Gun by Ray Banks Read Free Book Online

the paper bag, removed the milkshake, set it down on the ground. The chips, he wedged between his hip and the alcove wall. He leaned forward a little, checked to see if anyone was about to come his way. Then he removed the gun from the back of his trackies and held it by the trigger guard. The smell was a giveaway that it'd recently been fired, but only if you gave it a good sniff. Plus, Richie was hoping that the smell of chips would mask it a bit. He put the gun against his thigh, pulled out the large wad of napkins, and started to wipe the metal down. When half the napkins had been used, and when Richie was happy that the gun was as clean as it was going to be, he eased the weapon into the bag. Then he took the rest of the napkins and stuck them under his hoodie . There was a sudden jab of pain as he broke the blood seal on his hand. He held the napkins tight to the wound, waited it out.
    Richie stared at the bag as he waited for the pain to go. Then he removed his hand, grabbed a handful of chips and stuffed them into his mouth. His gut reacted badly, threatening to throw them straight back up. He stopped, froze, willing himself to keep the food down. Then he picked up the shake, thumbed off the lid and took a hefty gulp. After a few minutes of concentrated eating and drinking, his stomach got used to being filled and the nausea melted into the background.
    It was just the blood loss, he told himself. The fact that he hadn't eaten since the heavy fry-up this morning, and now this double whammy of what amounted to old chip fat and ice cream didn't help. Not at first, anyway. He managed to finish the chips, most of the shake and then sat looking at the paper bag until it felt okay to straighten up.
    Then he reached into his trackie pocket. Pulled out the mobile and speed-dialled the only contact he had.
    Three rings and it was picked up.
    "Aye," he said. "I'll be right round."
     

 
     
    9
     
    Richie sat on the Metro, one of the double seats on the side, a copy of the free newspaper in his lap to cover up most of the blood, as well as the bag with the gun in it. He stared through the gap in the bodies at his reflection in the opposite window. Saw the concrete give way to night, the train pulling out from Byker and heading out towards the coast.
    He shifted his gaze, squinted at the Metro map above the doors. Counted the stops until he had to get off.
    Six.
    Chilly Road. Walkergate . Wallsend . Hadrian Road. Howdon . Percy Main.
    Then he had to get off the train. Which meant he'd have to start thinking about movement when he got to Howdon . He'd have to psyche himself up, really concentrate, because since he managed to barge his way into this seat at Monument, the last thing he wanted to do was leave it. The train was packed, too, full of people who wanted to nip in there if he so much as flinched. If he could've moved to check his watch, it would have been about five o'clock, he reckoned. It was dark and cold outside, and he couldn't look anywhere on this train without seeing a suit or skirt. The fuckers had tried to guilt him into moving seats instead of taking up two on his own, but their first glimpse of blood was enough to cut that short. Now they were just avoiding eye contact and willing him to move.
    Not that Richie really noticed. He was too busy thinking. Wondering if he'd make it to The Well without bleeding out on the Metro. Wondering if he'd be caught before that happened, some civic-minded cunt with a mobile calling him out because he didn't fit the bill of something they wanted to look at on their way home from work.
    No, that couldn't happen. And he was pretty sure he'd be alright between town and Goose's house. If he spent hours wandering the Leam looking for a bus stop and nothing happened to him then, it shouldn't happen now he was close to home turf. Now he just had to figure out what he was going to do when he got to Goose's.
    Everything Becka told him, it was one hundred percent on the fucking nail.