Black Coke Read Online Free PDF Page A

into her coat, toyed with the safety catch on her gun. She could force the driver to pull over into a deserted side street, beat the crap out of him, even execute him. She pulled her hand out and shook her head. No, she had a mission to carry out here in London. She couldn’t let herself get distracted by this pathetic cab driver.
     
    She got him to stop a few roads from her destination: a pub called the White Lion, just east of Bethnal Green tube station. She walked past rows of brick houses and entered. Old men with droopy cheeks and puffy eyes were slumped on stools around rickety wooden tables. They were sipping pints of lager and gaping at the TV screen that was churning out a soap opera in a top corner of the room. The walls had large cracks where the yellowish wallpaper was peeling off. A stench of stale sweat hung in the air.
     
    The pub manager was perched on a stool behind the bar. He was a short, skinny man with a piggish nose, a grey beard and wisps of greasy hair, like one of those ageing pigmies she’d once seen on a covert mission years ago to some forgotten jungle in central Africa.
     
    ‘He’s in the back.’ The manager jabbed a thumb at a greenish door. ‘Through there.’
     
    Amonite kicked it open. Three faces jerked up from lines of white powder on a battered table: Tony and two strangers. One with a winding scar down his right forearm, a mashed-up nose and a thick silver chain round his stick-thin neck. The other in combats, a spider tattoo on his cheek and a red cap back to front in a poor attempt at looking like a hip-hop star. Strands of smoke from an overflowing ashtray curled to the ceiling.
     
    ‘Amonite, good to see you,’ Tony said, wiping the coke from his pudgy nose with the back of his sleeve. His shaven head gleamed in the sickly light from the single bulb dangling from the ceiling. The folds of fat around his neck wobbled like jelly.
     
    Amonite felt a smile curl on her lips. It was good to see someone who was even uglier than her. She kicked the door shut behind her. The wall shook. She whipped out her gun.
     
    ‘I thought you’d gone into hiding,’ Tony said, looking Amonite up and down as though examining a skyscraper.
     
    ‘Shut your fat face, Tony. Where’s my cash?’
     
    ‘It’s…it’s…’
     
    ‘What d’you want me to do with the gear if you don’t have the cash?’
     
    Tony’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down his neck.
     
    ‘Should I stuff it up your slimy arse?’
     
    ‘Amonite, please, I can explain.’
     
    The desperation in Tony’s voice made Amonite tremble with delight. She waved her gun at the other two men. ‘Who the hell are these two faggots?’
     
    ‘Fellas, this is Amonite Victor.’ Tony pointed a quivering figure at her. ‘I’m guessing you’ve all heard of her.’ The two men had gone pale. Tony nodded at the guy with the scar. ‘This is Nazzer. Deals for me.’ He nodded at the guy with the tattoo. ‘This is Frankie. My taxman.’
     
    ‘So, fellas, where’s my hard earned dough?’
     
    Both men shrugged, their dilated pupils fixed on Amonite’s gun.
     
    ‘Amonite, you’ve gotta listen to me.’ Tony stood up and steadied himself on the table with his chubby hands. ‘We’ve had a, erm, a small problem.’
     
    ‘What kind of problem?’
     
    ‘The gear went missing and—’
     
    ‘Hey, Nazzer.’ Amonite swung her gun. ‘Hands where I can see them.’
     
    Nazzer raised his hands from below the table. Amonite bared her teeth. Nazzer probably had a gun tucked away. If he tried to go for it again, he’d regret it. She turned back to Tony, voice cool.
     
    ‘Now, where were we?’ she said.
     
    ‘I’ll get you the cash tomorrow.’
     
    A flash of movement from Nazzer. His hand was under the table again. Amonite blasted him in the neck. A fountain of blood spurted. Nazzer collapsed sideways, gripping his throat and gurgling. Amonite stepped over and finished him off with a bullet to the forehead. The