Read The Face (Harry Tyler Book 1) for Free Online Page A

girth.
    “Well, you’re certainly not Johnny Two,” she laughed.
    “It’s short for Two-hander,” Johnny said, slipping his right hand gently up the inside of her leg to rub her through her panties. They were already moist. He pulled her down and they fucked there and then on the floor.
     
     
    It was inevitable that Detective Sergeant Gary Shaw would get to hear about the latest goings on in the Ned Kelly. Shaw was ex-Regional Crime Squad and even in this God-forsaken manor he had the odd informant who needed the occasional leg-up at court or wanted a few quid to invest at Catford Dogs. One of Shaw’s oldest recruits was Tony O’Shea, elder brother of David and Shirley. Tony was in his early forties and regarded himself as an ex-crook. His car-ringing days were behind him. All he got involved in now was buying and selling a bit of nicked gear, just to make life indoors a little easier. O’Shea had had a nice little earner in his day. Fords were his speciality. He could reduce a brand new stolen Granada to spares in under four hours. Even the smallest parts were then re-boxed and sold through his own spares shop at the front of O’Shea’s Breakers Yard. That was the little racket that first attracted Gary Shaw’s attention. Still, nothing lasts forever.
    Twenty-three hours after David O’Shea was out of intensive care, Tony sat opposite Shaw in the upper bar of the Tipperary pub, just a wig’s throw from Lincoln’s Inn. Shaw liked “The top of the Tip” for its privacy, but O’Shea was nervous. Villains get everywhere and what he was about to do broke every code that had never been written. O’Shea had never had a problem grassing kids who were nicking cars for him to Shaw, or letting slip where all the stolen car tax discs were being housed when the Ford operation hit the wall. He even showed Shaw how to lift a post office franking stamp off a nominal value postal order with wax paper and drop it back on the stolen disc. But this … this was proper grassing. This was wrong. But then again it was personal.
    “So get David to give evidence against Joey,” Shaw was saying. “He’s bang to rights on GBH and attempted murder by the sound of it.”
    “Yeah, but Joey can plead self-defence and Davey’s gonna take a nick for starting it.”
    “But Joey did your sister.”
    “David won’t do it. He’d be signing a death warrant for the whole fucking family if he did.”
    “So how do we tee Baker up?”
    “Not your way, Mr Shaw. David’s been told to wipe his mouth when he gets out of hospital. Being honest, I don’t think the Bakers will let this go till they’ve wiped him out. I’ve had the visit. I’ve had the promises that it’s finished. But you know it’s bollocks and so do I. David’s a dead man walking, if he ever walks again. Joey won’t let it go. He can’t. No one does what me brother did and goes back on the manor. But what do I do? I’ve got a missus, kids. What can I do, Mr Shaw? David’s fucked the fucking lot of us.”
    “So set the Bakers up.”
    “Yeah and then the CPS can tell everyone at the trial who put the bit of work up, or they’ll end up dropping the charges. Look, I know what’s going on. I can’t help that way – it’s the same result.”
    “Can we hit the pub?”
    “It’s the only way,” O’Shea said with certainty. “Every Monday afternoon, every Thursday and Friday … you know what it’s like. Why don’t the uniform just raid it? There’s always half a ton of poxy white powder everywhere, there’s always parcels of nicked gear, half the people in there are on the wanted or they’re proper tooled up.”
    “When’s the best night?”
    “It heaves on Fridays.”
    “Who’s serving the gear?”
    “The Taylor boys and Greg Saunders. They all hang around by the bog near the bar. There’s that other little prick, what’s ’is name? I dunno, but the main ones are Paul and Danny Taylor and Saunders. Saunders keeps it in a bag down his pants,