Daring Dooz (The Implosion Trilogy (Book 2)) Read Online Free PDF

equipment they trashed belonged to Charlie.
    To make
things even worse, Vic had lifted the office’s stimulating photograph of Bette
Midler in a tight-fitting ruched dress.
    ‘That was my
favourite,’ said Charlie, with a nasty sneer.
    Vlad and Vic
were dumb, but not dumb enough to ask whether he meant the photograph or the
dress.
    Aspersions
were cast as to the use Vic might make of the photograph, and it was made quite
clear what would happen if those aspersions were realised. From memory,
Charlie’s proposed retribution included a bacon slicer.
    However, Lady
Luck must have been smiling, or at least smirking, and they found themselves back
outside Charlie’s office door, still alive. They had to find Mick and Jim and
quick, so they decided on a planning meeting at their favourite pub, The Dead
Dog.
    The visit to
the cleaning lady’s apartment had given Vlad another problem. Since Vic’s four
rapid encounters with Mrs Hathaway’s Cleto Reyes, he had not been himself at
all.
    By way of
starting the planning meeting, Vlad put some tunes on the Dead Dog’s jukebox.
Vic stared at the ceiling and asked where the noise was coming from. Vlad
didn't tell him and Vic seemed happy not to know.
    Vlad ordered his usual large brandy with
three vodka chasers, while Vic asked for a Slimline tonic with half a slice of
lemon and no ice.
    When Brenda,
the fully cleavaged-up barmaid, leaned over their table to serve their drinks,
Vic didn't give it his usual, ‘Fuck me, darlin’ what a great pair of tits!’ He
just said, ‘Thank you Brenda,’ in the quietest of whispers.
    Time for some
action. Vlad poured the vodkas into the brandy and drained the glass in one. He
dragged Vic outside, flagged a cab, and five minutes later, they were at the
Accident and Emergency section of the local hospital.
    The nurse in
charge, who in a previous era would have respectfully been called a matron,
marched up to them, folded her arms across her ample chest and, with a degree
of irritation, got straight to the point.
    ‘Hmm! What
are you two doing here? All we ever see here are the results of your handy
work. Not that we see much of the poor sods, they’re usually straight through
into theatre.’
    ‘No, no, nurse,’ said Vlad trying to look as innocent as possible
‘that’s just a rumour.’
    She gave him a hard look. So he cut the crap. ‘I reckon Vic’s got
concussed.’
    ‘Best news
I’ve had all day,’ said the nurse, ‘unless it turns out to be permanent brain
damage, in which case, I’ll be throwing a party tonight.’
    Vlad had
clocked how GBH got you 10 hours of emptying community rubbish bins, while a
text that offended someone got you banged up big time. So he countered with,
‘If you texted that party stuff, you could get six years.’
    ‘And it would be worth every minute of it,’ replied the nurse.
    Vlad could see he was losing, so he returned to his medical theme.
    ‘Vic got a real clouting, so what you gonna do?’
    ‘OK,’ said the nurse, turning to Vic and looking into his eyes. ‘How
many fingers am I holding up?’
    ‘Three.’ answered Vic correctly.
    ‘And are you bleeding from anywhere?’
    ‘’Course I am. I’m bleedin’ from Hackney,’ said Vic, ‘but what's that
got to do with anythin’, you stupid old tart?’
    They spent an
hour sitting on plastic chairs waiting for a consultant. Vic happily watched
the hands of the clock go round, while Vlad flicked through an enormous pile of Hello magazines looking for potential
kidnap victims.
    This
delightful scenario was broken only by a call from Charlie saying he now wanted
them to find Aubrey, as well as Mick and Jim. This was bad news, and made it
more important than ever to get Vic sorted.
    Eventually,
the consultant called them in, did a few checks, and announced that Vic only
had mild concussion.
    ‘It seems
worse than it is,’ said the consultant, ‘because, from looking at his medical
records and various tests over the years, he seems to