Unrest by Robert White

Author:Robert White [White, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00LDOUU6G
Publisher: Robert White
Published: 2014-06-28T05:00:00+00:00

Westland yawned as he stepped into the last of the shops that had cameras facing the street. It was a video rental store, which appeared to have more 'top shelf' titles than top shelves.

He considered that this detective lark was all very well on the television, but in truth it was pretty boring. All it seemed to entail was walking door to door, asking the same questions and hoping to see yet another few seconds of footage of the man they were looking for. All they had managed to see so far were shots of him walking further toward the town of Burnley, dragging his luggage and a young girl behind him.

Striker, on the other hand, seemed immune to tiredness or boredom. The man was a machine.

What had been a sunny day had turned to chilly dusk and Tag had zipped up his hoodie against the cold. As he stepped inside the shop, he reversed the process as the place was sweltering.

Striker introduced himself and showed his ID to a small pug-faced man with glasses that were thick enough to start the great fire of London if left in the wrong place.

"Police? No problem with police," said the man, in an eastern European accent. "Everything legal here, no young girls, no funny stuff, all good."

"I don't care about your smut," said Striker flatly. "I want to look at that." He pointed to the ancient camera that poked out over an awning outside the shop.

The man shrugged. "Broken," he said.

Striker turned to Westland. "Go and stand outside, son."

Tag was about to complain about the temperature, considered it futile and walked into the chill, muttering more Irish, American and ginger jibes.

Striker leaned over the counter to get a better view of the back room of the shop. A prehistoric tube television sat on a desk, surrounded by old VHS boxes and soft porn magazines.

Westland appeared centre stage on the screen. The picture was blurred, but it was the young cop, no doubt.

Striker struck like a viper, grabbing the proprietor with a ham of a fist, lifting him from his feet.

"Broken, eh?"

"Let go me! I complain! You can't do this!" spluttered the man.

Westland ran back into the shop as Striker was starting to shake the shopkeeper like a terrier with a rat.

"Sarge! Put the guy down, eh?" He walked over, stood precariously between the men, and played good cop.

"Sorry about that, mate," he said, brushing down the flustered shopkeeper.

The man was pale. "He crazy!"

Westland nodded. "Yes, sir, he is. He's not quite right." Tag tapped the side of his head. "Best you let him see the tape."

Striker glared at Tag. "Crazy?"

Westland smiled meekly. "Come on, boss. Let's get this over with."

The shopkeeper stood aside.

"When I say broken, I mean machine broken, no times, no search, just record."

Tag continued with his placating tone.

"That's okay, mate, we'll just have a quick look and be out of your way."

The pair walked into the cluttered room. Striker had not forgiven his prodigy.

"Crazy?"

Tag shrugged. "Well come on, Striker; I've known you what? Thirty six hours, and you've tried to throttle two people already.

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