Finders Keepers by Edie Baylis (epub ebook reader txt) 📕

Acting suitably offended was usually enough to get the point across. Jonah didn’t have a leg to stand on. Anything to do with hookers and enforcement was his bag, not Jonah’s, so as long as Jonah believed this to be the case, then he was home and dry. ‘As I said, I told Keith to pass on the info I got from my cop contact the other night, but from what you said, he hasn’t. That isn’t my issue. I presumed he had done what was asked,’ Saul lied.

Let Keith take the rap, the useless bastard. Having the damn cheek to kick off at him about the girl? Silly cunt. Who the fuck did he think he was? Who the fuck did any of them think they were? He was sick of the lot of them.

Jonah pursed his lips. ‘Ok, so what was said? From your contact? What do you know?’

Saul frowned. ‘My contact has a mate in the CID from the nick investigating the Dulcie Adams case who says you’re not in the frame. None of us are.’

Jonah breathed an inward sigh of relief. ‘We can move on with the next phase then?’

Too late, shit for brains. I’m well ahead with that already, Saul thought acidly, yet smiled reassuringly. ‘Yes, but he did say they’re digging around for a few more days to tie all the loose ends for the paperwork up, so by my estimation, just to be on the safe side, we give it a wide berth for another week.’ That would allow enough time to get the rest in place and whatever happened after that, Jonah would be too late. And there was fuck all he would be able to do about it.

Jonah nodded. ‘Ok. Frustrating, but we’ll just have to sit tight a bit longer then.’ He’d been barking up the wrong tree with Saul. He should have given him more credit, both about Lena and about steaming ahead with the Dulcie Adams business. ‘Do you need any help with this trouble at the flats?’ he asked, deciding to extend an olive branch.

Saul shook his head, pleased that as usual, Jonah had taken his word. ‘Nah, it’ll all be sorted within a couple of days.’ And it would. More than sorted.

‘Just one more thing.’ Jonah eyed Saul carefully. ‘Give the shit about Lena a break. Whether you like it or not I’m marrying her, ok?’

Saul sighed. ‘Point taken. I’ll keep my comments to myself.’ But you’re not marrying her, Jonah. You don’t yet realise it, but you soon will.

Nodding at his brother, Jonah stood up. ‘Right, I’d best get on. Thanks for bringing me up to speed.’

Saul grinned. ‘No problem. That’s what brothers are for.’ Meanwhile, Lena was his next port of call.

WALKING DOWN TO THE CORNER SHOP, hands wedged deep in his jeans pockets, Joe resented that his fingers were touching the phone. That phone.

Waiting on tenterhooks for it to ring was not his idea of a good time. And furthermore, he didn’t want it to ring, precisely because he knew who would be on the other end of the line.

End. Of. Story.

But what choice did he have with Robert Adams manhandling him into his own bloody house last night, standing over him as he called the only number on that burner phone? It was hardly likely he could do anything else.

Oh sure, he could have pretended to leave a message, but he got the distinct impression that Robert Adams wasn’t the sort to glibly accept anything without proof. And he’d been right.

It had been Robert who’d snatched the phone off him, wanting to hear for himself that the call had gone to voicemail and Joe had been relieved for all of a nanosecond, thinking this meant he could do nothing further, but his hopes were dashed when Robert instructed him to leave a message.

It had only been when he’d been slammed up against the bedroom wall, his five-year-old cactus jumping off the bedside table with the reverberation that had again convinced him that doing what was asked was the best solution. So he’d done it; he’d left the exact message Robert wanted. He’d even managed not to sound like he was shitting a brick with a 6’ 3” bloke pinning him up against the wall at the time either. He’d done well.

Robert Adams had finally left after telling him to phone as soon as a response was received and not to even think about doing a runner, because he’d find him. Worryingly, Joe knew that this was possible because, short of drowning himself or emigrating to Libya, it appeared everyone had the ability to find him, so there really was no point in trying to pretend otherwise, but now he was waiting. Waiting for that call.

Walking into the corner shop, half tripping over the step, Joe stood behind an old man at the counter, his gnarled fingers moving teeth-grindingly slowly as he meticulously counted out a pile of copper coins. Joe would happily pay for the old boy’s five TV guide listings himself if it meant it would speed up the process, but then he wouldn’t have enough for fags and if he didn’t get a smoke soon he’d scream.

Tapping his foot impatiently, he stared at the back of the man’s balding head in the vague hope of speeding him up.

‘Twenty Lambert and Butlers,’ Joe muttered the second the old man had finished, pushing against the counter in his haste. He dragged his change from his pocket and put it on the counter, hoping he hadn’t mislaid any of it since he’d counted it earlier.

Suddenly the burner phone rang. Oh, not now, not here. Come on! Fumbling to get the phone out of his pocket, Joe glanced at the newsagent who was staring disparagingly as he counted the money. He also ignored the disapproving tuts from the woman behind him.

His shaking fingers stabbed at the answer