briefest of moments, was a large fist and something dark and heavy looking. He barely even had time to register the savage pain in the side of his head, but it returned quickly enough when he opened his eyes to see Patterson crouching over him.

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Statham as his hand made tentative contact with the fiery swelling just above his right ear.

‘Well?’ Patterson’s bedside manner left a lot to be desired.

Statham propped himself up on one elbow. ‘Somebody jumped me.’

‘The guy with the ponytail?’

Statham shook his head and instantly regretted it. ‘Someone else. I’d caught up with the ponytail and was waiting for you. Next minute, bang. Goodnight Vienna.’ Still nursing his wound, a thought suddenly occurred to him, and he scanned the ground around him. ‘Damn.’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Bastard nicked my gun.’ He pushed himself into a sitting position, and a memory forced its way into his throbbing brain. ‘He said something about the deal being off if anything happened to him.’

‘What the hell are they playing at?’ said Patterson. ‘The whole point of “the deal” was to leave the address in the locker, and they haven’t. The only reason I stopped the joker who made the pickup was because you’d told me the locker was empty. And now he’s buggered off in a bloody camper van.’

‘Anyone after him?’

Patterson nodded. ‘But I told them not to intercept. For all we know there may not even be an address so if they’re mucking us about, I want to know where he ends up.’

‘Who’s tailing him?’

‘Sneezy and Bashful?’

Statham’s laugh was cut short by the flash of pain that shot through his head. ‘Thank God it’s not Dopey, I suppose.’

‘Quite.’





CHAPTER NINETEEN





Trevor drove the van as fast as he dared but slow enough to avoid knocking anyone else down. All the while, he continued to give himself a good mental kicking and asked himself the same question over and over again. Why oh why had he ever got involved in all this? Okay, so not all of it was his fault. The van breaking down, ending up in that hotel in that particular room with a dodgy toilet flush. That was just chance. And it wasn’t as if he’d broken the cistern lid deliberately.