Still Bleeding (A Jack Nightingale Short Story) by Stephen Leather Read Free Book Online

door.
‘You need to take her somewhere,’ said Nightingale. ‘You need to
get her well away from here.’
    Ricky nodded.
‘I could do that,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a cottage on the edge of
Dartmoor. It’s a bit of a smallholding, I grow vegetables and
stuff.’
    ‘Bit of a
farmer?’
    ‘It’s an
eco-thing,’ said Ricky. ‘I use it as a bolt-hole when I’m working
on a book. Tracey can stay with me. I’m pretty sure I can look
after her wounds. It’s mainly just a matter of keeping them clean.’
He opened the front door.
    ‘No one else
knows about the cottage?’ asked Nightingale.
    ‘No one outside
the family.’
    ‘What about
Tracey’s parents? Can they go with you? I could do with the house
to myself for a day or two. If that’s okay with you?’
    ‘What are you
planning?’
    ‘I’m going to
try to get the Vatican off your back. So it would be best if you
take Tracey and her parents and hole up in Devon for a few days
until we see how it pans out. Okay?’
    Ricky nodded.
‘I guess so,’ he said.
     
    * * *
     
    Jenny drove
Nightingale to his flat in Bayswater. He went inside only to pick
up his car keys and then he collected his MGB and drove to Clapham.
He parked down a side street, turned up the collar of his raincoat
and lit a cigarette as he walked to Perry Smith’s house. He was
halfway through the cigarette when he reached Smith’s two-storey
terraced house. Standing in front of the black railings around the
steps that led down to the basement were two large black men and
Nightingale grinned as he recognised the larger of the two. ‘Bloody
hell, T-Bone, doesn’t Perry ever let you have a day off?’
    The man grinned
and opened his arms, inviting a hug. He was close to seven feet
tall and despite the fact it was almost midnight he had on
wraparound Oakley sunglasses. Like his companion he was wearing a
black Puffa jacket over a dark tracksuit and had gleaming white
Nikes on his feet. He hugged Nightingale hard and patted him on the
back with shovel-sized gloved hands. ‘The proverbial bad penny,’
said T-Bone. ‘Always turning up when you need something.’ He
released his grip on Nightingale and introduced him to his
companion. ‘Jack Nightingale, private dick,’ he said. He waggled
his little finger. ‘He doesn’t charge much because his dick isn’t
that big.’
    ‘How are ya
doing?’ said the man, nodding at Nightingale, his blank eyes
suggesting that he wasn’t expecting an answer to his question.
    ‘I need a
favour from Perry,’ said Nightingale, gesturing at the front door
with his chin.
    ‘Of course you
do, that’s the only time we ever see you. What do you need,
Birdman?’
    ‘Something from
your lock-up in Streatham.’
    T-Bone grinned
and shook his head sadly. ‘You treat us like bloody hardware store,
you know that?’
    ‘I don’t know
many people who have what you have,’ said Nightingale. He flicked
his cigarette butt into the gutter and it sparked as it hit the
tarmac. ‘Is he in?’
    ‘Yeah but he’s
busy. Busy in a way that we don’t want to go interrupting him, if
you get my drift.’
    ‘I can wait,’
said Nightingale.
    ‘No need,
Birdman,’ said T-Bone. ‘Perry says I can sort you out whenever you
need sorting out.’ He shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘He’s taken a
shine to you. Dunno why, but he has.’
    ‘That’s good to
hear,’ said Nightingale. There was a black Porsche SUV parked
across the road and he gestured at it. ‘Can you fix me up now?’
    ‘Where’s that
piece of shit Noddy car you drive?’
    ‘My classic
MGB? Parked up.’
    ‘I’m not a taxi
service, Birdman.’ He grinned. ‘But what the hell. You’re
practically family.’ He clapped him on the shoulder. ‘You’ve got
money, right, because Perry’s all out of freebies.’
    Nightingale
patted his pocket. ‘I’ve got money.’
    The two men
walked over to the SUV and climbed in. ‘Are you going to drive in
them?’ asked Nightingale, pointing at T-Bone’s