The Gilded Madonna by Garrick Jones (ebook reader for comics TXT) 📕

asked Vince to make sure Jack Lyme brings his armchair in from his room for you to sit in or there’ll be a cushion and a camp stretcher if you’d prefer.”

“Would it be an imposition if I asked to come too, as an observer?” Harry asked. “I’m not uninterested, and I don’t leave for my weekend away until six in the evening.”

Luka blushed a little. “If you like, Harry. In any case, if I was to give you a private reading, you’d see me writhing around. I can’t say I’m not a little embarrassed about perhaps pissing myself a bit while I’m out to it, like I did with Clyde.”

“Phht, that’s nothing to worry yourself about, Luka. Clyde wets himself with excitement every time I come home from work, don’t you, Clyde?”

I could hear Luka chuckling away even over Harry’s hoots of laughter as I chased him around the flat.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Thursday had turned out to be very busy. As I lay in the shower, I went through the day in my mind, occasionally lifting the washer from my eyes and making notes in the pad I always kept on a stool next to the bathtub.

I’d arrived at the gym at nine, before any of my regular exercise pals had turned up, so had spent fifteen or twenty minutes on the mats, practising my shoulder rolls while carrying a two-pound weight in each hand. They were metal, like dumbbells, but instead of ball-shaped endings, were flat pentagons with unrounded edges. It made the tumbles hard to manage, mainly because it would be easy to hurt yourself if you squeezed a sharp corner against your forearm or chest as you rolled. Great for coordination and awareness though.

Eventually the crowd had begun to wander in, and I’d spoken one by one with the men I’d thought might be suitable for the task. We were all connected in some way by either the war or by the police service. I only needed four in all—two for each of the stakeouts we’d decided to use. I also hadn’t wanted to divulge too much about the job until I’d been certain each of them I’d spoken to would agree. I’d given enough information to make it interesting, but not enough to give any hints about the murders, simply saying it was an entrapment deal that might involve the need to be not only quick on your feet but also that there could be an element of danger.

However, the first four men I’d spoken to had pricked up their ears at the “element of danger” and had agreed before I’d got further than explaining those basics. Twenty minutes after I’d approached the first of my friends, I’d gathered my four volunteers in the stairwell at the back of the gym and explained more and what the operation entailed.

At first, there’d been a bit of yahooing and laughter when I’d told them it was to do with the entrapment of a homosexual, but then, when I’d explained merely grabbing him on sight wouldn’t stand up in court without there being some actual physical contact, the conversation became serious. I’d explained our target would most likely want to see the goods first, before he invited the intended victim into the toilet block. One or two had raised their eyebrows and had snorted, but none of them had said “no” outright. There’d been one or two nervous comments about “measuring up”, but I’d made a joke, saying what I’d seen in the shower would leave none of them falling short. Bloke stuff—but it worked every time.

I’d explained we couldn’t let the man get away. There had to be substantial physical contact so we could arrest him on the charge of committing an act of gross indecency. I’d said I’d prefer the capture to actually happen inside the toilet cubicle, so there could be no possible chance the man could give us the slip out in the open. I’d also warned them the man might try to kiss them and ask them to perform fellatio on him. After I’d quickly described the manner in which our man killed his victims, not one of them had turned a hair. I’d made sure they’d all understood they might have to show the man what was in their pants, otherwise it would be impossible to lure him into the toilet. I’d told them to say they were too nervous about doing anything outside, but to offer to go into the convenience.

Then, as soon as the man touched them, or tried to kiss them, they were to blow a sailor’s whistle, which would be sewn to the back of the lapel of their jackets, with the mouthpiece level with the top of the collar lapel, at the “v” between the lower part of the collar and the upper section. They were then to immediately immobilise the man until help arrived. The moment the police, who’d be hidden around outside, saw the murderer follow our decoy into the toilet block, they’d be outside the door with their guns ready, waiting for the whistle blast.

I’d then asked them to come to Harry’s training room on Saturday to discuss details with Vince and Dioli, who’d be overseeing the operation. As he’d already set it up ready for his training sessions, there was plenty of room. I’d assured them that none of their names would be revealed, and they could all choose their own code name or alias before arriving at the meeting.

After that, I’d returned to the gym floor and had done a bit of rope work, had sparred a bit in the ring with the gym manager, had taken a shower, and then had headed off for my appointment with Steve. When I’d asked him if he still felt rattled after what he’d been through at the park, he’d told me he’d faced worse during his time as a cop, and the encounter with the murderer hadn’t done anything except make him angry. He’d shown more