Meltdown by Andy McNab Page B

pairs of trousers and some shirts, and
even a pair of regular shoes.
    The shoes were pinching his feet and he was
hoping that Storm wouldn't ask him to dance. His
dancing was terrible at the best of times, but in these
shoes he'd look like a total idiot.
    Fortunately Storm was avoiding the seething
mass of bodies on the dance floor and was heading
for the bar, where the music level was slightly less
eardrum-bursting.
    A barman appeared the moment Storm flashed
her stunning smile. 'Large vodka tonic, please!' She
turned to Danny. 'What about you?'
    It was another problem. Danny hadn't realized
that a simple evening out could be so complicated.
He didn't drink. Not because he had any objection
to it; he just didn't like the taste. He'd tried beer a
few times and thought it was revolting; he'd never
bothered with anything stronger. But he couldn't
tell Storm that – he'd feel a right dickhead.
    'Come on, Danny,' said Storm. 'We're not the only
customers.'
    'Er . . . er . . . I'll have a Beck's.'
    Storm paid for the drinks, caught Danny's eye
and nodded towards the VIP section. It was less
crowded and they'd be able to sit down and talk –
which, Danny reminded himself, was what he was
there for.
    He noticed the envious glances he received from
other guys as they squeezed through and headed
for the blue velvet rope which barred the way to
everyone but the so-called VIPs. Storm might not be
his girlfriend, but the guys watching them didn't
know that. It made him feel good and he smiled as
a big bouncer detached the rope and held it back so
that they could walk through.
    But not all the looks cast in Danny's direction
were envious; one was filled with hatred, scorching
into him like a laser.
    It was Albie. And Albie wasn't having a good
night. His Meltdown-addled mind was in turmoil
as his eyes flicked from Danny to Storm. The slag!
She wouldn't come to a club with him but now she
was here with that poncy wimp!
    Albie turned away from any watching eyes and
opened one clenched hand: two brilliant white Ms
glowed under the black light.
    The red Mini Cooper was travelling at a steady pace
away from Manchester city centre.
    Fergus had told Phil to follow the angry young
man with the flaming red hair when he left the
twins, and to get an IR marker on his vehicle – if he
had a vehicle.
    Well, Carrot-top had a vehicle right enough; it
was a deeper shade of red than his hair.
    The exchange between Carrot-top and the twins
had been pretty short and not too sweet. He'd said
what he had to say listened to what Phil guessed
were some reassuring words from the twins, and
then got up and left. Phil had followed, hoping that
he'd get lucky and his target had a vehicle parked
nearby. If he didn't, it might well be all over before
it began.
    Phil's Vectra was parked close to the hotel. He
followed his target up into reception and through
the glass double doors at the front. Directly
across the street was a parking bay where three
taxis stood waiting for fares. If Carrot-top took the
first, Phil would have no option but to jump into
the one behind and do the old 'follow that car'
routine.
    That wouldn't be good. The roads were relatively
quiet at this time of night, and even if Carrot-top
didn't clock that he was being followed, his cab
driver probably would. If he mentioned it to his
passenger, then Phil's game would almost certainly
be up.
    But Carrot-top ignored the taxis and turned left,
pulling a key fob from his pocket as he strode away.
It was a good sign; his car was most likely very close
by, unless he just enjoyed walking around with a
bunch of keys in his hand.
    He was obviously still too angry to even consider
the possibility that someone might be following
him. Phil smiled as his target took the first left, Gore
Street, which was where the nearest parking meters
were located. And exactly where Phil's Vectra was
parked.
    As Phil made the turn, he saw the lights flash on
a red Mini as his target pointed the key fob at the
vehicle. It