direct hit and it wasn’t easy. He knew. ‘I won’t interfere. Not my business.’ To Conroy he said, ‘Sorry, pal. Nothing personal.’
Conroy’s mouth sagged open in fear. His eyes were bursting out of their sockets. ‘You twat,’ he managed to breath.
Rider shrugged.
Curly’s thumb went to the spur of the hammer and pulled it slowly back.
Rider watched it, fascinated. He saw the firing pin come into view, the cylinder rotate the next bullet into position.
This was the only chance. He took it.
At the exact moment the hammer locked into place he lunged at Curly.
With his right hand he palmed the gun away from the back of Conroy’s head as though he was slamming a door shut.
What he couldn’t prevent was Curly’s forefinger from pulling the trigger, but this happened as the muzzle of the gun cleared the danger area of Conroy’s skull. The bullet discharged just inches away from Conroy’s ear.
Rider continued with his self-propelled momentum, pushing the gun further away, his fingers closing over the top strap and cylinder of the gun, gripping tightly, and twisting it easily out of Curly’s hand. At the same time he stepped into a position which put Curly between him and the other gunman.
Suddenly disarmed and disorientated, Curly staggered back a couple of steps. This should have been a simple hit, no complications. Now things had changed.
For a start, there was no gun in his hand any more.
Behind Rider, Conroy sank to his knees, holding both his hands over his left ear. From such close range the shot had almost burst his eardrum.
Rider eased the gun into the palm of his hand and looked down his nose at Curly, in the way the lioness had earlier surveyed him.
Before he could say anything, Curly made a bad decision.
He threw himself to the ground and yelled, ‘Shoot ‘em, Jonno. Shoot the cunts!’
Jonno, his almost-adolescent companion, was as bewildered as Curly. He dodged and weaved on the spot, trying to get a shot in without hitting Curly — but was slightly off-balance and wide open.
To be on the safe side, Rider shot Jonno once.
He didn’t want to kill the poor kid — even though he knew that if the gun was loaded with magnum shells it wouldn’t matter where the hell he hit him, he’d probably die from shock if nothing else — so he aimed in the general area of the youngster’s legs.
It wasn’t a magnum. He could tell from the recoil.
The. 357 slug slammed into the outer part of Jonno’s right thigh with an audible ‘slap’ as the flesh burst, ripping through the muscle and lodging by his thigh bone.
Jonno screamed and dropped his gun. His hands went to the leg and clamped round the wound as he lowered himself to the ground. Blood spurted out between his fingers. He was shivering already as the shock waves pounded up through his abdomen.
Curly looked up at Rider, who pointed the gun at him.
‘ No, don’t, please,’ he gasped desperately.
Rider was about to enjoy some sport with Curly, but this was quickly curtailed when someone shouted, ‘Oi!’ from a distance. Two people who looked like zoo officials approached cautiously.
Deciding enough was enough, Rider ignominiously heaved the half-deaf Conroy to his feet and dragged him out of the zoo whilst waving the revolver about so people would keep their distance.
There were one or two questions Rider wanted to put to him.
Henry leaned back in his chair, laid down his pen and picked up the statement he had written about his little altercation with Shane. He reread it thoroughly once more. If it came to the crunch, he hoped it would answer all the questions.
He was satisfied with the content, but winced when he came to the feeble excuse for not putting an entry onto the custody record. It wouldn’t hold water if the Police Complaints Authority ever got involved.
‘ Morning, Sarge — sorry, Inspector.’
Henry glanced up. Derek Luton was standing there, smiling and very smartly dressed.
‘ You coming to the briefing, Henry?’
‘ Yep, certainly am.’ Henry laid the statement carefully in his desk drawer and stood up. ‘All psyched up for this, Degsy?’
‘ Can’t effing wait,’ he said, rubbing his hands together enthusiastically.
Henry slid his jacket on. They walked towards the door. ‘I hear it was a detective from NWOCS that got blasted,’ Henry said.
‘ Yeah, believe so.’
‘ Name been released yet?’
‘ At the briefing, I think,’ said Luton.
‘ I heard Tony Morton telling FB he would deploy his whole team for this. You could end up working with one of the elite.’
‘ I’ll try not to wet my keks,’ laughed Luton.
Just before they reached the door the phone rang on Henry’s desk. ‘Shit. I’ll see you up there.’ He about faced and walked slowly back, hoping it would stop ringing before he got to it. It didn’t.
Rider was in the bar of his newly acquired club. It was dark and cool but smelled of old tobacco and spilled beer, beer which had permeated into the carpet, making each tread a sticky one. The whole place was suffering from neglect and bad management, needing gutting and refurbishing.
Rider sighed and let his eyes skim over the place. It was huge — a former casino, though the last time a roulette wheel had spun was in the early 1960s. Beyond the bar, dance floor and eating areas was a warren of corridors and rooms going up three floors. Rider wondered if he’d bitten off more than he could chew. It was going to cost a lot to get it up and running properly, but the joint had real potential.
All it needed was cash and dedication.
Jacko the head barman was polishing glasses. He had come with the place — as had a few other staff — was a good worker and very proud of his territory behind the bar. It was the only area in the whole club that was spotless.
Rider had only known Jacko about six weeks but had been impressed by him from the start. He appeared honest, loyal and committed to the place. He and Jacko had taken to each other and Rider had no hesitation in keeping him on. A good bar manager could be the lynchpin to the whole operation, and Rider knew a good one when he saw one.
The rest of the staff he sacked. They were lazy, idle, incompetent and dishonest.
He drank the last of his third gin and put the glass on the bar. Jacko came, picked it up and wiped underneath it.
‘ Another, boss?’ he enquired.
Rider shook his head. He was relaxed now. He’d gone through that lightheaded, nervy phase that always seemed to affect him after a confrontation. Jacko took the glass away.
Conroy returned from the pay-phone in the entrance foyer, made his way to the bar and told Jacko to get him a Bell’s. He scowled into his drink as he tipped it back down his throat then proffered his glass for another, this time a treble. His head was throbbing.
‘ Left me fuckin’ mobile in the car,’ he said. ‘Just phoned the driver to tell him to pick me up.’
‘ How’s the ear?’
It was clanging like Big Ben.
‘ I’ll survive.’
He took a mouthful of the whisky, ran it round his mouth, swallowed and gasped. He stared at the smooth liquid for a moment and at length said, ‘Haven’t seen that move for a while, John.’
‘ Mm?’
