Soft Target

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Book: Read Soft Target for Free Online
Authors: Stephen Leather
Shepherd.
    'Larry said I should call you.'
    'He told me I might be able to help you,' said Shepherd.
    'What do you want?'
    'I think you know,' she said.
    'I hope you're not a time-waster.'
    'It's just difficult. On the phone.'
    'Do you want to meet?'
    Liam stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at Shepherd.
    'Dad!' he shouted.
    Shepherd pointed at him, then pressed a finger to his own lips, telling him to be quiet.
    'I think so,' she said.
    'You're Angie, right?'
    She caught her breath. 'Larry told you my name?'
    'Just that you were Angie, that's all. Look, Angie, you called me so that means you've already put a lot of thought into this. If we're going to go through with it there are things to discuss and that's best done face to face.'
    'I'm not stupid,' said the woman.
    'I'm not saying you are,' said Shepherd, 'but this is outside your normal experience so you're anxious. I understand that.
    But I can't afford to have my time wasted so you have to decide if you want to move forward or forget the whole thing.
    And to move forward, we have to meet.'
    'Okay,' she said.
    'So, do you need my help or not?'
    'Yes,' she said. 'Yes, I do.'
    'I hate you!' Liam shouted. He turned and ran across the playing-field in the direction of Tom and Moira's house.
    'Where are you?' asked Angie, suddenly suspicious.
    'In a park. There are kids here but no one's listening.'
    'Who was that shouting?'
    'Just a kid. Where do you live?'
    She didn't reply.
    'Are you there?' asked Shepherd, wondering if he'd lost the connection. Liam left the playing-field and ran along the pavement, arms pumping furiously. Shepherd wanted to run after him but he knew that if he spooked Angie there was a good chance she wouldn't call back. It was like reeling in a fish: he had to keep just the right amount of tension on the line. Any hint that there was a problem and he'd lose her.
    He forced himself to ignore Liam and concentrate on the voice at the end of the line.
    'I'm here. I just don't like you knowing too much about me.'
    'If I don't know where you are, I'm not going to be able to help you, am I?'
    'I guess not.'
    'So tell me where you are and we'll arrange a meeting.'
    He heard her take a deep breath. 'You know Piccadilly Gardens?'
    'Of course.' It was the square in the city centre, terminus for the city's tram system.
    'We'll meet there. This evening. Five o'clock.'
    'It's too crowded,' he said. 'Too many people.' He looked at his watch. It was eleven thirty. Plenty of time to drive back to Manchester.
    'I want there to be people around,' she said. 'Safety in numbers.'
    'Look, Angie, this is my field of expertise. We need a place where we can talk. Piccadilly Gardens will be mobbed.'
    'That's why it'll be safe. No one will pay us any attention.'
    Shepherd cursed under his breath. He wanted her in his car so that he could record their conversation. If they were in a square filled with trams, daytrippers and shoppers, he'd have to wear a wire, and personal wires were unreliable at the best of times. But if he pressed the point too far she'd get suspicious.
    'It's my way or we forget the whole thing,' she said, more confidence in her voice.
    'Okay,' said Shepherd. 'Piccadilly Gardens, five o'clock.
    How will I recognise you?'
    'You won't,' she said. 'I want to take a good look at you first.'
    'What are you worried about, Angie? Didn't your friend vouch for me?'
    'Larry thinks the sun shines out of your arse, but I want to see who I'm dealing with.'
    'Fine,' said Shepherd. 'I'll be wearing a black leather jacket,
    grey pullover, black jeans, and carrying a copy of the Financial Times'
    'This is like a blind date, isn't it?'
    'Not really,' said Shepherd, coldly. He had to stay in character and Tony Nelson didn't flirt, didn't joke, didn't make small-talk. He was a stone-cold professional killer. 'I'll be by the fountain at five on the dot. If you haven't contacted me by ten past, I'm out of there.'
    'I understand, Mr Nelson. And, believe me, I'm not wasting your

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