Page 24 of The Professor
“Good, the fuckhead is home,” Finn muttered.
We got out, left the vehicle unlocked, and stalked toward the back entrance of the warehouse. There hadn’t been much activity at the front, and we took that to mean the punters hadn’t started rolling in for the night yet.
Mitch stopped at the door, his jacket bulging in the small of his back where his weapon was. He looked at me over his mask.
I nodded at him and then Phil. Might as well get on with it.
Phil took a step back, lifted his right leg, and kicked the door. It flew open, a lock and bolt flying through the air.
And then we all marched in, weapons out, Union Jack disguises in place.
“What the fuck?” A big bald guy appeared, cheeks wobbling and a burger in his hand.
“Sit the fuck down,” Cillian said, waving a gun in his face.
The man sat on a chair with a bump, his eyes wide. The burger fell to the floor.
“Your boss here?” I asked.
He nodded rapidly and pointed at a door.
I turned to Finn and Grant. “Go check out the front, we’ll take this end.” I wanted the kill. I’d been hungry for it ever since the bastard had been found not guilty. “Dalton, you watch him.” I nodded at Bald Guy.
Phil took a deep breath then kicked a door to his left. It flew open, banging on the wall.
I stepped in, Mitch at my side and Phil coming up the rear. The business end of my gun settled on the first man I saw.
Ranson.
And he was alone.
He half stood from behind a desk then froze. He was an ugly motherfucker with heavily pockmarked skin and an eye patch. No wonder his stupid big flashy car had blacked-out windows.
“Don’t fucking bother,” I snapped from behind my mask. “You’ve got three bullets with your name on, and you won’t be quicker than us.” I’d bet good money he was about to reach for a gun stowed under his desk.
I’d been right. He straightened, hands coming up in surrender. “Who the fuck do you think you are, creeping in here?”
“We’re your worst fucking nightmare.” Mitch settled into his shooting stance.
“And this is my place of work. Piss off.”
“Place of work, that’s rich,” Phil said.
“Makesmerich.” Ranson attempted a laugh, a nasty grating sound.
“Not for much longer.” I put my finger on the trigger of my gun. My heart rate calmed, the way I’d trained it to when about to shoot.
“Do you know who I am?” Ranson swung a furious glare around the three of us. “I’ll fucking have you masked twatsgutted for this. Gutted and strung up naked from the nearest bridge so everyone can see you.”
“I don’t think so,” Phil said. “’Cause no one knows who we are.”
“My bosses will, it doesn’t stop with me you know, there’s a whole fucking gang who’ll be after you. Big cheeses who don’t take kindly to being robbed.”
“We’re not robbing you. We don’t want your dirty money.” I gritted my teeth.
A bang came from further in the warehouse. Voices.
It was time to get on with the job in hand. I was done with talking. “One. Two. Three.”
