To Die For Read Online Free PDF Page A

job.’
    They’d used me that one time because Caine was a wreck after his wife left him, back on the smack. After the Brighton job, they’d had a haul of cash, but they got hit by some unknown firm. Someone had told someone about the cash. I thought that Caine had said something, perhaps in exchange for heroin, but since he and two others were blown apart by twelve-gauge shot I supposed it would never be known. There was no point me saying all this to Kendall. He wasn’t the one that needed convincing. I looked at him and he half shrugged and made it look like it hurt him to do so.
    ‘You think I did the one job with them, learnt a bit about their next one and then passed the information on?’
    ‘No, Joe. I don’t. Course I don’t.’
    ‘But others think I did? Nathan King, for instance? That why I haven’t heard from him about the jewellery job?’
    Kendall held his hands up.
    ‘Like I’m saying, I know you’re okay. It’s just people are careful. Mud sticks. You’re covered in fucking mud, Joe.’
    ‘Why would Beckett use me if my name’s bad?’
    ‘It wasn’t. Not then. Now that Simpson’s dead... well, now it ain’t so good.’
    He was right, it looked bad. And if people thought I was bent, London was dead for me. The only people I’d ever get work with would be the type I’d never want to work with. It was nothing personal. I would’ve been just as nervy if I’d known someone with my kind of luck.
    When I turned to go, Kendall struggled from his seat. He grabbed my hand and shook it. His handshake was limp, his hand warm and clammy. He held on a few seconds too long. When he finally let go, he patted me on the arm and told me again that he’d never doubted me. I wanted to throw him through the window.
    So, that was that. I was fucked. My money wouldn’t last long without any other income. My name was dirt. I was getting old.
    Back in my car, I thought things through. There were two problems, as I saw it.
    The first was this Beckett thing. Where was he? Where was the money? What had happened to Simpson? It might still be possible for me to survive if I could find out these things.
    The other was more immediate. Nathan King. I was supposed to be doing that job with him. If he thought I was bent, I could be in trouble.
    I decided to go to King’s house. He wouldn’t like me doing that, but I didn’t think he’d try anything on his own property. I had an old Russian Makarov PM pistol taped to the underside of the passenger seat. I’d take the gun with me but stash it outside King’s place. That way I could walk in without causing friction but still have some protection when I left. If I left.
    The Makarov was a small piece, and heavy, but the blowback action gave it accuracy, and it was more reliable than most other automatics. I cleaned the gun and checked its action.
    I drove the car to Oakwood tube station and left it in the car park. I walked a couple of blocks to a semi-detached house in a quiet road. I walked up the driveway and stopped next to King’s black BMW. I slipped the Makarov beneath the car, just next to the nearside rear wheel.
    The woman who answered the door was short, young and dumpy. She had bleached blond hair and make-up you could bang a nail into. She looked up at me and sighed, held the door open with one hand, put the other on her hip and called over her shoulder:
    ‘Nat, it’s one of yours.’
    She walked away, leaving the door open. I stepped in, but left the door ajar. I could hear a TV playing, kids arguing. There was a thick smell of fried meat and perfume. King came through from the lounge. He was a big black man, with greying temples and a hard, creased face. He was carrying a can of lager. He stopped when he saw me and the good humour slid away, its place filled with a deadened look. His eyelids closed slightly.
    ‘Joe. What are you doing here?’
    ‘I need to talk.’
    ‘About?’
    ‘Business.’
    He took a swig from his can and, as he did so, his