The Rage Read Online Free PDF Page B

which arguments assumed a logic of their own, anchored in legal precedents and obscure judgements. Sometimes the whole thing separated completely from the facts of the case and drifted off into the upper atmosphere of legal reasoning. With each sentence, the case drifted further from the truth – that two arrogant idiots took a walloping from two overbearing policemen. Courtroom custom demanded that they all pretend that this was about matters of great legal significance.
    ‘In that case,’ the judge said, glancing at the clock at the back of the court, ‘I’ll adjourn until tomorrow morning, at which point I’ll rule on the application.’
    ‘You won’t need me – tomorrow morning?’ Tidey asked Mopey Dick.
    The lawyer made a face. ‘I really think – given the way this has gone – it might be best, just in case, if you make yourself available.’
    Tidey nodded. Another day on the front line in the war on crime.

7
     
    The assistant in the shoe shop said, ‘Please,’ and Vincent Naylor said, ‘Money.’
    It was a small shop, little more than a brightly lit rectangle. Cream walls, chrome and crystal retail decorations, walnut chairs and footstools. Tasteful lighting illuminated carefully positioned glass shelves on which a sparse assortment of women’s shoes was stylishly displayed. Vincent knew nothing about women’s shoes, but he’d bet the stuff in here came with cute little labels that jacked the price up big time. He’d bet the people who owned this place never said they owned a shoe shop – they’d call it a footwear boutique. They wouldn’t have customers, they’d have clientele. And they’d charge through the nose for the freedom of shopping away from the riff-raff. Shop like this, not up to paying top rents, but discreetly advertised and close enough to Grafton Street so the right people would be able to find it. Not a lot of trade, but every sale would be at a tidy price.
    For Vincent, the problem with a place like this was that most purchases would involve credit cards. Still, there was bound to be a bit of cash on the premises. And, to get his hands on it, just this tasty little bird to go through.
    He gestured towards the back of the shop, where a cash register stood on a curved waist-high counter.
    ‘Get the money.’
    Vincent made his voice come out low, harsh, like he was barely holding himself together. He could see the tremor in her hands. Jesus, she was something .
    Maybe a couple of years younger than Vincent, which would make her about twenty-four, something like that. A cool face with barely a hint of make-up, a permanently stuck-up kind of face. Short blonde hair drew attention to her long, slim neck. Loose silky dress, a lot of blue in it, coming down to just above her knees. Neat tits, not much showing. He liked that. Bare legs, going right up there. He could feel his hands sliding up the backs of her thighs. Pressing against her, her knees opening—
    Which would be really stupid. A bit of money goes missing from a city centre shop – with all the things going on in the world, what’s the chances the cops will give a crap about that? Bend little missy over the counter and make a bit of a mess on her – and do it within a spit of Grafton Street – that’s when they haul out the heavy gang and start pumping up the overtime.
    ‘Money,’ he said again.
    ‘Please—’
    Vincent was standing with his hooded face turned sideways on to the dinky little CCTV camera, high up on a side wall. He pointed towards the cash register. The woman backed away, until she was standing next to the counter. Vincent made his voice loud, abrupt. ‘ Give it! ’ The woman made a high-pitched Ah sound, her hand jerked in fear. It hit a small brown pencil cup and knocked it over, spilling a couple of biros and a long scissors to the floor.
    She hurriedly opened the register and took out a thin wad of banknotes, left them down on the counter. She fiddled in the drawer and took out a handful of