The Glass Kingdom by Chris Flynn Read Free Book Online Page A

for if not telling the car in front that you’d like a little chat? There was nobody else around. I edged forward until the ute touched the rear bumper of the Datsun. The driver floored it, pulling away from us again.
    â€˜Hey, don’t damage the goods. I want that back in one piece.’ Steph whacked me on the arm but I could tell she was enjoying this.
    â€˜Don’t sweat it. We’ll find you that Mustang you’re after.’
    â€˜Very generous. What if he’s not got the money with him and you need to find out where it is?’
    I laughed and pressed on the accelerator. ‘I’ll interrogate him before I pull him out of the wreck.’
    â€˜And what if he doesn’t survive?’
    â€˜Boo fucken hoo.’
    He was never going to outrun me and I knew he would have little option but to pull over. All I had to do was give him a little encouragement, and if he didn’t want to comply, well, that was fine by me. If he wanted to end his days mangled in a pile of burning, twisted metal, that was his choice, though I wouldn’t recommend it as a way to go.
    I gave him another nudge, a bit harder this time. The Datsun slewed across the lane but he managed to keep it on the road. There was nothing coming in the opposite direction, so I moved out beside him and allowed the steering to drag slowly to the left. He tried braking to get behind me but I anticipated that and slowed accordingly. With the trailer hitched, my vehicle was much longer than his and he was soon hemmed in. He drifted onto the hard shoulder and gave up, skidding down into an empty field and coming to a juddering halt in a cloud of dust.
    I pulled over onto the verge and switched off the ignition. This was not dissimilar to how we used to force suspect vehicles off the road in the service. It usually ended badly, for them more often than us. My old reflexes kicked in and I was out of the cab and running through the grass to confront him before he had a chance to gather himself. To her credit, Steph wasn’t far behind me as I yanked the Datsun’s door open and reached inside to snatch a handful of the driver’s T-shirt.
    It wasn’t Mikey. This guy was older, in his late thirties maybe. He had a ruddy country-boy face and was balding at the crown. The skin on his cheeks was pockmarked with old acne scars. He wasn’t the town heart-throb, that was for sure. The striped polo shirt he was wearing had seen better days and his jeans had grease and food stains in the crotch. I dragged him out of the driver’s seat and shoved him up against the side of the car. He struggled a bit but I could tell straightaway he was shitting himself.
    â€˜What? What?’ he shouted, his voice trembling. ‘What’d I do?’
    I released his shirt, took a single step back and levelled a finger at his quivering jowls. ‘Where is he?’
    â€˜Who? Who you after? Fucking hell, mate, take it easy.’
    â€˜The guy you got this car from.’ I slammed my palm on the Datsun’s roof next to his head, for effect. My anger was subsiding already. ‘And don’t tell me to take it easy. Now where is he? Answer carefully.’
    The stranger blinked several times, shook his head and stammered, ‘Nowra. He’s in Nowra.’
    â€˜Friend of yours, is he?’
    â€˜Not really. He used to work out on my uncle’s place. Why, what’s he done?’
    â€˜Never you mind.’
    Steph stepped forward, arms folded across her chest. ‘Skinny little shit, yeah? Into hip-hop?’
    The stranger snorted and relaxed a little. ‘Uh, I don’t think we’re talking about the same person.’ He exhaled and rolled his eyes. ‘That’s a relief. I thought…’
    I wagged my finger menacingly in his face. ‘Tell me exactly who gave you this car.’
    The man winced. ‘Old Bill Sherman—where else would I buy a car round here?’
    â€˜Uh huh. Keep