Page 10 of The Professor
Andrew
“Hey, Andrew.”
I looked up at the sound of Dalton’s voice and dropped my smoke on the pavement, ground the toe of my boot onto it. “Hey.”
Grant was with him, tall with blond hair poking from a black baseball cap. It was clear he was nervous to see me.
As he should be.
“Didn’t think we’d see you again.” I pushed away from the wall and shoved my hands into my pockets. I’d changed to black jeans and a black rollneck. A bandana patterned with the Union Jack sat at my neck, ready to be lifted to conceal my face if necessary.
“You said you were cool with him being here.” Dalton frowned.
“Know what, I didn’t. I said I’d be cool if he was up for the job.”
“I’m up for it.” Grant scowled. “And shit, I’m sorry, I take full responsibility for fucking up last time. My bad, man.”
“Too right it was.” I stepped up to him and jabbed his chest with my finger. He needed reminding who was in charge here. “And you put the whole fucking crew at risk. Something happens to us, who dishes out justice, huh? Then where will this country be?”
“I know, I know.” He glanced at Dalton. “Maybe I should go.”
Dalton sighed. “What do you reckon, Andrew?”
I held my palms out. “Nah, you’re here now, stay, and it’s only one asswipe to deal with. With three of us, what can go wrong?”
“Murderer and rapist, right?” Grant balled his fists. In his day job he was a banker, did stocks and investments and stuff. “All women.”
“Yep, all young women.” Dalton yanked down his cap and pulled up his bandana that matched mine. He worked as a doctor and ran a hospice, helping people when they were having the worst time imaginable. If anyone understood howprecious life was, it was him, and that also meant the gravity and enormity of taking a life wasn’t lost on him either. “Let’s go.”
We started to walk back along Old Knight Street. We’d do a recce and make sure Ray Icke was eating alone the way he usually did. We also wanted to check there weren’t any of his runners around—we didn’t want complications.
Grant definitely didn’t need complications. If he cocked up, he’d be out. No coming back. We had to have rules for our own protection.
“Yeah, he’s alone,” Dalton said as we strode past the near empty late-night café.
“No one else around either,” Grant added. We ducked into a side alley only a few steps from the entrance. “Not that I can see.”
“No, this place is as empty as it gets.” I was pleased about that. Sometimes the city was buzzing late evening, but it was a Monday, so we’d hoped it wasn’t a party night.
“Got a plan?” Dalton asked me.
“The usual plan.” Out of habit I touched the gun in the waistband of my pants; the cool metal was pressed up against the hollow of my back. “Make sure he knows who we are and why we’re here and then ensure it’s not too quick. He didn’t let his victims off without suffering.”
“Got ya.” Grant nodded and shuffled from one foot to the other. His clean-shaven face was in shadows, and his eyes sparkled with anticipation. “We can do that.”
“Cover yourself.” I heard the café door bang and then footsteps.
“Want me to do the honors?” Dalton said.
“Sure.” I nodded. My heart rate had picked up, and for the first time in hours, thoughts of Chelsea flew from my mind. I had to concentrate.
“Hey, man,” Dalton said, stepping onto the street. “You got the time?”
“Fuck off and get a watch.”
I stiffened, so did Grant. We were Rottweilers ready to attack. Our professor and banker personas long gone.
“What’d you say to my friend?” I stepped up, next to Dalton.
