Soft Target (Major Crimes Unit Book 2) Read Free

monster.  Knutsford was a nice village. 
Sarah had been shocked to see it littered with bodies on last night ’ s evening news. 
    The BBC had claimed some
disgruntled pensioner was behind the attack, but that just raised more
questions than it answered, like: how did a retired postal worker learn how to
make a nail bomb?  And why attack a sleepy hamlet like Knutsford?
    The queue shuffled up another
half-step.  Four of the six serving windows were still unoccupied.  The
dickhead in the office was still sipping coffee and laughing while his equally
lazy colleagues joined him in ignoring the bank ’ s
waiting customers. 
    Sarah had suffered enough. 
She exited the queue and marched on up to the serving window.  “ Hey, d ’ you think you might come out and do your jobs for a while? ” she shouted through the security glass.  “ There
are people waiting out here, in case you hadn ’ t
noticed. ”
    A few chuckles from the people
standing in the queue, but mostly awkward silence. 
    The young guy with the coffee
ambled towards the other side of the window like a swaggering cowboy.  He was
wearing a cheap suit with garish cufflinks that he clearly thought were
stylish.  His badge read: ‘ Assisant Branch Manager ’ .  Sarah wondered if
he was aware of the spelling mistake.  She guessed not.  When he noticed the
scars on Sarah ’ s face, he stumbled mid-step, but recovered well enough to make it
to the window and pretend he hadn ’ t noticed.  “ Ma ’ am, you need to join the queue. ” 
    “ I did join the queue, but I ’ m worried that by the
time you people get to me I will have joined the afterlife. ”
      “ Ma ’ am, if you won ’ t join the queue and wait to be served, I ’ m
going to have to ask you to leave. ”
    “ And I ’ m going to have to ask you to kiss my arse.  All these people are
waiting while you ’ re standing around like a couple of spare pricks. ”
    The Assisant Branch Manager
adjusted his tie and looked down his nose at her.  “ I ’ m now asking you to leave, ma ’ am. ”
    Sarah folded her arms.  “ So you ’ re not going to let me cash the cheque I get from the US Army for my
dead husband?  He was blown up in Afghanistan, in case you ’ re wondering.  And what about the money I get from the British
government for losing half my face fighting for this country?  Will you not
help me with that?  Look, I understand you like to drink your cappuccino in the
back and pretend you ’ re a real businessman, but I need my money to live.  I ’ m strange like that. ”
    The Assisant Branch Manager shifted
uncomfortably.  “ I ’ m … very sorry to hear about that, ma ’ am,
but I ’ m afraid you ’ ll need to have to leave if you ’ re
going to be difficult.  Please call our customer service number if you ’ d like to make a complaint. ”
    Sarah moved her face right up
to the glass so that the obstinate arsehole could get a good look at her.  “ I ’ m not the one being difficult.  Don ’ t
you people get paid enough not to treat your customers like a nuisance?  Your
job is to serve us, but you make it seem like you ’ re
doing us a favour.  We give you our money and you act like it ’ s yours.  We ask for it back and you make us jump through hoops. 
You fine and charge us every chance you get, then refuse to explain why, as if
we should just accept that you make the rules.  Well, let me tell you
something, Mr Assisant Manager, I got my face blown off fighting in a foreign
country so that oil companies and fat cat bankers like your bosses could keep
their big houses and shiny sports cars. So, when I say get your bone-idle arses
out here right now and do your goddamn jobs, I think I earned the right to say
so. ”
    There was an outright cheer
from the queue of customers.  The other customers were solidly behind her now,
but the Assisant Manager was not.  He nodded over Sarah ’ s
shoulder, as if he were Augustus Caesar having a dissenting