Shakedown by Martin Bodenham

Author:Martin Bodenham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Down & Out Books

Chapter 34

Gainham was careful not to make any noise when he closed the front door of his townhouse behind him. That would only wake up the girls. He slipped the key into his shorts then glanced at his Polar watch—two minutes to six. His regular four-mile morning run took him along Grove Street, right onto Revere, and then onto Charles Street. The traffic was usually light this time of day, which meant he didn’t have to stop at most intersections. Breaking his pace for cars was irritating when there was a chill in the air.

Running past The Charles Street Inn, he crossed an already busy Beacon Street at the pedestrian lights outside Starbucks, and continued into Boston Common. A strong smell of fried onions wafted over from the deli behind him. He checked his watch again—six-ten—bang on schedule. Once in the park, Gainham increased his speed, no longer having to worry about cars cutting him up. He sprinted about a hundred yards, slowed down, then sprinted again, a pattern he repeated several times while checking his heart rate on the Polar.

As he ran, he played back in his mind yesterday’s meeting. Damon had seemed overly anxious about Mylor, but the real threat was posed by the Chinese. They meant business and weren’t going away. Once he got into the office that morning, he’d have another go at persuading Damon to force Mylor’s hand. The government had to take SLIDA back and quickly.

Approaching the baseball field, he passed a man walking a black Labrador. Gainham nodded to the man, more to thank him for keeping the dog on its leash than to acknowledge him. Not all dog owners were that considerate of runners. At the other side of the common, he headed north along a path that ran parallel with Tremont Street for a few minutes, before turning left. The State House’s gold dome rose up in front of him. He was now at the halfway point in his routine. Another check of the Polar.

He unzipped his outer running jacket and wiped his brow with the back of his left hand. When he ran past the bank of Persian ironwood trees facing the frog pond, the noise of the traffic building up on Beacon Street grew louder.

In the poor light up ahead was the silhouette of a man. He was sitting on a bench facing the pond and seemed to be drinking from a bottle. Gainham increased his pace a little as he approached the man. He wore a filthy trench coat and had long, gray hair. The smell of alcohol grew stronger the closer Gainham got to the bench.

The man turned his head. “Can you spare any change?” he asked, slurring his words.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any money with me,” Gainham shouted, holding up his empty hands.

“Thanks for nothing.”

Gainham thought about saying something, but decided to ignore him and turned his head back toward the path.

Suddenly, another man, dressed in a black tracksuit, stepped out from behind one of the trees in front of him.

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