The Cutting Crew Read Online Free PDF Page A

dangerous, and so people didn't mess with him.
    Not only was he two metres tall and extremely well-built, he was also bald and probably one of the ugliest men you're ever likely to see. It was like his face had been mangled by something, then stretched back out in all the wrong directions. He never threw his weight around because he never seemed like he needed to. Despite his appearance, Rosh was one of the gentlest, most polite and demure men you would ever meet, and that made people even more careful. When you find that dichotomy in a person, you always get the feeling that it's better not to push and overbalance it. When it topples, you know instinctively that it'll take half the room with it.
    Lucy and Rosh arrived and we chatted; they both liked me and I liked them. We had a few drinks, sounded each other out, felt around each other a bit. I knew what they were suggesting without them saying it, and at that point I was fine with it.
    So that was it. That was our crew.
    As expected, Timothy Hartley was released. He clearly knew some people, and the legitimate witness withdrew his statement.
    The next evening we paid Hartley a visit at his garage.
    Like I said, Lucy was only small, but she had what my grandmother would call the life force in her, and when she wanted to she could let it go. Hartley was a sizeable guy, but he never knew what hit him. She tore him apart in about ten seconds, and then did some stuff to him that I wouldn't wish on anyone. Pretty quickly, he told us where the girl was.
    Sean went off to check while we held Hartley there at gunpoint.
    After a few minutes he started to get his balls back. He told us that we'd never get away with this, that he'd see us all in prison, fucked and dead for what we'd done. None of it made any difference to Rosh or Lucy, but it was my first time out and I was beginning to get frightened. Eventually, Sean phoned to say he'd found the girl and that she was still alive. Ten seconds later, Lucy shot Hartley in the head, and then there wasn't enough time for me to be frightened about anything.
    We planted enough false evidence in the garage to point any investigating officers to a rival gang, and nobody was ever any the wiser. The girl? We left her near the hospital and made an anonymous call.
    That was the first time, and it fucked me up as much as you'd imagine. I thought my life was over - that I'd damned myself and I'd go to a hell I didn't believe in but was still afraid of. Or I'd be caught. All the thoughts you'd imagine. But I wasn't caught - we were too careful for that - and the more I thought about it, the less I felt, and then finally I started to feel okay. Hartley was a crock of shit, and we'd saved someone's life. I tried to rationalise it, playing devil's advocate with my conscience. What exactly, I asked myself, was wrong with what I'd done? I really wasn't sure. You couldn't argue with the results. In every way possible, we'd made the situation better.
    I didn't go with the crew the next time they went out, but I did the time after that, and it went on from there.
    All in all, I was involved in killing seven men in cold blood. With each one the feelings lessened; I'd make myself feel angry and then I'd make myself feel nothing at all. As we went on, it got to seem like the only way of getting any real justice in our city at all. By the time we killed Carl Halloran - the last person we ever visited as a team - I was almost fine about it. That was a couple of weeks before we found Alison, though, and I had no idea how everything was about to fall apart.
    One thing about being a cop: it's surprising how abstracted it makes you feel. You start off with a desire to help people and serve their interests, but that soon fades into the background. What you do marks you out as different - there's a real sense of community among police officers, and at its most intense it creates an 'us against them' mentality. You realise quickly that a lot of the people you're