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

shades.
    ‘You
criticising my eye-wear, Birdman?’
    ‘I’m just
surprised that you can see anything at night.’
    ‘I can see just
fine. I wear them all the time.’
    ‘Even during
sex?’
    T-Bone laughed.
‘Especially during sex,’ he said. It was short drive to the
Streatham lock-up, in a row of six, tucked away in an alley between
two rows of houses. It was brick-built with a metal door and a
corrugated iron roof. T-Bone switched off the engine. ‘What do you
need?’ he asked.
    ‘You know what
I need,’ said Nightingale. ‘A gun.’
    ‘Calibre?
Revolver or automatic? Silenced or not? Birdman, you’re like a guy
walking into Carphone Warehouse and saying he wants a phone.’
    ‘Something
threatening.’
    T-Bone grinned.
‘Threatening?’
    ‘I want someone
to know that I mean business.’
    ‘Does it have
to be concealed?’
    ‘Not really,’
said Nightingale. ‘I plan to be indoors.’
    ‘I think I’ve
got just what you need,’ he said. He took a Magnalite torch from
the glove box, climbed out of the SUV and unlocked the door to the
lock-up and pushed it up. He switched on the torch and motioned for
Nightingale to follow him inside. There were a dozen or so wooden
boxes on the concrete floor, and two rusting metal filing cabinets.
‘Shut the door,’ said T-Bone. ‘We don’t want anyone walking by and
eyeballing us.’
    Nightingale did
as he was told. T-Bone tucked the torch under his arm then opened
one of the wooden crates, pushed aside the Styrofoam packing and
pulled out a bubble-wrapped package. He unwrapped it and handed it
to Nightingale. ‘That’s as threatening as they come,’ he said,
shining the torch at the weapon.
    It took
Nightingale several seconds to realise what it was – a sawn-off
shotgun. He grinned. ‘Perfect,’ he said, picking it up.
‘Cartridges?’
    ‘How many do
you need? A box?’
    ‘I won’t be
going duck-shooting, T-Bone. Just a half dozen.’ He checked the
action. It was a 12-bore with the twin barrels side by side. That
meant it only held two cartridges but two would be more than
enough. ‘So how much?’
    ‘Shall we say a
monkey?’
    ‘Five hundred
quid for a sawn-off. How about we say a marmoset?’
    T-Bone frowned.
‘What’s a marmoset?’
    ‘It’s a very
small monkey. About a quarter the size of a regular monkey. So I’m
thinking a hundred and twenty-five, a hundred and fifty at
most.’
    T-Bone laughed
and held out his hand for the weapon. ‘If you don’t want it,
Bird-man, just say so.’
    ‘I want it,
T-Bone, but I want to pay a fair price. I’m not getting expenses on
this job, it’s pro-bono.’
    ‘Pro-bone? What
the hell’s pro-bone.’
    ‘Pro-bono. A
freebie. For the public good.’
    ‘Yeah, well I
ain’t in the mood for freebies. Let’s call it two-fifty.’
    ‘Including the
cartridges?’
    ‘Go on then,’
said T-Bone. ‘But next time you should go to Aldi or Lidl. I hear
they’re real cheap.’
    ‘You’re a star,
T-Bone. A prince among men. Now have you got a holdall or something
I can use to keep this away from prying eyes?’
     
    * * *
     
    Nightingale let
himself into Ricky Hamilton’s house. He locked the front door and
slid a bolt across. The lights were all off and he left them that
way, his eyes were already used to the darkness. He took out his
mobile phone and called the number on Jonah Connolly’s card. When
the priest answered he sounded groggy. ‘Did I wake you up?’ asked
Nightingale.
    ‘What time is
it?’
    ‘About two.
Sorry about the late hour but I’ve seen Tracey and yes, the
stigmata’s real. So’s the whole cancer story. The neighbour, the
boy, is fine and dandy. His cancer has completely gone.’
    ‘That’s good to
hear, thanks. Where is she, the girl?’
    ‘Staying with
her uncle in Bromley. South London.’
    ‘Can you email
me a report?’
    ‘Will do, as
soon as I’m on the office. The reason I was calling so late is that
they won’t be in London after tonight.’
    ‘What do