The Drop

‘so, that’s it then.’
    ‘Not quite,’ I told him, ‘I’ve got to go and see someone.’
    Palmer asked, ‘do you want me to come with you?’
    ‘No, I’m going to do this one myself. Danny can watch my back. If he sees you, he’ll know and I want to talk to him first,’ I explained. ‘I want a reason.’
    Palmer nodded like he understood. ‘Whatever reason he gives, it won’t be enough.’
    ‘All the same,’ I said, ‘I want to hear it from him,’ that wasn’t the only reason. This was a complicated mixture of honour and my authority all rolled into one. I was about to see the man who’d made this all happen. The one responsible for all the god-awful shit we’d had to wade through. It was only right and proper that the new boss sorted it all out, drawing a line under everything so we could finally move on.
    ‘Careful,’ cautioned Palmer, ‘wouldn’t want it to go tits up after all this.’
    ‘No reason it should,’ I said, ‘it’s not as if he’s expecting me.’
    ‘What if he is suspicious?’
    ‘I’ve still got the Glock.’

THIRTY-SEVEN
    ...................................................
    I wasn’t sure whether to knock on the door. If he wasn’t expecting me, he’d be as meek as a lamb, if he was, then I was as likely to be met by a shotgun blast as a cup of tea, but he didn’t strike me as the kind of man who kept guns lying around the house. As I was deliberating this, I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye, a face at the window.
    It was Miller - and he looked scared.
    And then he was gone.
    From the look on his face there was no way he was opening the door to me. Any last doubts I’d had about Miller disappeared in an instant. It was him all right. Palmer had got the right name.
    I pulled out the Glock and legged it down the side of the farm house. Miller must not have been expecting to see me again after Friday night, so now he knew something had gone wrong. I was looking ahead as I ran, hoping to get a shot at him as he flew out of his back door, so I didn’t realise I was too close to the metal dustbin that stood against the wall. My knee connected with its edge as I ran by and I cried out as it knocked me off balance and I fell face first onto the ground. He must have been keeping bricks in there or something ‘cos it was as solid as rock but I didn’t care about that right now, because all of a sudden there was Miller up ahead of me.
    He moved pretty fast for an older guy. He must have torn through his house and out the back door because he’d almost reached his studio already. I was still moving when I aimed and I was going to let loose a shot but, before I could, he threw open the door to the studio and disappeared inside.
    I had about a second to think it through. I could take my time and wait. I could go back and get Danny who was in the car outside, but I’d already told him I would handle it. I had my reasons for that and they had nothing to do with ego. There were times when the guy giving the orders had to earn the right to give them. Cutting up Gladwell was one of them, this was another. Plus, I didn’t want to lose momentum or give Miller the chance to grab a gun and find a nice safe spot to hide behind and phone the police. I tore after him, wrenched the door open and pointed my gun straight ahead, half expecting him to be standing there doing the same thing. I knew I’d have to be quick and accurate or he’d do for me before I could get him in my sights.
    Nothing.
    Just silence in the dark corridor and those bloody photographer’s lamps shining brightly up ahead of me like searchlights, casting strange deep shadows, anyone of which could have been hiding Miller. I edged my way slowly forward, keeping the gun pointed straight ahead of me. I had no idea what to expect. I hadn’t a clue what he kept in here. There’d be a gun somewhere no doubt, knowing his line of work, but was it a .38 or a Kalashnikov? I was sweating because I knew that, in here, anything could happen. I could be outgunned, outthought and out of my depth but I pressed on regardless. Our-young-’un always used to say about the Paras: they kept moving, always forward, always pressing, so they didn’t lose momentum.
    ‘You sold us all out Miller,’ I called, hoping I sounded a lot harder than I felt. ‘I know it and you know it, so I’m coming for you now.’ His answer? A bullet that he sent my way from god knows where. It ricocheted then echoed in