Brutal Revenge by James Raven Read Free Book Online

any problems with
this one, Bob?”
    Stewart pondered the question. “Not unless
The Cowboy gets trigger happy,” he said.
    Parker frowned. “You think he might?”
    “It's happened before,” Stewart said. “I
thought Mac might have had more sense than to bring him in on this one.”
    “Why did he?”
    “Well, apart from the fact that they've
done some jobs together, I suppose he figures Hodge to be a good man.” He
glanced at the cabin door to make sure it wasn't open so Hodge could hear him. “Don't
get me wrong, though. I'm not saying he's some kind of prize prick. It's just
that it doesn't take much to make him out someone. Not that I don't hold with
killing when it's necessary, you understand. But you know what I mean. He's
liable to noise things up by shooting at anything that moves.”
    It hadn't occurred to Parker that Stewart
might also be a bit wary of Hodge, but he was glad in a way. At least it meant
that Stewart would also be making sure that the man they called The Cowboy
didn't try to live up to his reputation.
    “Have you worked with him before?” Parker
asked.
    Stewart shook his head. “No, but I tend to
work north of the border whereas he prefers south. Richer pickings, he says.”
    Parker nodded. “I gather you’ve worked
with Andy, though?”
    “Dozens of times. Good man to have around
on a tough'en. He tells me you and him did a few jobs together some years back?”
    “That's right.”
    “Mostly security vans, I gather?”
    Parker laughed. “When I think now of the
diabolical risks we used to take it's a wonder any of us are still around.” He
paused, then added, “I suppose that's why I'm so taken by this job. It should
be a doddle. I mean, there's hardly any risk attached to it at all.”
    Stewart grinned. “Watch what you're
saying, old mate. You must know yourself it's usually on the simple jobs you
come a cropper.”

    *

    Precisely ten minutes after seven they
arrived at the island.
    Thanks to Maclean, who was there swinging
a torch to and fro, they were able to pin-point the exact position of the jetty
from offshore. Left to their own devices, they would never have found it in the
pitch dark.
    There were no lights on this side of the
island. Most of the crofts and houses were concentrated around the pier and on
the west side. According to the map, this side of the island was given over
mainly to open moorland with a scattering of those ubiquitous derelict 'black
houses' that were once occupied by large crofting families and were now grim
reminders of a dying age.
    Their arrival was without incident.
Stewart maneuvered the boat deftly into a small cove and between a group of
half submerged rocks.
    Then they were up against the weed-covered
timbers of the tumbledown jetty. The water was rougher here, waves running
about three feet from crest to trough, and there were some hairy moments as
they tried to get the mooring line across to Maclean.
    The boat heaved and dived, heaved and
dived, and without adequate fenders the hull scraped dangerously against the
pilings. But eventually Maclean had the lines secured and the slack was taken
in so the boat had less of a tendency to pitch.
    When the engine was turned off all that
could be heard, aside from the howling wind, was the tide gurgling over the
rocks and the soft kissing sound of water being sucked into little clefts and
gullies.
    The rocks stretched away into the night on
either side of them and Parker wondered what had ever possessed the islanders
to place the jetty in such an awkward and dangerous position. It was no wonder
they no longer used it, he thought.
    “Everything okay?” Maclean called out.
    “Right as rain,” Stewart replied. “You?”
    “Raring to go.”
    “Any hitches?”
    “Not so far.”
    Stewart and Parker lowered themselves on
to the jetty and Parker spoke to Maclean. “So where is the treasure?”
    “Still at Mor's house. I've borrowed a
van. It’s plenty big enough to carry the treasure. It's up