Page 32 of Hang on St. Christopher

“Nothing.”

“That’s right. Now, I’ve got some questions for you, and there will be a fiver in it for you if you give me the answers, and it’ll be a trip to the police station for assaulting an officer if you don’t. Understand?”

“A fiver?”

“A fiver if you can answer all my questions.”

“All right.”

“Did you see who dumped that stolen car and burned it out?”

“I seen him.”

“What’d he look like?”

“He was wearing a balaclava and a brown leather jacket.”

“He rode off on what?”

“A motorbike.”

“What type?”

“Don’t know.”

“He’d parked the motorbike here earlier, drove the car here, burned out the Jag, and drove off on the bike. Am I right?”

“Aye.”

“Come on, lad, what type of bike?”

“I don’t know! Big loud one.”

“License plate?”

“Fuck knows. It was parked behind the old offy; nobody seen it until he came roaring out on it.”

“This guy—he say anything to anybody?”

“No. He just dumped the car, burned it out, put on his helmet, and rode off.”

“What type of helmet? Shoei? What?”

“No idea.”

“And before that, he was wearing a balaclava?”

“Aye.”

“He parks the car, burns it out, and he drives off?”

“Yup.”

“Nobody said boo to him?”

“He was gone in under a minute.”

“Describe the bike.”

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