CRIMINAL JUSTICE: A heart-pounding covert cop action adventure by Ian Robinson

Author:Ian Robinson [Robinson, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Book Folks bestselling crime thriller publisher
Published: 2024-02-25T00:00:00+00:00

15

Hamer doesn’t know it, but I’ll be his shadow whilst he goes about his weary way intimidating the public and being a prick. I chose today as it’s been designated a down day by DCI Winter on account of her team’s budget being overspent after two days of nothing happening. Stoner has been on another planet, and I chose to stay in the city and entertain a Lithuanian barmaid. Even criminals need some time out. The drugs and guns aren’t on the move as first thought. The skip lorry is still being worked on, though I don’t know why.

So rather than sit or lie around, I thought I’d take this time to get to know Mr Hamer a little more. I’m good like that. It’s a weekday and according to Stoner, he always has his lunch in the grounds of the temple. She says he likes it there as he was meant to be a lawyer but that didn’t work out, so he took to crime. Not much difference in my eyes. They shit on you all the same for the greatest pot of money. Most of it, the public’s. I arrive at 1130 hours and look outside the church where he likes to take his mid-morning snack. Bang on time, he turns up, shuffling his fat frame towards the reinforced concrete bench. He sticks his lardy butt down and concentrates on his Subway. He only looks up and grins when a woman walks past.

I’m oblivious to him. I’m out in the open, dressed casually in a black T-shirt, jeans, and Converse shoes. Yes, I wear shoes. Even prosthetics are made to shoe size. I have more hair now than he would have seen me with on both my head and face. Not too much growth, but enough to distort any memory of my appearance he may have stored. He doesn’t take long to consume his sandwich. It was a foot long but to him a light bite. He wipes his grease-stained hands and mouth with a paper napkin and with the grace of a gorilla rises from his seat and stretches. I have one eye on my book and the other on him. He starts walking towards me and his phone goes. He stops and answers it. I look down and carry on reading. He’s getting closer now, ten feet, if that.

‘Where are you? I’m where we always meet! Where do you think I am? Hang on… I see you, I see you.’ He shuts the phone off and goes back to the bench and sits down.

I wonder if he’s made me, but have to trust my instinct that he hasn’t. I’ll shoot myself if I’ve fucked this up. I remain where I am for now. I want eyes on who’s meeting him, but I’m praying it’s not Stoner or Ron. A male approaches him. He’s around six foot, athletically built with a nonchalant swagger. Despite the warm day, he is wearing a light cotton scarf. He appears to be an actor but I know he’s no screen artist, he’s a cop paid to act like he isn’t.

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