Crash Course by Derek Fee (pdf to ebook reader .txt) 📕

the steadily deteriorating accommodation. The estate had gradually been ceded to the latest waves of Caribbean immigrants and Hackett and his posse had taken refuge there on their arrival from Kingston. The crack house had been turned into a slum by its proprietors. Crack addicts didn’t have a strong feeling for the surroundings in which they inhaled the drug.

He cut the car’s engine and stepped onto the pavement. The guard at the door stiffened. The door of the house opened and the body of a young black woman tumbled out onto the doorstep. She was wearing a purple miniskirt which had ridden up to her haunches as she fell. Her white blouse was torn. As she hit the pavement, her eyes turned upwards and met Kane’s. He reckoned that she could have been anything from sixteen to thirty-six. Age was difficult to gauge in the case of a crackhead. Her eyes were glazed and there were bags beneath them. There was a weal the size of a golf ball on the left side of her cheek. Her body still had a firm edge to it but that would disappear after she had sold it a couple of hundred times. Kane’s natural reaction would have been to pick her up but he ignored her. Kane the drug dealer wouldn’t give a shit for a useless crackhead like the one lying at his feet.

He looked up at the front door and saw Veeral Hackett standing between the portals. Hackett’s thin body was quivering and his nostrils were flared.

“You skanky bitch.” Hackett launched a kick at the girl’s behind as she began to get up. She was propelled past Kane and into the side of the Mercedes. “I told you not to come round here no more with your pussy in your hand. We got more free pussy here than we can handle.” The guard at the door smiled showing two rows of snow-white teeth. “You got money; you can buy some rock. Go peddle your ass somewhere else and come back with the money.”

The woman had pushed herself up and was using the Mercedes to support herself. Hackett moved towards her but Kane stood in the way.

“What the fuck!” Hackett looked into Kane’s eyes.

Kane returned the look. “Kill the bitch but don’t get any marks on the paintwork, okay.”

“Hey, mon.” Hackett’s lips curled into what passed for a smile. “I beginnin’ to forget that we got some big business to conduct. The bitch can wait. She totally strung out for some rock. She be back soon with the money. Unless you want her, mon?”

Kane glanced over his shoulder. The woman tried to put on her most seductive look.

“I may be stupid, Veeral, but I ain’t fucking mad. I don’t need to catch what she’s probably got.”

“You heard the mon, bitch,” Hackett shouted over Kane’s shoulder. “Fuck off and don’t come back here else you got money in your hand.”

“Veeral,” Kane pulled Hackett’s attention back from the woman. “I love socialising with you, man, but I got places to go and things to do. If you know what I mean.” He’d looked up the meaning of Hackett’s first name, it was ‘priceless’.

Hackett’s lip curled again. “Dat’s right, mon. The business.” He turned back towards the house. “Chester, haul your lazy ass out of there.”

Kane watched as the three hundred pounds of dreadlocked Jamaican blocking the doorway joined them in front of the house. Chester really didn’t need the omnipresent Uzi to throw a scare into a trespasser.

“We take your beautiful wagon,” Hackett said, striding past Kane and heading for the Merc. “Chester, go in the back.”

“Where to?” Kane said as soon as all three were settled in the car. Chester’s bulk took up most of the back seat.

“You real keen to see our little factory,” Hackett said looking straight ahead.

“Crack is big business and I want my cut of it. This deal is only the first big one and I want to be sure that you can keep me supplied with enough rock to satisfy my customers.”

Hackett turned slowly and looked at Kane. “Dat Chester come over from Jamaica. His momma got the power to see things other people don’t see an’ they say that Chester got that power too.”

“Three cheers for Chester,” Kane said holding Hackett’s eyes in a stare.

“Chester, him think that you a policeman,” Hackett said, watching Kane for a reaction. “Him think that maybe you tryin’ to bring down me and my posse.”

Kane half turned and stared into Chester’s face. “You may have your mother’s power but this time you’ve got your head up your arse.”

Chester moved his body so that the Uzi was pointing at Kane.

“Don’t do nothing stupid, Chester,” Hackett said. “We don’t want any bullet holes in the nice car.”

“Let’s go the whole way.” Kane leaned forward and flicked open the glove compartment. He heard a round being chambered in the Uzi behind him. He took what looked like an acorn from the glove compartment and then pushed the switch on his key ring which locked the car door. “Chester says I’m a copper and I say I’m not.” Kane showed Hackett the hand grenade in his hand, pulled the pin and dropped it on the floor. “We’ve got twenty seconds before it explodes.” He sat back in his seat. “Maybe we’ll find out who was right when we reach heaven.”

Sweat burst instantly from Hackett’s brow. He pulled at the door but it wouldn’t open. He whipped a gun from his belt and pointed it at Kane’s head. “Open the fucking doors, mon.”

Kane looked passively ahead. He wondered what Davenport was thinking as he listened to their conversation.

Chapter Three

It was all going pear-shaped, Davenport thought as he listened to the conversation in the car. A grenade. That mad bastard Kane had gone on this operation with a grenade in the car. The tension inside the police van was palpable as Davenport and the eight officers listened to the frantic shouting of the two Jamaicans. How