Read Romeo's Tune (1990) for Free Online

just stayed put on the cold floor amongst all the filth and bided my time. Algy hit a light switch by the door and the firing range was illuminated by a bank of fluorescent lights in the ceiling. I squinted up through the brightness and clocked McBain properly for the first time.
    He was shorter than Algy, but that didn’t make him small. As I got to know Algy better I soon realised that everyone looked small compared with him. McBain was about six foot I guessed, but he wore the highest-heeled cowboy boots I’d ever seen. Maybe being with Algy every day demanded that you had to use any means possible to at least stand as high as his shoulder. The boots were black, made of hand-tooled leather with scarlet inserts. Very snazzy. With the boots McBain wore black stovepipe leather trousers and a baggy black shirt with silver buttons that he’d left untucked so that the tails hung down to the tops of his thighs. I’d have put his age at forty, but with that well-preserved look that lots of money brings. His hair was black with just a few tips of grey, and it was long, three or four inches past his shirt collar at the back, but shorter at the sides so that I could see his ears. Sort of new-age hippy. He had a strong face, but his eyes were just a little vague, like he was somewhere else or sometime else and I thought I could guess why. That look and firearms didn’t go well together. I knew, I’d seen that look on my own face enough times.
    ‘So you’re the debt collector,’ said McBain.
    ‘Amongst other things,’ I replied
    ‘No hard feelings I hope.’
    ‘Not at all.’
    He transferred the Colt to his left hand and hung the ear protectors over his wrist. Then he walked up to me and proferred his right hand to give me a pull up. Bad idea. He’d had the protection of Algy for too long and lost any street smarts he might once have had. I took his right wrist in my left hand and his right hand in mine, and let him pull me up. Over his shoulder I saw and heard Algy begin to protest but it was too late. I let McBain take my weight, got my good foot under me, let go of his hand with my right hand, pulled him off balance with my left and took the Colt out of his left hand with my right like taking sweeties off a baby. I reversed the gun in my fist, all the time keeping McBain’s body close to mine and stuck the barrel of the automatic up into his throat.
    ‘Big man: on the floor, face down, arms extended. Now,’ I ordered. Algy gave me a disgusted look but complied. ‘You, McBain, back against the wall, arms raised. Now,’ I ordered again. McBain did as he was told but protested.
    ‘No need to get excited. We were only having a laugh.’
    ‘Haven’t laughed so much for a long time,’ I said. ‘In fact I can hardly stop.’
    I hefted the pistol in my hand. I had to stop all this nonsense once and for all, and I thought I had a solution – after all, I was only after a few lousy quid, I wasn’t interested in anybody getting killed. I walked across to the range and squinted down to the end. There was a target set up.
    ‘Give me the ear muffs,’ I said to McBain. He tossed them over to me and I caught them left-handed and pulled them over my head.
    I walked up to the bench, humming a happy tune. ‘You two stay where you are,’ I said. I released the clip and checked the load. 9mm, one fired, one in the pipe, seven in the clip. I smiled down at Algy. ‘Trust me,’ I said, dropped into combat position and fired eight shots at the roundel at the far end of the range as fast as I could pull the trigger. The kick from the pistol sent a satisfying tingle through the muscles of my forearm and the reports must have been deafening without ear protectors. The spent cartridges danced across the concrete floor catching the light as they flew. After the eighth shot I placed the automatic on the bench in front of me, pulled off the muffs and laid them beside it. I looked for the button that would retrieve the target, pressed