Max Wolfe 02.5 - Fresh Blood Read Online Free PDF Page A

the corner.
    ‘I’ll stay until your family gets here,’ I said.
    ‘Don’t bother,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you to stay. Why are you here anyway? Were we friends when we worked together? We weren’t, were we? Not really. We were just colleagues. Nothing more. So why are you even here?’
    I wanted to be honest with him.
    ‘We were becoming friends,’ I said. ‘Real friends, Curtis. But there wasn’t enough time.’
    ‘Shall I tell you why you’re here, Max? Because you know it could be you in this bed. I fell two storeys and landed on my back and you got a blade in your belly. You walked away and I never will. Could just have easily been the other way round, right?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And deep down inside, you’re wondering if it’s worth it. If the job is worth putting your hide on the line every day of your life; risking seeing a lifetime of pity in your daughter’s eyes as she washes you; risking getting crippled or killed because of all the evil bastards that are always going to be out there, no matter what mugs like us do, no matter how hard we try, no matter how many of us get hurt. Is it worth it? Doing this job when it could put you in a wheelchair or a coffin? The answer to your question is – no, Max. It’s definitely not worth it. All right? You can stop wondering. And you can go now.’
    So I went.
    His voice stopped me at the door. I didn’t turn to look at him because I could hear him quietly crying and I knew he would not want me to see his face.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
    I nodded without turning round.
    ‘Me too, Curtis. I’m sorry about everything.’
    Then I left him alone.
    Two floors down, Ali was in a crowded public ward, hidden from view by screens like shower curtains. The young Somalian security guard was a shocking sight. His jaw was wired up and his face had ballooned to the size of a lumpy football. The bruising was coming out now, a lavish flowering of dark yellow, purple and black, and it covered the bottom half of his face. He was snoring so they must have pumped him full of painkillers and sleeping pills. There was one chair pressed up against the bed and Ginger Gonzalez was sitting in it.
    ‘You shouldn’t have done that,’ she said.
    ‘What are you talking about?
    ‘Throwing those guys out of Sampaguita. Punching that big one in the chest.’
    ‘The heart.’
    ‘Whatever. It’s easier to pay them. Do you really think that’s the first time I’ve ever had a shakedown? I’ve been out on my own since I was sixteen, Max. I’ve been running Sampaguita for ten years. The way it works is that you give goons like that a few bucks and then you find out who’s higher up on the food chain.’
    ‘And you pay them, too?’
    ‘No – you pay them instead. Death and taxes and somebody wanting something for nothing, Max. That’s all we can expect.’
    ‘But not necessarily in that order. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.’
    She laughed. ‘Did you think I’d be grateful?’ She leaned back in the cheap little hospital chair and I saw the tattoos on her arms. Never for money. Always for love.
    ‘I was just trying to protect you,’ I said.
    ‘I know. And I appreciate it. But you were also in a pissing contest. Men always are. And I’m the one who has to clean up the mess while you run off home for your tea. I deal with the consequences while you’re back in Smithfield with your daughter and your dog. Why do you think Jana can’t come here tonight? My girls are terrified. The word’s been put about that Oscar and Big Muff are going to start cutting faces open.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Cutting faces open. That’s what they’re threatening. What do they call it when they cut someone’s mouth at the sides? There’s a name for it.’
    ‘Chelsea smile,’ I said.
    I was silent, thinking of Vic Masters in a ditch on Hampstead Heath, his face sliced open in a Chelsea smile. Maybe DCI Flashman was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t the result of an old beef with another