A Fistful of Knuckles Read Online Free PDF Page B

his dad before him. It’s in my blood. It’s my life.’
    ‘You should’ve been born a bloke,’ said Gene.
    ‘So should you, Detective Chief Inspector whatever you said your name was.’
    ‘The name’s Hunt. Gene Hunt.’
    ‘And I’m Detective Inspector Sam Ty-’
    Gene silenced him with a curt wave of the hand, like Sam was cramping his style on a date. Which perhaps, in a way, he was. Gene’s eyes were fixed directly on Stella’s – and hers were now fixed on his. They were locked onto each other, oblivious to the rest of the world, like lovers. Sam fell silent and gave the two of them their space; it seemed wrong to intrude.
    ‘Denzil Obi’s got himself killed,’ Gene growled. ‘You know who I’m talking about.’
    ‘Of course I do. Denzil was one of my boys. I’m sorry to hear he’s come a cropper. Still, it happens.’
    ‘Does it?’
    ‘In this game, aye, it does. Boxing’s a tough world.’
    ‘What do you know about Denzil?’
    ‘This and that. Depends who’s asking.’
    ‘The Law, that’s who’s asking, now answer the bloody question.’
    ‘That’s no way to address a lady in her office.’
    ‘And that’s no way to treat a police officer on a murder enquiry,’ Gene said. ‘You’re starting to sound to me like somebody who knows more than they’re letting on.’
    ‘Little me?’ replied Stella, and she turned her attention back to filing her nails. ‘I don’t know nuthin’ … leastways, not about that sort of thing.’
    ‘Who killed Denzil Obi? Any ideas?’
    ‘None.’
    ‘Make a guess.’
    ‘I can’t.’
    ‘Pick a name out the bloody hat.’
    ‘Constable, I don’t know
anything.
’
    ‘Bollocks.’
    ‘Not a thing.’
    ‘Double bollocks.’
    ‘It’s not my job to nick villains, Mr DCI Gene Hunt.
You’re
the policemen.’
    ‘You better believe it. And as a policeman I can take you straight into custody and put the right royal squeeze on you, sugar. The
right
royal squeeze.’
    Stella dropped the nail file onto the desk, moistened her red lips with her tongue, and looked up at Gene through her long fake lashes. ‘So. If I don’t cooperate, will you haul me down the station in handcuffs?’
    ‘Before you can say ‘post-menopausal slag’, you bet I will, toots.’
    Stella took her feet down from the desk, stood up, and planted her hands on her leather-clad hips.
    ‘Right then,’ she said. ‘I’m not co-operating.’
    ‘Then I’ll have to start getting rough.’
    ‘Then get rough.’
    Gene glowered at her: ‘I’m not bluffing.’
    ‘Neither am I,’ said Stella, her voice now a husky whisper. ‘
Neither am I.
’
    Gene moved closer, his face hard, his eyes harder. Stella pointed her breasts at him and lifted her chin defiantly. Sam could hear them both breathing noisily.
    And then, it all happened. Whether it was Gene who made the first move or of it was Stella, Sam didn’t see. All he knew was that there was a rapid flurry of movement, thrown fists, slaps, kicks, and a sudden torrent of things swept from the desk as Stella was thrown roughly over it and handcuffed.
    ‘Don’t just stand there gawping, Tyler!’ Gene barked as he held Stella down, pressing her with all his weight to subdue her struggling. ‘Help me getting this wildcat into the motor!’
    ‘We can’t take her out through the gym, Guv, not in cuffs! The boys out there will rip us to pieces!’
    Gene thought about this, even as he renewed his grasp on his thrashing captive.
    ‘You got a point,’ he said, and hauled Stella upright, clamping one arm round her throat. ‘We’ll just have to move this mucky mare the way they do with pianos.’
    ‘Guv …?’
    ‘The window, Tyler. Get it open.’
    Sam hesitated. Surely this wasn’t right? Was there no better way than this?
    Gene suddenly roared: ‘Not next week, dopey nuts! Right
now!
’
    And catching the excited gleam in Stella’s eyes, Sam realized that for all her thrashing and struggling, Stella herself would have no