Read Long Way Down (A Gus Dury crime thriller) for Free Online

help but notice the hefty holdall in his other hand had
a suspicious shape.
    I dropped my voice. 'Look, I have that under control.'
    'Are you out your fucking tree, Dury? ... You want to
drop this, now. Didn't you hear me? Danny's up on bricks at the Royal and your
time's running out.'
    I kept my gaze on the big biffer, as he walked to the
back of the property and looked up to the back windows. When he headed back the
door opened again and Weasel's skanky arse scurried out into view. They seemed
to have some business to do but Weasel wanted it kept away from his door.
    'Yeah, look, thanks for the tip, mate,' I told Mac. 'But
I have this under control.'
    He loaded in the panic. 'Where are you, Gus?'
    There was no avoiding the concern in his voice, he'd had
a change of heart, this whole situation had suddenly got serious enough for Mac
the Knife to get involved.
    'No dice, Mac.'
    I clicked off. And started out for the other side of the
street.
    * * * *
    The dogs were back at the split rubbish sacks,
fighting over what looked like the remains of a chicken chow mein. The tinfoil
container was being torn between their chops, spilling milky yellow fluid laced
with rancid rice over the street. I made my way round them quietly and quickly
and slipped on to the pathway leading round Weasel's home.
    The building was small, inconsequential. It could have
been any one of a million Scottish maisonettes like it. The only distinguishing
feature was the crumbling rough-casting that exposed the brick beneath. The
pebbles from the wall crunched beneath my Docs as I paced towards the backyard.
    The pug had the bag open, Weasel staring in.
    'Aye, sound,' he said.
    'Course it's sound.' The pug was a wido off the schemes,
rough and likely useful, I didn't rate my chances.
    Weasel stuffed a hand into the back pocket of his
trackies and produced a bundle of notes. He charged his coat hanger shoulders
as he stepped back and waved for the pug to count it.
    'No need to count it, son ... You're not that daft, eh!'
    The pug grabbed Weasel's jaw in his hand and shook. The
little streak of piss stood there like a schoolboy being stood over for his
dinner money and took the effrontery like it was due to him.
    'Cool. Cool,' he said.
    The transaction seemed to have concluded, I watched the
pair head back for the front of the house and ducked behind a decrepit shed; if
it lasted another couple of minutes without blowing away I was in luck.
    'Right, well, you know where to come if you need any
more,' said the big biffer.
    'Aye, no worries.'
    Weasel followed him halfway up the path then waved him
off and returned to his front door with the heavy holdall weighing him down on
one side. The fuckwit still managed to put on a swagger, for the benefit of
no-one but himself, as he yawed back down the path. He was grinning, a wide
toothless rictus as he took the keys from his trackies and started to scrape
the edges of the Yale lock. I let him get the key in the door before I made my
move.
    One thing about the Docs, the air-cushioned soles can
come in handy. Save a few fallen rough-casting pebbles getting crushed
underfoot I was stealthy.
    The rabbit-punch to the back of Weasel's napper wrapped
his head off the front door so hard that the frame bounced off the facing wall
and swung back with renewed force.
    I winced, shook out the sting of knuckle on skull. My
reactions were quick enough to push Weasel's limp jelly-body through the door
and reach for the holdall all at once.
    He groaned, rolled over on to his back.
    'Weasel!' I heard Barry's voice from the top of the
stairs, then his heavy footfalls as he descended towards me.
    If he'd been tooled up, I'd have likely got my head
blown off when I stuck it over the threshold. As it happened the Mossberg-pump
I'd taken from the holdall was the only shooter at the party.
    'Hello, Barry my old son,' I said.
    * * * *
    My old mate stood staring at me with a look of
quiet disbelief that threatened to dip into incredulity.
    'Gus