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He spits blood on the floor, his eyes momentarily looking away. He then looks at Vincent who nods for him to go.
Yeah, that’s right, fucker. You shoot me, you get to ride up front.
Captain climbs up in the now empty lorry with Len. The two of them drive off, heading back to the depo. They shouldn’t get picked up.
The rest of us carry on with our plan.
Arriving at the port just over an hour later, the look on Costa’s face as we pull up in our not-so-inconspicuous choice oftransport, is verging on feral.
Armed men in suits surround us instantly. Costa doesn’t move as they usher us to line up in front of him. The way they’re pulling and pushing us about, it’s starting to really piss me off.
Costa looks at my chest. “Complications?” he asks.
“Nothing that can’t be sorted,” I grimace, pulling my shirt that’s now sticking to my skin.
“Anything I need to be aware of?”
Me and Vincent exchange a look. “No,” Vincent replies.
“What happened?” Costa asks.
I open my mouth to talk but Costa turns to face Vincent.
Vincent slowly looks towards him, and I wonder if he’s regretting getting into this shit. This guy’s a first-class prick with too much money and power.
“Why don’tyoutell me?” Costa asks him.
Vincent explains what happened and how we stopped the cargo from getting stolen.
Costa turns, whispering something into his other right-hand man’s ear. I recognise him from the clubhouse. Starbucks. He makes a call, stepping off to one side just out of ear shot.
Sonny called me bang on the halfway point where the Irish planned to hit. Using other vehicles, they forced the lorry being driven by two of our nomads off the road. Masked men surrounded it, then opened it up. The second they realised they’d been duped; they fled the scene and the nomads took off.
“Where’s my original transport vehicle now?”
Vincent looks at me.
I look at Costa.
Costa raises an eyebrow.
“Taken to a depo further north from here,” I start. “Figured you’d want that somewhere else in case it was still followed?”
Costa’s lip raises in one corner. He clicks his tongue then swivels on his heels rather dramatically.
His right-hand man comes back, and I’m guessing he confirms everything Vincent relays.
Turning back to me taking a step closer, Costa smiles. “And how was it that a man in a Ripper cut came to know of this… ambush, rather than the man wearing the Saviour cut?”
“We had no—”
Costa raises his finger, forcing Vincent to stop talking, keeping his eyes on me.
Guessing that’s my cue. “My president. That’s how.”
“Interesting,” he says, dragging his hand across his face.
“Why?”
