My Kind of Justice: How Far Would You Go For Justice (D.I. Jack Striker Book 1) Read Online Free PDF

as he fled the scene of his latest scrape with the law, the distant sirens diminishing into the night. On this occasion it wasn’t planned, but these things just sort of happened to him, not that he gave a toss.
    The guy shouldn’t have objected to him jumping the queue anyway, especially when Chisel was hungry and wanted a Big Mac. Well that twat won’t be doing that again in hurry.
    No one else had objected, just dipped their heads, and a good job too. But there’s always one – probably trying to impress his bird. Slowly scanning the back of the long line of terraced houses, Chisel replayed events in McDonald’s.
    “Erm, excuse me, pal. Do yer mind not pushing in?” said the scraggly-haired freak.
    “You fuckin’ what, Mr Big Shot?” Chisel saw the student-type physically shrink, pathetically clutching onto his bag of books.
    The bird piped up, “He didn’t mean it, go ahead, it’s fine,” stepping half in front of her shithouse boyfriend.
    Chisel pushed the girl to one side like a rag doll and eyeballed the student. “Fancy yer chances? Want some?”
    “I was simply pointing out that…”
    The headbutt rudely interrupted the student’s sentence and burst his nose, spraying the cowering crowd.
    Staggering forward for more? “Okay, if you want some, you can have some.” Chisel threw a flurry of punches and the student dropped like a sack of shit. The big right particularly pleased him, sending a shock-absorbing shudder up his arm. The girlfriend’s screams and the pleas from the McDonald’s staff were just a distant boring drone. Chisel was in the zone. The student was in a ball on the floor and his head was beautifully placed for a good stamping. And that’s what it got, over and over. Something crunched on the sixth stamp.
    It was only when some bloke in the queue, clutching the hand of his little, sobbing daughter, pulled at Chisel’s shoulder and gestured at the CCTV camera pointing directly at them that he came to his senses a bit. He could now hear the unison of screaming as if someone had turned the volume up.
    “The cameras in ’ere are crap,” Chisel said to the bloke, before pulling his loose hoodie further over his face, just in case.
    “The police are on their way,” shouted a burger-flipper from behind the counter.
    “Good. Well now there’s plenty of fuckin’ ketchup for those fat bastards, in’t there?”
    He left feeling a bit pissed off with himself. He was still hungry and had been really looking forward to that Big Mac. Like any cop-dodger worth his salt, seeing blue lights flashing in the distance, he quickly sought the sanctuary of the alleyways.
    Ever the opportunist, Chisel finished scanning the line of rear windows, smirked in the darkness and slipped on a pair of leather gloves. His shadowy, hooded form slid between two wheelie bins and, despite his blood-spattered Nike trainers, he easily climbed over the wall into the back yard. Yet another unsuspecting householder had kindly left their kitchen window open for him.
    People just never learn. No security light. No dog barking. A ladder, too… Fuckin’ bingo! The house was in darkness and he carefully positioned the step ladder beneath the kitchen window. He wriggled his stocky frame through the generous transom window in quick time. The stale whiff of unwashed pots rose as plates clattered in the sink below, making him freeze for a second. He crouched like Spiderman’s shadow on the kitchen unit, his senses heightened, his hand ready to withdraw his flick knife in an instant.
    No return movement. No alarm. Definitely nobody home. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway because he’d just stab whoever was unfortunate enough to disturb him. He’d done it several times before. That’s how he got his nickname and how he became cock of the school before he was expelled. He didn’t kill gobby Bobby Lomas in woodwork class, but he did shut the twat up with a chisel.
    There had been no long stretch inside for Chisel, not