The Stealers Read Online Free PDF Page A

came out holding a stiletto. A scowl spread across his face as he waved it wildly in the air and pressed a button; the blade sprang out of the handle with a metallic swish. ‘Get out of here or you’ll get some of this,’ he said waving the knife around.
    Crane paused, and stood facing him about four metres away. A relaxed, confident smile spread across his face. His right hand quickly dipped into his jacket pocket and came out holding the toy pistol that the boy had dropped at the supermarket car park. The fat man’s eyes widened; the scowled expression disappeared and was replaced by fear. From that distance, it seemed like the real thing. Suddenly there was a deep menace in Crane’s voice as he took careful aim at the stranger’s head and said calmly, ‘Well now, I believe this is something a little better, and I’ll put one right between your eyes if you don’t drop that knife right now. I’m very good with one of these, you’d better believe me!’
    The man’s face whitened and his jaw sagged. He loosened his grip on the knife and let it slip to the ground. Andrew, the young boy had been watching the drama unfold with interest. His face was pressed against the inside of the car window; eyes darting from one man to the other.
    Keeping the toy gun trained on the stranger, Crane walked slowly towards him until they were about two metres apart. Andrew let himself out of the rear door of the car; his head continually turning from one man to the other. His young mind became confused as it experienced the animosity between the two men. Then, suddenly his gaze rested on Crane and he became animated; he immediately found his voice. ‘Hey, that’s my gun!’
    The stranger stared at the weapon and his face broke into a smile as he began to reach down for his knife, but he was far too late. Like a sprinter at the starting line, Crane thrust himself forward, and lashed out with his right foot. It made contact with the stranger’s stomach. The man went down like a felled tree and remained there; curled up and gasping for breath on the ground. Crane picked up the knife and closed the blade. He crouched down and handed the little boy his toy pistol. ‘What’s your name, son?’ he enquired.
    The boy looked happier as he reached out, took the toy gun and replied in a quiet voice, ‘Andrew Barker.’
    Crane gave Andrew a reassuring smile and said, ‘Okay, Andrew, I think it’s time to take you back home.’
    Andrew began fiddling with his toy gun; grinned and simply replied, ‘Alright.’
    Crane picked the lad up and carried him over to the Transit van. After adjusting the seat belt around Andrew, he returned to the weighty man; he had not moved and was still lying prone on the ground curled up, suffering from Crane’s heavy kick. Crane looked at him without sympathy and said,
    â€˜Who are you? What’s your name?’
    The man did not answer. Crane asked another question. ‘What were you going to do with the boy?’
    The man remained silent.
    Crane’s easy-going manner was sometimes mistaken for a sign of weakness; and this seemed to be one of those occasions.
    â€˜Don’t feel like talking eh?’ Crane said casually. ‘Well, I’ve wasted enough time on you; I don’t much care for perverts.’ Crane pressed the button on the stiletto and the blade shot out from its handle with a menacing metallic swish. ‘I think I’ll just leave you here then; with this knife sticking out between your shoulders; you’ll find it very difficult to pull it out.’
    â€˜Ryan – name’s Ryan,’ he blurted out – in between taking huge lungfuls of air. ‘And I’m not a bloody pervert I was taking the boy for someone… someone who wants him.’
    â€˜Keep talking,’ Crane urged, toying with the blade a few inches from his face.
    â€˜That’s all I know –