THE FOLLOWER: SAS hero turns Manchester hitman (A Rick Fuller Thriller Book 4)(17)

She caught my eye and smiled a nervous smile.

She was incredibly beautiful, and I knew she cared for me.

I nodded… Enough.

We needed to get moving. I stood up and looked out of the window. Collecting my thoughts, I did my best to lighten the mood.

“Okay, Lauren, you need to go and change before meeting our pal Larry. We can’t have you looking like Cruella De Vil in your funeral outfit.”

“Charming,” she said.

“Don’t be touchy…anyway, before that you need access to a computer and printer.”

“Consider that done, Sir,” said Mitch grabbing the offending reports from the table, seemingly relieved he was no longer the subject of our cross examination.

I turned to him. He was indeed a big lad with a rower or swimmer’s physique. You wouldn’t want to meet the American in a dark alley, yet he had an almost gentle way about him that made him instantly likeable.

“Listen Mitch,” I said. “First off, we don’t do Sir, Ma’am or Mister here okay? We call ourselves by our names, or worse. And as we have inherited you for the foreseeable, you need to get used to that…and Lauren’s use of the Anglo-Saxon vernacular.”

Mitch gave a broad smile. “Okay, Sir…I mean Rick, yes …good.”

I pointed at him. “Just make sure that computer is secure, okay?”

He nodded. But I didn’t believe him.

“As soon as you’ve done that son, lose the sidearm and pull on some casuals. We’re going on a visit…. So, we’ll need a car.”

Mitch looked out of the window, towards the car park. “I can obtain a pool car, Mr Fuller.”

“What make are they?” I asked, removing my tie.

“Chevy mainly, or Hyundai.”

I shook my head. “I don’t drive either of those cars, Mitch. Get one of the Range Rover’s you lifted us in. The Vogue will do…unless you have a Sport knocking about…I prefer that model, especially one with black leather and cream pipe.”

Mitch looked around the room. Des had a big smile on his face. “You’ll get used to it, Mitch pal, welcome aboard.”

The Yank left shaking his head at the mad English people he’d been landed with.

*

Finally, we were alone.

“Am I the only one who thinks this job stinks to high heaven?” I said.

I got two shakes of the head.

I turned down the corners of my mouth. Not a happy bunny. “I’ll get onto Cartwright as soon as I can, and find out what being ‘loaned out’ entails.”

I looked towards the door. “Mitch seems a good boy, but I reckon he’s only here to keep an eye on what we get up to, and report back to Carver, who will have Senator Blackman’s ear no doubt. Now, very important, I don’t want to have to explain to Carver why his All American Boy is lying in a gutter in Moss Side with his head blown off. So, if anything comes on top, get him out of the way. Okay?”

Two nods.

“Good. “I rubbed my hands together. “Right, Lauren, get on the net and find out everything you can about Senator J.E. Blackman. Family, friends, business dealings, gossip, likes, dislikes…you know the script. Print everything so we can start a dossier.

When I get back, I want you to go straight to Lawrence’s offices. I’m sure you can handle him.”

She smiled at me again, this time with slightly more confidence. “Easy,” she said.

“Des, grab one of the pool cars, you don’t mind Korean engineering, do you?”

The Scot fumbled for his disgusting pipe. “I mind you being a smug prick. But if it means I can get outside for a wee smoke, I suppose it’s okay.”

“Now don’t be tetchy. I want you to go to Ancoats and find the murder scene. It will still be under guard, but have a snoop about the area. Visit the pubs…chat with the natives…who’s running around that part of town? You’re good at that.”

“Aye, I’m good at getting punched in the kipper for askin’ stupid questions too.”

I slapped Des on the back, just as Mitch re-appeared with a laptop and printer balanced precariously in his arms.

“Ah good,” I said. “Are we ready?”

Mitch plugged in the machine and set Lauren up with a password. “All ready,” he said.

“Excellent,” I managed. “…and the car?”

Mitch smiled. “I got us the Sport, Mr Fuller…I mean Rick.”

I gestured towards to door pleased with my transport. “Good lad, right…first we need to swing by my place so I can change. Then we’re going to see Egghead.”

“Egghead?”

“Yes, he’s a clever guy…. Now…Do you like cats, Mitch?”

*

I drove. The car was tight and responsive, just as I remembered my own model to be. However, the Americans had spared no expense and our model was similar to one I’d owned. Well, before Goldsmith and company came along. It was the supercharged version, delivering 390 bhp as standard. It came with Stormer 20ins alloys and Brembo disc brakes to stop the big beast. Sounds were provided by a Sirius satellite radio nestled into Limed Oak wood trim, and we sat comfortably encased in black leather sports seats.

I made a note that at least part of my $333,333 fee for the job was going to be spent at my local Jaguar Land Rover dealer.