Lost Angel by Mandasue Heller Page A

worktops, and an oldish BMW was up on a ramp at the far side. But it was the car that was parked up in the middle of the garage floor that caught his attention. It was a black Sierra Cosworth, with low-profile tyres, and a great big fin on the back. If it hadn’t been for the deep scrapes gouged into both wings, the headlight hanging out of its socket at the front, the massive dent in the bumper, and both of the back light panels being smashed to pieces, it would have been his dream car.
    ‘How the fuck did you manage to do all this on one set of bollards?’ Frankie demanded, anger glinting in his eyes as he strolled around the car and looked it over in disbelief.
    ‘The coppers rammed us,’ the lad told him. ‘It weren’t my fault.’
    ‘Stop fucking saying that!’ Frankie roared, punching him in the side of the head. ‘Have you got any idea how much you’ve just cost me, you stupid twat? The buyer’s waiting, but I can’t send it over in this state.’
    ‘Me and Del can fix it up,’ the lad bleated. ‘We looked it over while we were waiting for you, and we reckon it won’t take that much to get it back up to spec.’
    ‘You mean apart from knocking out the dents, fixing brand new light units, and giving it a complete fucking respray?’ Frankie bellowed, grabbing him by the front of his jumper now and shaking him like a rag doll. ‘That’d cost more than I’m fucking getting for it, you knob. And you two work like a pair of fucking snails so, by the time you’ve finished the buyer would have gone somewhere else.’
    ‘It weren’t my fault,’ the lad protested. ‘It was the coppers. They proper wanted to stop us.’
    ‘How did they spot you in the first place? What did you do, set off the fucking alarm or something?’
    ‘No, the pickup went sweet, but the sneaky cunts were parked out of sight in a lay-by when we turned off the motorway on the way back, and they pulled out behind us.’
    ‘So you thought you’d be a dick and put your foot down, did you?’
    ‘No, I carried on like there was nothing wrong for ages. But then he shoved his blues on, so what was I supposed to do? It was either run or get nabbed. And at least we got it back here in . . .’
    The lad trailed off and swallowed loudly when Frankie bared his teeth and glared at him as if he was contemplating ripping his face off.
    ‘Get rid of it,’ Frankie growled, tossing him aside. ‘It’s fucking useless to me now you’ve been clocked in it.’ When the lad immediately darted around to the driver’s door, Frankie screwed up his face. ‘What you doing now?’
    ‘Getting rid – like you said.’
    Losing patience, Frankie kicked him in his back and sent him sprawling across the greasy floor.
    ‘Not in broad fucking daylight, you cretin! Wait till it gets dark, then dump it and torch it. And keep the fuck out of my way for the rest of the day, or I won’t be responsible. D’ya get me?’
    Johnny winced when Frankie aimed one last kick into the boy’s ribs. But Big Pat and the other lad looked on impassively, as if violence was par for the course if you screwed up around here.
    Frankie turned to Big Pat now and said, ‘Give them something to do,’ before jerking his head at Johnny and striding back outside.
    Johnny made a mental note to stay on Frankie’s good side as he followed him back out into the yard and around to the front. Frankie opened a door in the garage sidewall and flicked on a light.
    ‘This is where we keep all the cleaning shit,’ he explained, waving Johnny into the storeroom. ‘It’s a mess, so you can sort it out before you get started. Then I want all the motors washed – and use the proper shampoo, ’cos I don’t want you scratching the paintwork.’
    Johnny wondered how anyone would notice a new scratch on any of the cars when they were all covered in them already.
    ‘When you’ve finished washing the outsides, hoover them out and give them a polish,’ Frankie went on. ‘There’s a box