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

the hell would he explain to the chief constable the destroyed Merc, a dead officer and two dead villains? This would be the end of him. Why the hell had he put his trust in somebody who played as close to the line as Kane? He wanted to look at his watch and count the seconds. What had it been; ten, maybe fifteen seconds since Kane had pulled the pin. Maybe the grenade had been a dummy. Knowing Kane, that scenario was highly unlikely. He glanced quickly at his watch and braced himself for the explosion.

Sweat streamed down Veeral Hackett’s face. The gun was having no effect on Kane. There could only be a matter of seconds left in his life. His bladder was suddenly exerting terrible pressure on him. “Alright, mon,” he screamed. “Chester has his head up his bottom.”

Kane bent and picked up the grenade from beneath his feet. He replaced the pin. He guessed they had had maybe two seconds before they all went up.

Hackett looked at the grenade in Kane’s hand as though waiting for it to explode. He laughed hysterically and slipped the safety catch on his gun. “You are one cool mother,” he said looking at Kane. “Now tell me that that motherfuckin’ grenade ain’t real.”

Kane slipped his finger through the pin again. “Why don’t we find out?”

“You fuckin’ mad, mon.” Hackett glanced in the rear mirror and saw a look of feral fear still in Chester’s eyes. “The next time you get this juju feelin’ ‘bout somebody, mon, you keep that feelin’ to yourself.”

“Places to go, people to meet, a deal to go down,” Kane said replacing the grenade in the glove compartment.

“Yeah,” Hackett said. “Let’s get to it. I want to start spendin’ your money. Drive down the street and make a right turn.”

Kane did as he was told. Nobody would ever know how close they had been to being dogmeat. It was so close that every sinew in his body was still singing. That had been one hell of a high. He was betting with himself that Chester and Hackett would never forget it. Or him. But the ‘snip’ still had to go down. That meant that the best was

yet to come.

“Two hundred yards then left,” Hackett said.

They were nearing the middle of the estate and what was probably the epicentre of Hackett’s drug attack on the poor people of London. A group of youngsters, tomorrow’s potential crackheads, were kicking a ball around on a green the size of a living room carpet. Most of the houses had been treated to a dose of neglect. It was an ideal location for Hackett’s operation. Like any good businessman, he had sited the supply of his commodity as close as possible to his customers. A ruthless punk he might be but he had grasped the very essentials of modern capitalism.

“Next right, fourth house down,” Hackett said.

Kane did as he was told and stopped in front of the fourth house. He noted that there was no guard on the door as there had been at the crack house. Hackett was sure that his little secret was safe. But it wouldn’t be for long. The tracker fitted to the Merc would give Davenport their exact location. The house looked like every other on the estate. Maybe a little more dilapidated but given the general level of decay, it was difficult to be judgemental.

“We there.” Hackett opened the door and climbed out of the car. Chester lumbered after his boss.

Kane exited slowly from the driver’s side. He looked around the road searching for Hackett’s men. Four doors further up the street two women and a man sat in front of a house swigging beer from half-litre cans. Near the end of the road, a group of teenagers stood around beneath a streetlight moving to the sounds emanating from a ghetto blaster on the ground beside them. It was a typical South London estate scene. Showtime was approaching. Kane could feel the adrenaline beginning to course around his veins. He moved towards the house and Hackett put a restraining hand on his chest.

“Da money,” he said.

Kane looked down at him and then smiled. “What kind of an asshole do you take me for? You think I’d walk into your crack factory with two hundred and fifty grand in a Waitrose shopping bag? You’re crazier than I thought you were. First, I see the merchandise and then you get to see the money.”

“Only testin’,” Hackett said and smiled. ‘I know you a mon not to be messed with. You left da grenade in da car?’

Kane nodded.

Hackett slapped Kane on the shoulder. “You one mad motherfucker. Let’s go look at what we have for you.” Hackett marched up to the front door of the house and knocked three times.

There was a fish-eye spyhole at head level and Kane assumed they were being examined. Keys turned in locks and the door swung open. When Kane saw the thickness of the front door, he wondered whether the ‘ghostbusters’ would indeed be able to flatten it with their hydraulic ram. As he passed through into the hall, he noticed that a housing had been fitted to the doorframe which would receive six bolts which protruded from the side of the door. The man who opened the door might have been Chester’s twin brother, right down to the Uzi slung over his shoulder. He wore a gauze mask over his face and Kane immediately understood why. Kane’s nose twitched as he inhaled the powder which seemed to permeate the air. There was enough cocaine in the air to kill a healthy horse. As soon as they entered the hall, Hackett sniffed the air before picking a mask from a nail which had been driven into the wall.

“Only the best for my clients,” he said, taking a second snort before donning his mask. Kane followed suit. The one thing he didn’t need was to get stoned. From the look of the front door, he