Read THE FIX: SAS hero turns Manchester hitman (A Rick Fuller Thriller Book 1) for Free Online Page A

it.
    We’ve all witnessed it, now we have the mobile phone revolution; we get to see many more people receive bad news than we used to. Not only that, but we are often forced to hear personal conversations that are of no interest. Joel fitted both scenarios perfectly. His face quickly became a picture of seriousness. He screamed at the messenger, “You have to be fucking joking!” He quickly remembered his position, placed his hand over the mouthpiece and spat, “You two go back to the house. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
    We dutifully obeyed and I walked behind Susan, who remained impassive at Joel’s barked command. We reached the massive patio where we were surrounded by the immobile green zoo. I sat on a huge cast-iron painted chair and took a sip of my beer. Susan seemed preoccupied with trying to overhear Joel’s telephone call.
    I could hear him shouting from where I sat, so it wasn’t hard. It seemed something had gone seriously wrong with a boat purchase.
    I checked my watch. I had things to do, places to go, and people to see, but I could cope with five minutes of small talk with someone as beautiful as Susan Davies.
    “Did you design the garden?”
    She broke off from eavesdropping for a moment and smiled knowingly.
    “Unusual, isn’t it?”
    “Not to my taste, I have to say.”
    “Joel loves it, that’s all that matters.”
    “Are you always so diplomatic?”
    She folded herself in the next chair to me and crossed her legs. She looked at me intently, seemingly far more relaxed when not being fondled by Joel. She changed the subject.
    “So how long have you worked for my husband?”
    “I’m freelance,” I corrected.
    She leaned forward and I could smell her perfume.
    “I see. It’s strange we haven’t met before. I deal with many of his overseas affairs. Does he pay you well …erm…?” She fished for my name.
    “Colletti, Stephen Colletti, and yes, I suppose he does.”
    She seemed to mull over the information I had given her. “Are you of Italian descent, Mr Colletti?”
    I balanced my half empty bottle of lager on the matching cast-iron table, which was the size of a small country.
    “You ask a lot of questions, Mrs Davies. I find, in my line of work, anonymity is the best policy. And, if you’ll excuse me, now I must be going.”
    Susan stood. “Of course, you must be a very busy man. Joel speaks very highly of your skills.”
    I nodded, but thought it a lie. Joel was as secretive as I.
    “Thanks for the beer. Please tell Joel I have a pressing engagement.”
    Susan collected my discarded bottle.
    “Have a nice day, Mr Colletti.”
    “I will. Take care of the Mustang, Mrs Davies.”
    As I walked down Joel’s pale pink gravel drive I mused over what I’d seen of Susan Davies, and if I’d known why she was so keen to collect my empties, I could have saved a lot of people a great deal of grief.
     
    Not many men are keen on shopping with anyone else. That does not mean that men don’t enjoy some retail therapy just like our female counterparts. Partners, wives and girlfriends tend to slow down the process, that’s all. I feared my obsessive behaviour was slowly isolating me from normal society, although I didn’t feel sufficiently in control to stop the process. Although I had become somewhat reclusive, shopping remained one of life’s normal pleasures that remained. These days, my idea of a good time is shopping alone, and with someone else’s money.
    There I was driving along the road with fifteen grand in used twenties and Susan’s perfume still in my nostrils.
    I hadn’t had any sort of serious relationship with a woman for over ten years. Past events had seen to that. Susan Davies didn’t make me want to rush into another one either. Beautiful as she was, I got the impression she was a cold fish.
    There was also a nagging doubt about her that I couldn’t quite fathom.
    I put it to the back of my mind. Nothing was going to spoil my fun today.
    I was really going