The Devil's Anvil Read Online Free PDF Page A

for you,’ I promised, as I steered the couple out of the doorway and towards the corner. ‘Are you OK, did they hurt you?’
    ‘We’re OK, just shaken up. I thought they were going to . . .’ The old man looked horrified at the prospect of what might have been. Then his look was aimed at his wife, ashamed that he hadn’t done more to protect her.
    ‘The important thing is that you’re both all right. You don’t have to worry about these young punks anymore.’ I quickly checked what was going on. The four muggers had rearranged their positions so that they were in an orderly line on the ground. One of them was unconscious – the first guy to be hit – and was blissfully unaware of his friends sitting alongside him. One of them was trying to staunch the blood flowing from his nostrils, the next attempting to straighten out the kink in his trachea, while the uninjured man was the only one capable of showing any defiance. His ballsy attitude lasted only until Rink stepped in and slapped his mouth shut. Even from the corner, and under dim street lighting, I could see a bruise pop out on his jaw. The tough guy mugger was suddenly a weeping overgrown brat. Rink barely gave him any notice as he brought out his cell phone and hit 911.
    I kept an eye on the group, but also reassured the old couple that they were safe.
    ‘Thank you,’ the old woman said. She was a short, wide-hipped lady, with grey curly hair. Reminded me of my mother, albeit she’d have easily been ten years older.
    ‘No problem,’ I said.
    ‘Really, son,’ the old man said. ‘You have my gratitude. If you and your friend hadn’t come along I don’t know what I’d have done.’
    ‘You did the best thing possible in not giving them any problems. If you’d tried to fight they’d have hurt you. All’s well that ends well, right?’ I gave him a surreptitious wink.
    ‘Thank you, thank you,’ he said and wanted to shake my hand. It was unwise to compromise myself by accepting his handshake, but Rink had everything under control. He’d finished his phone call, summoned the cops to clear things up, and was now standing over the group, willing them to make a false move. None of them took up the challenge, and little wonder. Rink’s big, built like a pro fighter. He’s also mean-looking when he sets his jaw so tightly that an old knife scar on his chin practically glows against his tawny skin.
    I approached. ‘Cops on their way?’
    ‘Yup.’ Rink wasn’t amused. ‘We’re going to be tied up giving statements because of these assholes.’
    ‘At least it gets us out of this bloody cold,’ I said. ‘And with the police activity there’s no way the thieves will try their luck at Redmond’s tonight.’
    ‘Then it’ll only mean we’ll be back here again next week.’ Rink made sure that the muggers – the conscious ones – heard him. By the way they hung their heads they wouldn’t be plying their trade around this neighbourhood again.
    My run, followed by the brief scuffle, had done me a world of good. I was feeling much warmer. And, unless the warehouse thieves were more reckless than I gave them credit for, our work was probably done. Not a bad result in my estimation. But still, I was ready for a job that I couldn’t complete in first gear. The slight buzz of adrenalin I’d experienced from kicking the muggers’ arses only made me crave it all the more. Who knew that things would grow more exciting within the next few days?

4
     
    Billie Womack couldn’t concentrate on her art.
    After her visit from the ATF agents she’d tried to occupy her thoughts with carting her canvas and materials inside and up to the attic room she’d converted into a studio. She’d set the unfinished painting of Baker’s Hole and the surrounding mountains on the easel, inserted a CD in the music system, and then perched herself at the ready to add new layers to her work in progress. However the brush had yet to be dipped in the acrylic paint. She