Wolf Tickets by Ray Banks Read Free Book Online

changed."
    "How the fuck would you know?" Cobb squinted, the cigarette pointing upwards. "Been years, man. You been off doing whatever in Galway, shacked up with that runaway bitch of yours and fuck Jimmy Cobb, leave him to fuckin' rot." He plucked the cigarette from his mouth, swigged from the bottle. A thin trickle of whisky ran down the side of his face. He wiped at it before he sucked on the Silk Cut again, speaking through his teeth. "You recall, marra, we never spoke again after I came round. You was all hitched up and happy. I might as well have been dead, man."
    "Don't be so bloody melodramatic, Jimmy."
    "Only reason you're here now is you need something from us."
    "No."
    "No?"
    "That's not true."
    "Howeh, then, tell us what you're here for."
    "Thought I'd come and see how you were getting on."
    "You what?" Cobb shook his head. "You can't even come up with a good lie, man." He sniffed. "I don't even fuckin' care, anyway. You wanted a gun, you got a gun. What now?"
    "Well, I think I know where she's going."
    "Where?"
    I lit a cigarette. Puffed a couple. Cobb was right; they did taste like shit. "She's after the two hundred grand."
    Cobb sucked some whisky from his bottom lip. "Thought you said it was twenty she took."
    "It was. But she's after the two hundred we collected in our squaddie days."
    "Huh," said Cobb, nodding. "Alright. Here's the thing, I thought I had a handle on our squaddie days, Sean, and for some reason I don't recall us having two hundred thousand pounds at any point. See, I wouldn't be robbing the spastics if I had that kind of change."
    "You don't."
    "I know I fuckin' don't."
    "And neither do I."
    Cobb opened his mouth, then closed it. Then he said, "Fuck are you blethering on about?"
    Smoke drifted into my eyes. I waved it away and blinked water. Flicked ash into an empty stubbie bottle. "I told Nora we had two hundred stashed away."
    "You never."
    "I did."
    "Why?"
    I blew out a long stream of smoke, held my hand out for the bottle. I took a belt of the Rotgut and it tasted even worse than I remembered – battery acid with a hint of wet dog. I coughed, handed the bottle back and leaned over to wipe my eyes. Smiled because I had to.
    "Well?" said Cobb.
    "Because I wanted to be big time, Jimmy. That's why I told her. Because I wanted her to think I was someone special."
    And Cobb burst out laughing.

     

COBB
     
    Oh, howeh, I fuckin' had to, didn't I? Tell you, that bird had him pure whipped if he was telling her stories like that. I never saw the attraction myself, but fair play to this Nora lass, there must've been something about her that made a grown man like Farrell act like a teenager trying to get his tops.
    "Man, you're a daft bastard, you are. Fuckin' special is right. You want to give your fuckin' head a shake, man."
    I took a big drink from the Rotgut. Looked back at Farrell and the gadgie looked about a hundred. Disgusting and pitiful. How the mighty had fallen.
    "You know what happened," I said.
    "I know," he said.
    "You lost the plot because you got your end away. That's bad form, man."
    "I know," he said again, this time with an edge in his voice like it was my fault he was a twat.
    "So howeh then, you going to tell us where this mother lode is?"
    Farrell looked up from the carpet. "Right where you shot me."
    "Your left shoulder?"
    "You know what I mean."
    "You're never going to let that lie, are you? It's not like I did it on purpose. Fuckin' bygones, man."
    I was a different bloke back then, into the powder and firearms in a big way. Amazing that the pair of us ever got away with the amount of jobs we did with me bristling like that all the fuckin' time, but there you go.
    This particular time was after the post office in Carlisle. We'd been tooled up for that one, carried a mean-looking handgun and a fresh sawn-off. Menacing stuff. One shot to the ceiling and the rest took care of itself. You'd be surprised how quick people can move with shite in their kecks.
    Course, we still