Cruel Summer (Jake Sawyer Crime Thrillers Book 7) by Andrew Lowe

Author:Andrew Lowe [Lowe, Andrew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Redpoint Books
Published: 2022-03-27T16:00:00+00:00

26

Deon Kinsella swerved in from the street and ran down a set of uneven stone steps. He had a thumb pressed to the bell beside the basement door with three steps to spare.

Inside, a dog barked, rabid and furious, and a male face appeared at the window. The door opened, and Kinsella shoved past the two goons and knelt to pet Doyle’s pit bull, who whimpered and rolled over.

‘Is he in?’

‘Gym,’ said the taller goon.

Kinsella let the dog play-bite his fist, then walked across the member’s bar area to a set of double doors marked PRIVATE. The doors opened to a wooden-floored gymnasium marked out for basketball, but repurposed with resistance machines, spin bike, treadmill. Mickey Doyle stood beneath a wall-mounted TV, landing flurries of punches to the face of a free-standing torso dummy.

He paused to look up at the football on the TV. ‘Never a fuckin’ penalty. Not in a billion years. These officials have got one job, Deon. Get the decisions right.’

Kinsella looked up at the screen. ‘Can’t imagine your boys are looking forward to next season after the last derby.’

‘Get fucked.’ Doyle rocked the dummy with a decisive haymaker and yanked a towel down from a wall rack.

Kinsella took a can of Red Bull from a fridge and handed it to Doyle. ‘We’ve found Curtis Mavers.’

‘Who’s we?’

‘One of my lads got word. Mavers likes a bet, so I had all the bookies on the lookout in his old stomping ground.’

‘Birkenhead.’

‘Yeah. Cocky bastard went to the Ladbrokes down the road from his hotel. Small place.’

Doyle padded his forehead with the towel. ‘I’d do the same. Nowhere posh. He’s keepin’ his head down until he can spend Stokes’s money somewhere better than the knocking shops of Tranmere.’

Kinsella took a Diet Coke for himself, cracked the ring pull. ‘We giving him to Stokes, then?’

Doyle slurped his drink and sat down on a workout bench. ‘I’m curious.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘So many questions about Mavers and his detective pal robbing Stokes’s boys. But I like to get my info nice and pure. First hand. I want to know if there’s any plan to expand the operation. Do we need to throw out a few warnings to our big boys?’ He held Kinsella’s eye. ‘I’m not running a fucking charity here. Wouldn’t hurt to have a private chat with Mavers before we feed him to the Mancs. You could stay over. Must be a couple of salubrious saunas up in New Brighton.’

Kinsella lifted a dumbbell from a rack and tried a few bicep curls. ‘I might do that. There’s a place called the Dolphin. Bit of a dump. T-girls, though. And I might piss off up to Crosby when we’re done. See the Gormley sculptures.’ He replaced the weight. ‘I’ll go first thing.’

‘No, you won’t. You’ll go now. Solo. Dawn raid. Don’t fucking call me until nineish, though. I’ll have a little FaceTime with Wolf Boy, then give Stokes a bell for the handover.’

Kinsella sipped his Coke. ‘I had a look into this Jake Sawyer fella.

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