R.I.P Robbie Silva by Tony Black Read Free Book Online Page A

self-defence, or pure agg, purposes. I doubted the fucking thing had ever been opened. Might have opened a few heads in its day though.
    The street was quiet enough, lot of old dears with shopping trolleys though – made me think of the one back at the fat Jambo bastard's place. The telly news bit had said he was in a 'stable condition' whatever the fuck that meant. I couldn't see Gail being too chuffed about that – she was out to off the cunt. The thought had simmered in me for a few days; Christ Almighty, if I'd known she was so completely Radio Rental, I'd have steered well clear. Thinking with the boaby, though. Never a good idea.
    These last few days I'd got to replaying the raid over and over; and thinking some more about Gail. It's a funny thing – but that's how some bits get inside your head. No matter what they've done, how they've pissed you off – they get inside your mind and there's just no shaking them out.
    Now, I'm hardly wet behind the ears – I know all bits of stuff lose their shine after a while – but it's a fact that until that point in time arrives, and who knows when that will be, they are lethal. They get their claws round your billiards and that's that.
    I made my way onto the main drag, well, what passes for it in Jasper's neck of town. The thing about Edinburgh is, it's not a big place – but it does have its distinct manors. If you stay clear of the New Town and the yuppie centre you won't go far wrong. Add to that the Old Town and the screeds of tourists there, you're laughing. Just about everywhere else has its charms, well ... for me anyway. I'm not a fussy bastard, I like a manor to have a few nice pubs, a few places to grab some scran and that's that. There were days when I thought about counting the building societies, points of drop-off for security vans and maybe even the odd bureaux d'change – if I was after some easy money – but not any more.
    I found myself a nice old-school greasy spoon and ordered up a bacon roll and some coffee.
    'Make it strong, mind ...' I told the waitress. 'I want to be able to stand my spoon up in it!' I'd missed this kind of patter inside. Funny that, how the day-to-day things get away from you. That's what the pound's all about though, dehumanising you. Depriving you of the simple acts of civility that make us people. I never got unsettled by it though; some radges inside will go crazy. Can't stand the confinement. Then you get the ones who've done fifteen years and they're more at home in a cell than they were on the outside. It's a funny thing, but y'know, no two cons are the same. Me, I can take it or leave it. It's a hazard of the job. But I'll tell you this, there does come a time in every robber's life when he starts to wonder when the Big Payer ' s going to come up.
    It's a dream of course; stuff of legend. You get a group of cons together and they'll always be spraffing about the Big Payer. Not some five or ten grand counter jump, I'm talking about the hundreds of thousands, the millions. It was beyond my league. I was a raid man, working small firms. I'd never been asked to make the move upstairs. Well, until now that is.
    Long Dong Silva's offer was, like the Londoner said, a tasty one. I knew it. Was understood.
    My bacon roll and coffee arrived.
    The waitress stood over the table, waiting for me to part with some poppy. I dug my hand in my pocket, there was a five-spot and some coin. I didn't need to look in the other pocket; I knew what was there. Silva's number.
    I handed over the last of my cash and smiled.
    Thing about Silva was, I didn't trust him.
    I didn't like the look of him, flat out. There was something about him that said there was more going on behind the eyes than he would ever let on.
    When you do a job, front the counter, you can tell straight off who the ones that will give you grief are. There's the lot that will empty till and take it in their stride. And then there's the ones that will try and give you a bag full of