Incinerator Read Online Free PDF

You won’t need to send any more—reminders.” I glanced at big Sean to show I could think of a better name for him. “And realistically it’s the only way you’ll ever get your money back.”
    “That’s not quite true,” said Sherwood. “Mr.Llewellyn offered his family home as collateral, and I accepted.”
    I felt my mouth opening and closing gormlessly. When I finally managed to stammer, “His home?” it came out as a pathetic squeak.
    Watching me flounder, Sherwood’s chilly grin finally reached his eyes.
    “You can’t take his home,” I said. “Where are he and Winnie going to live?”
    “The local authorities have a wide range of bed-and-breakfast accommodation,” said Sherwood. “They cater for all sorts—asylum seekers, gypsies, benefit scroungers …” Behind me I heard Elvis snickering.
    “Delroy’s had a stroke. He still uses a crutch. That house has been specially adapted for him. He can’t live in a B and B.”
    “Then maybe he should race back to Jamaica,” shrugged Sherwood. “Those people have huge families, so somebody over there will look after him. He’ll probably be happier back where he came from anyway.”
    You smug, slimy racist, I thought. But I didn’t say it. I had done enough futile bleating, and it was time to bring the discussion back to the only thing Sherwood cared about.
    “How much do you want?” I asked. Let him name the figure.
    “Even in that area, that house of theirs is worth … a hundred and fifty thousand pounds?” He grinned as he said it, as well he might. Delroy had borrowed six, and Sherwood wanted one hundred and fifty to cancel the debt? That must have been how he paid for his fancy oil paintings.
    “That’s presuming you can get hold of Delroy’s house,” I said.
    “The paperwork is watertight, believe me,” said Sherwood. “I do this for a living.”
    “There might still be complications,” I said. I knew Sherwood would have a brief on his payroll—but then I had Nicky. She decorated her office with the shrunken heads of shyster lawyers.
    “Ah,” said Sherwood. “I wondered when we’d come to the threats.”
    “I’m not the one making threats,” I said.
    “I know you’re acquainted with McGovern,” said Sherwood. “But so am I. And believe me, I’ve been dealing with him a lot longer than you have. I wouldn’t count on him backing you up.”
    McGovern? Who the hell had told him I knew McGovern? Last time I’d seen London’s most notorious gangster he’d held a gun to my head and told me to forget I’d just seen him shoot a man in the face. I still hadn’t figured out why the Guvnor had let me live that time. Why on earth would he lift a finger to help me now?
    But if Sherwood thought he might …? I could see now why he’d told Sean to let me in, why we were having this conversation, why we were negotiating. I was still only seventeen years old. I couldn’t spend any of my inheritance without my lawyer’s signature. Whoever Sherwood had spoken to, they’d told him that I was pals with the Guvnor. And it was true McGovern liked me—otherwise my corpse would have been piled up with the others in that blood-spattered Pimlico restaurant. All the same, I’d have to tread carefully. I’d seen what happened to the last bloke who invoked the Guvnor’s name without permission—he was the one with his brains all over the wall.
    “Mr. Sherwood, let’s call it twelve grand, cash. No strings, no lawyers, and I can get the cash to you by Wednesday. Nobody else willever get involved, that’s a promise.” It was funny how trying to sound calm and reasonable, when really I was ready to smack someone, made me feel calm and reasonable. I’d have to remember that.
    “Fifteen,” said Sherwood. I chewed my lip while I pretended to think about it. Then I shrugged and smiled, and stood up, offering him my hand. He stood too and grasped my hand in both of his. His touch was cold and slimy, like a handful of old dead