Live Fire-Dan Shepherd 6 by Stephen Leather

Author:Stephen Leather [Leather, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9780340921753
Google: 214bAAAACAAJ
Amazon: B002V092C4
Barnesnoble: B002V092C4
Goodreads: 6856890
Publisher: Hodder
Published: 2009-06-25T00:00:00+00:00

The red and white pole stayed down as Shepherd drove up to the compound entrance in his Jeep. One of the two guards walked over, holding a clipboard, and Shepherd wound down the window. ‘ID card,’ said the guard. It wasn’t one of the men who had been on the gate the first time Shepherd had visited.

Shepherd frowned. ‘I don’t have one.’

‘Passport? Driving licence?’ The guard had the world-weary look of policemen everywhere, and a Glock holstered on his hip.

Shepherd took his John Westlake passport from his pocket and showed it to the guard. He checked the name against a list on his clipboard and Shepherd’s face against the photograph on the licence, then nodded curtly and handed it back. He spoke to his colleague and the second guard raised the pole. Both men saluted as Shepherd drove through the gate.

Yates was waiting for him at the top of the stairs leading to the main building, wearing an oversized shirt, covered with different-coloured elephants, and baggy shorts. ‘We’re in the bar,’ he said. ‘Come on through.’

Shepherd jogged up the stairs. Yates clapped him on the back and ushered him through the hall. ‘How many people are coming?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Lots,’ said Yates. They walked by the chill-out room. There was no sound, no buzz of conversation, no clink of glasses, no sign of any sort of party in progress. Shepherd slowed but Yates put a hand in the small of his back, pushing him forward. ‘Mickey’s going to be doing the cooking and he’s a magician with the old charcoal,’ said Yates. Shepherd knew that Yates was talking to cover his nerves. Something was wrong, very wrong, and it was too late for Shepherd to do anything about it. ‘He had the steaks flown in from Australia, no expense spared,’ continued Yates. Shepherd heard the tension in his voice.

They walked into the bar. Mickey and Mark were standing in the middle of the room with their hands on their hips, wearing Nike tracksuits; Mickey’s was red and Mark’s was blue. Wilson was by the pool table, holding a cue in both hands. Black was sitting on a bar stool but slid off it as Yates closed the door to the bar.

‘What’s up, guys?’ asked Shepherd. He heard the uncertainty in his voice but forced himself to smile as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

‘Don’t give me that, you slag,’ said Mickey, walking towards him with his fists bunched. ‘We know what you’re up to.’

Shepherd stared at him unflinchingly. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Did you think you’d get away with it?’ said Mickey, his face just inches from Shepherd’s. ‘Did you think you could pull the wool over our eyes like we were born fucking yesterday?’

‘Mickey, what the hell is wrong?’

Mickey jabbed his finger at Shepherd’s nose. ‘Don’t you “Mickey” me, you lying slag.’

‘Let me sort him out, Mickey,’ said Mark. He grabbed the pool cue from Wilson and strode towards Shepherd, swinging it from side to side. ‘We know who you are,’ said Mark.

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