Sim card.’ Milford smiled, and his pals backed up with sly grins.
As the shoe dropped, Tommy stood up and checked his cell-phone: it didn't work. Its Sim card has gone.
‘You puta's ass-wipe!’
Milford ’s smile as quickly disappeared. He moved in, yanked Tommy up by his T-shirt.
‘Enough with the barrio jibe. Just splash the fuckin' cash.’
Ryan saw red. Maybe Milford ’s constant picking on Tommy, maybe the strain of the past days at Blind School – he suddenly snapped. He jumped up and pushed Milford off Tommy.
‘Leave him alone, shit-brain! Go find some other mug to sting.’
Milford quickly recovered, leapt back and punched out – hit Ryan below one eye, sending his sunglasses flying.
Ryan lunged back, caught Milford a glancing blow on the chin. And as they grappled and Milford 's pals moved in, a teacher forty yards away caught sight of them.
‘ Hey – you two!’ he shouted their way. ‘Break it up!’
Milford stepped back; reluctantly. Ryan picked up his sunglasses.
‘What's with the dark glasses?’ Milford asked, and Ryan gave him a cramped smile.
‘I read in 'Maxim' that girls thought guys in dark glasses were 'cool'. They got lucky more.’
Milford took in Ryan's spiky hair for the first time.
‘Not looking like that you won't.’ Shaking his head, Milford moved off, Stevie and Jed in tow. ‘Catch ya later, ton-ton.’
‘Four-eighty-... five hundred.’ The car-breaker counted the last twenty dollars into Frank Lyle’s hand. ‘We all square?’
‘Yeah. Reckon we are.’
The breaker nodded to his operator by the crusher, and its sides started to press in on Lyle’s black van.
Lyle stayed and watched until it was a mangled, unrecognizable mess. He’d taken two hundred light on the deal to have no registration listed, so the last thing he wanted was any of it left intact and parts sold which could then be traced.
He jumped on a city bus a half mile from the breakers yard and within forty minutes was appraising a similar van with tinted windows in a car lot, this time in grey.
The black van with tinted windows drifted steadily through the city streets.
An FBI agent was at the wheel while another in the back of the van viewed a bank of monitors, one of which showed Alex Culverton's black limousine three cars ahead.
As they watched the limousine screech off from the next set of lights and pick up speed, the driver remarked:
‘Looks like he's in a hurry to get somewhere.’
In turn his voice and the van monitors fed through to a central FBI control room, where an operator with the same view responded:
‘ Stay with him. Could be a key meeting.’
‘Okay. Read you.’
But then they watched the limo ahead suddenly put on another spurt.
The agent floored it, swung out from a slowed car in front, swerved to miss another – he sped through the next lights just after they turned red.
‘Oh... shiiiit!’
The other side, the limo swung sharply into the next turn, and he followed – weaving and zipping through traffic now.
He saw Culverton’s driver glance in his rear-view mirror just before he swung sharply into the next turn.
Touching sixty, his heart was in his mouth as he saw the lights just ahead of Culverton turning red. Point of no return – he knew he’d lose them if he braked.
They flashed by one car crossing, horns blaring from all around – but the approaching truck was another matter.
Its driver saw them, eyes wide in alarm as he braked and fought to swerve – but too late.
The truck hit them broadside with a bang, and suddenly they were spinning, monitors crashing down, a blizzard of glass swirling past them before settling.
In the FBI central operations room, the sound of the crash had reached them, but the monitor screens were now dead.
‘You okay... you okay ?’ the operator asked.
The driver and the agent in the back slowly stirred. Bloodied but still alive. The monitoring agent’s headset had come off, was now on the floor two
As the shoe dropped, Tommy stood up and checked his cell-phone: it didn't work. Its Sim card has gone.
‘You puta's ass-wipe!’
Milford ’s smile as quickly disappeared. He moved in, yanked Tommy up by his T-shirt.
‘Enough with the barrio jibe. Just splash the fuckin' cash.’
Ryan saw red. Maybe Milford ’s constant picking on Tommy, maybe the strain of the past days at Blind School – he suddenly snapped. He jumped up and pushed Milford off Tommy.
‘Leave him alone, shit-brain! Go find some other mug to sting.’
Milford quickly recovered, leapt back and punched out – hit Ryan below one eye, sending his sunglasses flying.
Ryan lunged back, caught Milford a glancing blow on the chin. And as they grappled and Milford 's pals moved in, a teacher forty yards away caught sight of them.
‘ Hey – you two!’ he shouted their way. ‘Break it up!’
Milford stepped back; reluctantly. Ryan picked up his sunglasses.
‘What's with the dark glasses?’ Milford asked, and Ryan gave him a cramped smile.
‘I read in 'Maxim' that girls thought guys in dark glasses were 'cool'. They got lucky more.’
Milford took in Ryan's spiky hair for the first time.
‘Not looking like that you won't.’ Shaking his head, Milford moved off, Stevie and Jed in tow. ‘Catch ya later, ton-ton.’
‘Four-eighty-... five hundred.’ The car-breaker counted the last twenty dollars into Frank Lyle’s hand. ‘We all square?’
‘Yeah. Reckon we are.’
The breaker nodded to his operator by the crusher, and its sides started to press in on Lyle’s black van.
Lyle stayed and watched until it was a mangled, unrecognizable mess. He’d taken two hundred light on the deal to have no registration listed, so the last thing he wanted was any of it left intact and parts sold which could then be traced.
He jumped on a city bus a half mile from the breakers yard and within forty minutes was appraising a similar van with tinted windows in a car lot, this time in grey.
The black van with tinted windows drifted steadily through the city streets.
An FBI agent was at the wheel while another in the back of the van viewed a bank of monitors, one of which showed Alex Culverton's black limousine three cars ahead.
As they watched the limousine screech off from the next set of lights and pick up speed, the driver remarked:
‘Looks like he's in a hurry to get somewhere.’
In turn his voice and the van monitors fed through to a central FBI control room, where an operator with the same view responded:
‘ Stay with him. Could be a key meeting.’
‘Okay. Read you.’
But then they watched the limo ahead suddenly put on another spurt.
The agent floored it, swung out from a slowed car in front, swerved to miss another – he sped through the next lights just after they turned red.
‘Oh... shiiiit!’
The other side, the limo swung sharply into the next turn, and he followed – weaving and zipping through traffic now.
He saw Culverton’s driver glance in his rear-view mirror just before he swung sharply into the next turn.
Touching sixty, his heart was in his mouth as he saw the lights just ahead of Culverton turning red. Point of no return – he knew he’d lose them if he braked.
They flashed by one car crossing, horns blaring from all around – but the approaching truck was another matter.
Its driver saw them, eyes wide in alarm as he braked and fought to swerve – but too late.
The truck hit them broadside with a bang, and suddenly they were spinning, monitors crashing down, a blizzard of glass swirling past them before settling.
In the FBI central operations room, the sound of the crash had reached them, but the monitor screens were now dead.
‘You okay... you okay ?’ the operator asked.
The driver and the agent in the back slowly stirred. Bloodied but still alive. The monitoring agent’s headset had come off, was now on the floor two
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