Assassin Read Free Page A

arse,' said Thorpe. 'The bloke's a fucking headcase.'
    'Yeah, him and his followers. Whoever the hell they are, murmured Riley.
    'Probably more like the two we've already got locked up,' said Thorpe, taking another hard drag on the cigarette.
    'Christ, this bastard Crawford is going to take some cracking.'
    'There's no doubt that he'll be sent down, guv,' Riley said.
    'Yeah, maybe. But if we get him out of the way we still have to find his followers.' He dropped the cigarette and crushed it beneath his shoe. 'Before anyone else ends up like Mrs Donaldson and her kids.'
     
     

 
     
     
     
Two
     
    'You sure it's safe in here?'
    Danny Weller pulled the blanket around his neck and glanced up at the roof of the building. Through one of the holes he could see the night sky, dotted with stars as if someone had hurled sequins at black velvet.
    'What do you mean, safe?' Sean Robson wanted to know. 'If you're worried about the coppers finding us ...'
    'No, not the coppers. I mean, the bloody place isn't going to fall down around our ears is it?'
    Robson shook his head and wiped his nose with the back of his hand, studying the mucoid smear for a moment before scraping it off on his trousers.
    'They're knocking down the tower blocks,' he reassured his companion. 'They ain't interested in this place. It'll do for one night anyway. At least it's better than sleeping in the street.'
    He peered through the gloom at the interior of the supermarket. The floor was covered by a thick layer of dust and dirt, parts of the roof were missing and most of the windows had been smashed but at least they wouldn't be disturbed.
    Robson regarded the empty shelves and felt his stomach rumble. He imagined the shelves full of food as they once had been but the gnawing pains in his belly convinced him that that was one fantasy best left alone. He concentrated on the bottle of Haig which he held in his hand. Robson took a long swallow then offered it to his companion, who drank deeply. Rather too deeply. Robson shot out a hand to take the bottle from him.
    `Take it easy,' he snapped. 'That's got to last.'
    Weller regarded the older man warily for a moment then licked his lips and nodded. At twenty-nine he was three years younger than Robson. Both had been jobless for more than five years, alcoholic for a little longer. Homeless for perhaps three years. They had eked out their living by, at various times, begging, stealing and, very occasionally, working in menial jobs where the promise of a meal had seemed more attractive than the prospect of wages. But what money they did come by was hastily spent on drink.
    Robson in particular would do anything for the taste of whisky. He knew it was destroying him, eroding his brain cells, eating away at his liver, but he didn't care. It was only a matter of time for him now. Lung cancer had been killing him slowly over the past eight months; it was merely a question of which killed him fast. The booze or the disease. It didn't matter either way to him.
    He'd met Weller in Wormwood Scrubs two years earlier. He himself had been given seven days for disturbing the peace while the younger man was serving a two month sentence for aggravated assault. He'd used a Stanley knife on the owner of an off licence who had refused to serve him.
    The relationship between the two men was a curious one. There was nothing sexual about it, although, in the beginning, Robson had wondered if his companion was a little dodgy. There was no other word to describe him. He looked dodgy. His face was very smooth, to the point where Robson doubted it had ever felt, or needed to feel, a razor. And his features were soft, almost feminine. But Weller had never made any attempt to get close to his older companion and for that Robson was grateful. Mind you, let him try it. Just once. He gripped the bottle more tightly and took another swig.
    Weller knew little about the older man except that he had once been married, the marriage had floundered and