The Fire Read Online Free PDF Page A

If you want him that bad, you could try wearing boots; he has a thing for thigh boots, always asks me to wear them but I've never had the cash to buy 'em."
    When the girl returned from the toilet, she was unsteady on her feet. Siobhan had obviously indulged in her habit.
    "Thanks for the drink," she said. "What's your name?"
    "Lauren."
    "Well nice to meet you, Lauren." Then as an afterthought; "if you do get to pull the rich guy, make sure you have mouthwash; his cock stinks."
    With that little gem of information, she was gone, teetering out into the night and her next customer.

It was 2123hrs on the 9th September 2006 when Patrick Ewan O'Donnell stopped his car in front of me. The weather had turned dry and mild and I stood on the kerb edge dressed in my whore outfit complete with PVC thigh-length boots,
    He rolled down the passenger window and took a good look. He wore a white shirt, open at the collar and I could see the covert body armour beneath. He was a squat man with powerful shoulders and arms. His grey hair was parted to one side and he was clean shaven. His steel grey eyes disconcerted me at once.
    I took a breath.
    "You looking for business?" I said, sticking to the script I now knew by heart.
    O'Donnell nodded. "I am so."
    "Well it's twenty pounds for a blowjob, forty for full sex."
    My heart was pounding waiting for the response. What if he drove off now?
    He didn't.
    "Get in," he said.
    I slid myself into the leather seat beside him and he immediately rested his left hand on the top of my boots. I could feel my body start to shake; the involuntary reaction to a sharp increase in adrenalin. It was taken as nerves by O'Donnell the experienced punter.
    "Don't be scared, love," he said; soulless eyes betraying the meaning of his words.
    He rubbed his hand upward from the boots and onto my bare thigh.
    "Nice," he said. "You'll be leaving those on."
    I gave him a controlled smile. I was getting myself together; the shaking had stopped and my heart rate had slowed to a hammer pace.
    The plan was as simple as possible, using the simplest weapon possible; the more complicated the plan, the more to go wrong. I heard Rick's calm voice in my head.
     
    Remember this guy is not a sloppy politician; remember what he really is; remember he's a terrorist; get him relaxed, take his cash; put the money inside your bag right-handed; grab the Smith & Wesson; no need to take it out; push it and the bag under his chin and double tap. Be quick, one movement; don't give him time to grab you. No talk, no messing.
     
    O'Donnell pushed a button on the dash and my window closed. More worrying, I heard the central locking engage as he moved the car slowly away.
    He glanced over as he drove. I found it almost impossible to meet his eyes. They seemed full of suspicion. I even convinced myself for a second, that he knew, actually knew who I was and why I was sitting next to him.
    "I've not seen you before, girl."
    I did my best to keep my voice level. I knew I had to control this encounter, just like any other street girl would do.
    "I just got into town," I said flatly, then added, "so what's it to be, handsome, a BJ or a fuck?"
    O'Donnell's head nearly spun off his neck as he shot me the look.
    "You are a feisty one after all, eh?"
    He smiled for a second, but it was quickly overshadowed by a lingering leer.
    "I want sucking off, girl and I'm going to shoot my load all over those boots."
    At that very second I needed a bath, but I flicked my hair as suggestively as I could manage and rubbed the back of his neck with my left hand.
    "Hmm, that sounds horny, where we going to park, babe?"
    "Just a couple of minutes away; a nice quite spot, don't worry, I use it all the time."
    I heard Des in my left ear.
    "I'll bet he fuckin' does. Watch this fucker, hen."
    We turned into a service yard behind a shopping centre and O'Donnell pulled the car to a halt in a dark corner.
    I heard a reassuring double click of a pretzel telling me Rick was close