Hot Blood Read Free

‘Relax,’ he said.
    ‘We don’t know them. They might—’
    ‘They came through for Mickey Burgess,’ said O’Sullivan. ‘It’ll be fine. Pop the boot.’ He climbed out of the Jaguar and adjusted the cuffs of his cashmere overcoat. The boot clicked open and he took out a Manchester United holdall. The two men stood looking at the metal-clad warehouse, with identical buildings, ‘To Let’ signs above the entrances, at either side.
    ‘If it’s a trap, we’re fucked,’ said Corben.
    O’Sullivan smiled easily. ‘It’s a business transaction,’ he said. ‘Pure and simple.’
    ‘Yeah, but we’re walking in with a bagful of cash and no back-up.’
    ‘They insisted. Two of us and two of them.’
    ‘Yeah, well, we should be the ones setting the rules.’
    O’Sullivan thrust the bag at Corben. ‘Here, carry this. You’re supposed to be the muscle.’
    ‘Second-in-command is how I remember the job description.’
    ‘I don’t recall advertising the position,’ said O’Sullivan. He glanced at his watch. ‘Come on, we’re late.’
    They walked towards the metal doors of the warehouse’s loading bay. O’Sullivan whistled softly. He didn’t want to startle anyone inside. He eased himself through the gap between the doors. Corben followed.
    Two men were waiting for them, in bomber jackets and jeans. The older one, a heavy-set man in his fifties, was wearing bright yellow Timberland boots; the younger, slightly taller man had on scruffy training shoes and was holding a paddle-shaped black object in his left hand. O’Sullivan knew their names – Graham May and Paul Lomas – but he didn’t know which was which. He scanned his surroundings. There were no obvious hiding-places. The warehouse was empty, except for three metal tables against one wall. He relaxed a little.
    Corben stood behind him, swinging the holdall. O’Sullivan flashed his companion a quick smile.
    ‘Which one of you is O’Sullivan?’ asked the man in the Timberlands. He had an abrasive Scottish accent.
    O’Sullivan raised a hand. ‘That would be me. Conor to my friends.’
    ‘I’m Paul,’ said the man. He nodded at his younger companion. ‘He’s Graham.’
    ‘How are you doing?’ said May, although from his tone it was clear that he didn’t care. He gestured at the bag. ‘Is that the cash?’
    ‘No it’s a Sherman tank,’ sneered Corben.
    ‘Ian, be nice,’ warned O’Sullivan.
    Corben held up the bag. ‘It’s the cash,’ he said. ‘Where are the guns?’
    ‘Over there,’ said May, gesturing at the tables, on which five metal suitcases were lined up.
    O’Sullivan headed towards them.
    ‘Whoa, hoss,’ said Lomas. ‘First things first.’ He nodded at Corben. ‘Drop the bag, yeah?’
    ‘What?’ said Corben, frowning.
    ‘You heard him,’ said May. ‘We need to make a few checks first.’ He gestured at the paddle he was holding. ‘We want to make sure you’re not carrying.’
    O’Sullivan realised that the paddle was a metal detector, the sort used to screen passengers at airports. Lomas stood with arms folded, staring stonily at Corben.
    May stepped forward and ran the metal detector down O’Sullivan’s coat. It beeped. May raised an eyebrow and O’Sullivan put a hand into his pocket.
    ‘Slowly,’ warned May.
    O’Sullivan’s hand reappeared with a set of car keys. ‘What are you looking for?’ he asked.
    ‘What do you think?’ snarled Lomas.
    O’Sullivan grinned and slipped his keys back into his coat. ‘I think you’re looking for a gun,’ he said. ‘But seeing I’m here to buy guns, that wouldn’t make any sense, would it?’
    ‘It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s tried to rip me off,’ said May. He ran the detector over the back of O’Sullivan’s overcoat.
    ‘Yeah, but rip you off for what?’ asked O’Sullivan. ‘I’ve got the cash. You’ve got the guns. But if I already had a gun, why would I steal one from you? You see what I’m saying?’
    ‘I see what