Dead Men's s Boots

Like most of us he knew John from way back, and like most of us he’d teamed up with him a fair few times when there was nothing better on offer. That tended to be how it worked, and I guessed that maybe, like me, he was feeling some belated pangs of guilt that he’d only ever seen John as a last resort. So maybe beating up a man in a sharp suit seemed like an easy way to burn off some of the bad karma.

Stepping forward as much to my own surprise as anyone else’s, I put a hand on Reggie’s shoulder. He turned his glare on me, surprised and indignant to be interrupted when he was still warming up.

‘Behave yourself, Reggie,’ I said. ‘You’re doing no one a favour by starting a fight here, least of all Carla.’

We held each other’s stares for a moment longer, and I was half-convinced he was going to take a swing at me. I took a step to the left to keep Greg Lockyear in view, because that way at le7; hat wayast I wouldn’t be fighting on two fronts. But the moment passed, and Reggie turned away with a disgusted shrug.

‘Frigging parasites,’ he said. ‘Have it your way, Fix. But if he doesn’t get the fuck out of here I’m gonna put something through his face.’

I gave Todd a look that asked him what he was waiting for. ‘Mrs Gittings will be in touch,’ I said.

‘I’m sure,’ he agreed. ‘But I really need to proceed with—’

‘You need to pick your time. She’ll be in touch. Leave it until then, eh?’

Todd looked at the grim faces ringing him, and probably did some calculations. He glanced around for Carla, but she’d stepped back into the supportive crowd and was being comforted by Cath and Therese.

‘Good plan,’ I agreed.

With a wry nod to me, Todd turned on his heel. He took the path back to the gate a lot more slowly this time and stayed in sight for the better part of a minute, further dampening the already tense and sombre mood."

"We broke up by inches and ounces, swapping halfhearted conversation at the turning circle by the car park because nobody wanted to seem to be in an indecent hurry to escape.

‘They’re running ambushes now,’ Louise said in her lugubrious Tyneside drawl, igniting a cigarette with a gold lighter shaped like a tiny revolver. ‘Picking us off. Can you believe it? Stu Langley got a call in the early hours of the morning.