To Kill a Grey Man Read Online Free PDF Page B

happy but realized it was not happiness but
contentment he felt, a very rare feeling for him.   For once in his life things were going well
and for the first time ever he had started putting down roots, quite unusual
for a man in his mid-fifties.

 
    Most of his life had been in the army then special
forces then working for the Secret Service.   He was a specialist, a breaker of men.   He had trained way beyond self defense or
standard martial arts, learning how to take out and break men with the minimum
of fuss or effort.   He had learnt all the
body’s weaknesses and attacked then with precision and skill.

 
    For over twenty years he had been the best in the business, a real
hard man. Then he made a mistake in Northern Ireland taking his mind off the
ball for a second when he was doing a routine drop.   He could still feel the baseball bats and
boots breaking his bones and his heart and then a year in various hospitals
convalescing.

 
    Those memories and the fear they brought, drove him to leave the
service and five years of hard drinking followed before he helped a friend who
he had made a pact with and was saved himself.

 
    Whilst in hospital Collins, The Assassin, had visited him and
offered him a deal.   Many of the top operatives
were getting old and due to retire.   This
is where the government would wash its hands of them and leave them to cope on
their own.   There was always unfinished
business and sometimes you needed help. The pact Collins offered was this; if
Surge got into trouble The Assassin would step in and help and vice versa but
only under extreme circumstances and only if there was no other way.

 
    Five years later when Surge had been at his lowest ebb, Collins had
sent for him. His wife had been murdered and he wanted revenge.   Along with The Grey Man and Collins’ son
Jonathan, they had hunted down and killed the murderers following a plan and
intel from The Grey Man.   Surge had
received a bullet in the leg and a severe beating but also regained his soul
and his life.   The reward from Collins
was the pub Surge was now living in and this new start.

 
    He remembered that one evening when Collins had given him the pub they
had sat up late in Surge’s’ small terraced house drinking Glenfidich and
talking.     Collins talked about his wife and Surge had
talked about his only love, Pru who had been tragically killed in the hunt for
Collins’ wife’s murderers.   Two lonely men who, at least, had each other.

 
    Waking up that first morning, he had hobbled down to the pub leaning
heavily on his walking stick as he was still injured.   He stood outside and took it all in realizing
for the first time it was all his.   The
pub was an old coaching inn with the first bricks laid in the 1600s and
extended many times over the years.   The
old horse drawn carriages used to stop here for refreshment, bringing the
London middle classes on their way to the sea and the marks of their heavy wheels
were still etched into the paving stones.   The outside was a dirty cream and yellow plaster with oak window frames,
dimpled glass and black iron banding holding the old structure together.   To the right was a large arch which the
coaches would have driven through into a large, cobbled courtyard which would
have had stables but now had a number of garages.   Carrying on through the courtyard going under
another arch at the end there was a scruffy untended car park surrounded by a
low brick wall.   Everything looked tired
and worn out, tiles were missing from the roof, garage doors were rotten and
hanging off their hinges, plaster was missing and the window frames looked as
dry as tinder.

 
    Inside, Surge discovered it was no better.   The main pub was filthy, the wooden floors
had not been swept, the walls and ceilings were thick with dust and the bar
encrusted with old beer stains.   The
chairs were ripped and the tables scratched and worn out.   Everywhere was crying out