Rough Justice

Rough Justice by Stephen Leather Read Free Book Online Page A

Book: Rough Justice by Stephen Leather Read Free Book Online
Authors: Stephen Leather
and centre till they get the hell out of our country. Tiocfaidh ár lá .’
    ‘ Tiocfaidh ár lá ,’ echoed the Sean and the driver. Our day will come.
    Shepherd’s alarm woke him early on Sunday morning. He pulled on a sweatshirt and tracksuit bottoms, went downstairs and made himself a cup of black coffee. Then he put on a pair of old army boots and took his rucksack out from the cupboard under the stairs. Inside the rucksack, a dozen bricks were wrapped in newspaper. He took his running seriously. He didn’t believe in state-of-the-art trainers with gel insoles and Lycra shorts: he believed in doing it the hard way, in heavy boots with weight on his back.
    He left the house and ran on the roads for two miles at a medium pace until he’d worked up a good sweat, then cut off into the countryside along a route through fields and woods that he knew was exactly six miles. At the halfway point two men in black tracksuits passed him. They were both in their early twenties with full bergens on their backs. Shepherd smiled to himself. They were obviously in the Regiment, SAS troopers at the peak of physical condition and probably carrying twice the weight he had on his back. Shepherd’s bergen was a GS issue, general service. The troopers were running with SAS-issue, bigger, with a zipped compartment on the lid, a zip on the outer central pouch, buckles on the lid straps and spaces for skis or a shovel behind the side pouches. When fully packed, an SAS bergen weighed between thirty-six and forty kilos. Shepherd was still in good condition but he doubted that he’d be able to run more than five miles with that amount of weight on his back. The two troopers pulled away from him and Shepherd let them ago. His racing days were over.
    By the time he’d done his countryside route he was bathed in sweat, his shoulders ached from the weight of the rucksack and his feet were sore. He vaulted over a five-bar gate and started running on the pavement again. He upped the pace, his chest heaving, and ran the last two miles at full pelt.
    When he got home, Katra was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Shepherd went upstairs, showered and changed into a clean polo shirt and black jeans. By the time he was back in the kitchen, Liam was already tucking into scrambled eggs and bacon, the eggs done with cheese the way he liked them.
    Katra gave Shepherd a mug of coffee. ‘What would you like, Dan?’ she asked.
    ‘Tomato omelette would hit the spot,’ said Shepherd, ruffling his son’s hair and sitting down next to him. ‘Homework done?’
    ‘Almost.’
    ‘Need any help?’
    Liam shook his head as he shovelled a forkful of egg into his mouth.
    ‘How’s school?’
    ‘School’s school.’
    ‘Don’t speak with your mouth full,’ said Shepherd.
    ‘You asked me a question!’ protested Liam.
    ‘And don’t answer back.’ Shepherd grinned and sipped his coffee.
    The doorbell rang and Liam sprang up from the table. ‘That’ll be Lady,’ he shouted.
    ‘Calm down,’ said Shepherd, amused by his son’s enthusiasm. ‘Remember what they said – everything has to be calm until she’s settled. No loud noises, no rough games.’
    ‘Got it, Dad,’ said Liam, hurrying to the front door.
    ‘Can you put my breakfast in the oven, please,’ Shepherd asked Katra, as he followed his son out of the kitchen.
    Liam had already opened the front door and was on his knees petting the beagle. A girl in her twenties with short, spiky black hair, wearing blue jeans and a grey duffel coat, was holding the dog’s leash and grinning at the fuss Lady was making of her new owner. She grinned at Shepherd and waved. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Zoe, from the dogs’ home.’
    ‘I guessed that,’ said Shepherd. ‘Come on in. Do you want a coffee or tea or something?’
    ‘I’m fine,’ she said, stepping into the hallway. She handed the leash to Liam. ‘Here you are,’ she said. ‘Take her out into the garden and show her around. Keep her on

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