All Due Respect Issue 2 by Owen Laukkanen Read Free Book Online

holding a gun. He wanted to shout, pull the trigger, shake them out of their stupor and watch them cower beneath the tables and chairs. Ricky’s eyes darted from one to another, his anger growing with each dumb face. He clenched his teeth and swung the gun in a wide arc. Why weren’t they scared? Did they know it was fake, a clone masquerading as the real thing? Did they know he was? His heart hammered, his breath came in heavy gasps. From the TV, the commentator’s voice rose to a climax. Red Bobbin entered the final furlong a nose in front of Stargazer and at last Ricky’s spirit soared as he saw his own winning post in a plastic bag lying on the floor.
    “Give me that.” He pointed the gun at the old guy.
    “What?”
    Ricky jabbed the gun. “That.”
    The old guy looked at him with the rheumy eyes of a man who’s seen it all before. He frowned and peered beneath his chair. “This?” He lifted the Tesco bag off the floor.
    “Yeah.”
    “Got a hole in it you know.”
    “I don’t give a flying fuck if it’s got a hole.” Ricky’s voice rose until he was almost screaming. “Just give it to us will yer.”
    The guy held it out.
    Snatching it from his hand, Ricky turned back to the booth. The money sat there like three birds ready to take flight. He swept the money into the bag, then watched as a bundle of notes fell through the hole. Ricky cursed. Why did everything always end in a fuck up? He put the gun between his knees, tied a knot in where the hole was, then went down on all fours to pick up every wayward note. Not one was going to escape, not one fiver was going to get away. Not after he had worked this hard.
    Mumbling to himself, he pushed the last inside before remembering where he was. Ricky jerked upright. He waved the gun around in case anyone was thinking of being a hero. They weren’t. In fact they were impatient for him to fuck off so that they could get back to the more important events of the afternoon: the racing at Exeter and Newmarket. Ricky curled his lip into his finest snarl and backed away to the door. Reaching behind, he pulled it open and slipped outside. A cold wind chilled the sweat on his face.
    He had done it.
    Ricky closed his eyes. Jesus Christ, he’d really done it. The rush was better than anything, ever, and that included the skag Capo had sold him last week. But there was no time to bask in glory, he had to move. Looping the plastic bag around his wrist and pushing the gun in his waistband, Ricky started to walk. Past the burger bar and newsagent, past the off-licence and chippy, and all the time he was waiting for somebody to start screaming, somebody to point and yell thief. Nothing happened. He glanced back. All quiet. Cars rolled towards town. Women gossiped. People came and went from the supermarket. It was almost like a Sunday when he went to fetch the papers for his dad.
    He quickened his pace, headed for the lay—by where Capo said he would be with the car. A cold chill ran through him. It wasn’t there— he wasn’t there. Ricky slowed and looked again. There was a car but it was a different colour and make and no one sat behind the wheel. Fear began to spread like oil on water. He had a bag full of cash and a gun in his pants. And even if it was a fake, would the bizzies know? He sneered at himself. What if they did? A no-mark like him, it’d be shoot first and ask questions later.
    Thoughts raced through his head. He could dump the gun and leg it. Tell Capo he lost it in a struggle or that he got jumped. Then again he could just fuck off and not go back. He bit his lip, weighed his options before a police patrol exiting the street next to Kwik-Save made everything simple. Ricky’s breath caught in his throat. The squad car paused at the junction. Too soon. The Jacks couldn’t know, not yet surely? And then a thought forced its way into his head. Maybe that was it. Maybe Capo had seen the patrol and took off. The squad car indicated and turned away. No time