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

buy and some beak or other will accept that his father used to abuse him when he was four. We haven’t stopped Hackett. We’ve only hindered his career.”

They exited the room. The forensics team would arrive soon and bag the evidence. Davenport’s mobile phone rang and he listened silently for a few minutes.

“Don’t be so bloody despondent,” Davenport said. “This is like Alcoholics Anonymous. One dealer at a time. I heard on the blower that we netted twenty-nine of the bastards between the raids on the other houses and here. We’ve taken Hackett out of circulation even if it’s only for a short time and it’s a message to all the others. We’ve got them in our sights. It’ll take him weeks to get his operation up and running again.”

They reached the front door and Kane could see a young constable behind the wheel of the Mercedes.

“It’s got to go back,” Davenport said. “We’ll give you a lift back downtown.”

A second constable gingerly handed Kane the grenade which had been in the glove compartment. He dropped it into his pocket.

“Lucky the grenade wasn’t real,” Davenport said.

“Wasn’t it?” Kane said as he walked towards the waiting police cars.

Chapter Four

Kane’s head snapped back as he evaded a vicious left jab. It was seven o’clock in the morning a week after the Hackett operation. The boredom had set in and Kane’s method of alleviating boredom was to put himself in the firing line. Except that assisting a middleweight contender by acting as a sparring partner cum boxing bag was probably most people’s definition of madness. Kane dodged another jab before walking straight into a right cross. His ears sang as he bobbed and weaved to avoid further damage. He slid out of a clinch and bounced along the ropes. He tried a shuffle but his feet appeared to be about two minutes behind his brain. He received a sharp left jab to his face for his trouble. A second Mohamed Ali he certainly wasn’t although in his younger days he could hold his own with most of the top amateurs. His ears were returning to normal when he heard the welcome sound of the bell.

“What the hell is your problem?” Davenport stood at the corner of the ring and watched the sweat from Kane’s body form a pool at his feet. Davenport’s own definition of exercise was walking up one flight of stairs. “I suppose you should see someone. Although I don’t think they have a cure for masochism.”

“I didn’t know you were a fight fan.” Kane spat his gumshield into his right glove and nodded at the bottle of water at Davenport’s feet. “How did you know I was here?”

Davenport lifted the bottle and handed it to Kane who pulled great gulps of water into his waiting mouth. “I know everything about your pathetic life.” He rarely had the opportunity to see Kane sporting only a pair of boxing trunks. While he was a comfortable twenty kilos overweight, Kane didn’t have an ounce of excess fat on his lithe body. The perfect pecs and the washboard stomach were the product of hours spent in the gym.

“Only two more rounds to go.” Kane savoured the taste of the water. “That is if the bastard doesn’t kill me first.” He turned towards his dancing opponent who hadn’t required a drink during the inter-round respite.

“That won’t happen,” Davenport said. “Because the fight’s over for today. I need you to come with me right this minute.”

Kane’s first reaction was relief. He knew that no matter how easy his opponent went on him he would be hurting after two more rounds of punishment. Then his ego kicked in. He normally didn’t pull out for any reason.

“Say what,” Kane raised his eyebrows as he looked at his chief. “On my time I decide what I can do and what I can’t.”

Davenport looked at his watch. “Since we must be in Heathrow in less than an hour, I suggest that you use the available ten minutes before our car arrives to have a shower and dress. Or you may continue having your head beaten in and go as you are. But I assure you we will be in Heathrow in time to catch our plane.”

As they flew over the Channel, Kane sipped the watered-down coffee which was one of the hallmarks of the World’s Favourite Airline. He had queried Davenport on the purpose of their trip to Amsterdam but as soon as they sat in the car to the airport, Davenport had buried himself in the contents of his briefcase. It had to be something good if the Met were footing the bill for the two of them to visit the continent. But what the hell was it? Kane finally gave up trying to figure out what was ahead and gave himself over to the in-flight magazine. It was always nice to learn what celeb had been landed with a freebie this month. It amazed him that the people who didn’t need to have their holidays paid for them were the ones who inevitably got one free. What he wouldn’t give to write a two-page article about his visit to the Seychelles courtesy of some airline and hotel group.

They were met as they stepped off the plane. Kane wondered about formalities, passports and the like but he knew that Davenport would have that angle covered. There was no customs and no passport control. They simply climbed into the rear seat of a police car and were driven directly through a private exit at the side of the airport.

“Where are we going?” Kane asked.

“The Hague,” Davenport replied and buried his nose in his papers again.

Kane knew that The Hague was something like a suburb of Amsterdam. On the map, it was hard to see when one city in Southern Holland ended and the next one began. The trip was pleasantly short and the scenery between the cities, what there was of it, was unremarkable. The one thing that could