Catch as Catch Can (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 1) by Malcolm Hollingdrake (any book recommendations .txt) 📗

up in. She would be able to get a change that evening and she would target a few charity shops during the day. Jeans and a few sweaters would be a start.

Collecting some paper and a pen from one of the work stations, she jotted down the numbers Abid had read to her. She smiled, it reminded her of a memory she held of her foster parent playing little piggies. She began to recite it, this little piggy had roast beef … roast beef, when was the last time I tasted that?

She wrote down the numbers in the order she recalled before checking them against the small piece of material. On this occasion it stayed safely wrapped in the plastic: 66, 82, 69, 65, 68. She pondered the odd one out, the highest number in the group, hardly the runt. She believed that the numbers on her fingers were 66, 69 and 68. The tattoo on the index finger, a squiggle was supposed to mean remember and according to Abid, the last, love. The time seemed to pass quickly when she was focused, warm and without worry.

The evening was brighter than on Lucy’s previous visit. The instructions were different too. It was a simple case of calling into a pub and asking for an envelope that had been left. Why it could not just be posted she could not fathom. On the first occasion the man knew that the information had been received and therefore payment would follow, but the collection in a pub?

She knew The Railway, a large, red bricked edifice opposite Wigan’s main station and very close to the bus stop. Not only was the weather kinder this time, the journey was less fraught as she had travelled later. The bus had moved past too quickly for her to check to see if the head was still on the stick but as she passed the memory brought a smile.

The pub was bright and she immediately thought of April. The Victorian stained glass seemed to fill the place. Green tiles edged the bottom of the walls and the rich red of mahogany made her appreciate how much money was invested in these establishments so long ago. It had, however, kept up with the times as a large screen on the far wall displayed a football match. She ordered a gin and tonic.

‘What make of gin, love?’ the server behind the counter asked pointing to a vast array of bottles set before a diamond cut mirror.

‘Any will be fine.’

‘And the tonic … any, too?’

They both chuckled. ‘I’m a simple lass. However, I do have a special request.’

As the drink was being prepared the lady turned. ‘I can’t turn the football off or they’ll put me in the market stocks.’ More chuckles followed.

‘No, I’m supposed to collect a note from a friend. They said they’d leave it here.’

‘You must be Lucy, then? We do get some strange requests. Are we playing an illicit game of cupid?’ She winked presumptuously as she placed the large bowl on the bar, gave it a stir and then returned to the far end. ‘Here you are, love. Just sign that to say you’ve taken it, ta!’

Lucy felt herself blush a little. Now she knew why it had not been posted. Moving to find a quiet corner she settled, taking a drink from her glass. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a familiar face, a man who was just leaving. However, she was not sure if it were the man from the café. Opening the envelope, she pulled out a single sheet of paper.

The two mopeds moved along the side of the traffic, one with a pillion, the other just the driver. All three were wearing helmets and fluorescent jackets and travelling at a steady pace. A few heads turned and people instinctively moved away from the kerb. They passed by innocently. They were heading for Salthouse Quay. At this time of day, it would be busy with tourists and that meant phones, cameras and bags. They would be concentrating on their surroundings and not on them.

Approaching the Albert Dock, the rear bike slowed to add distance between each of them. The first bike turned in after allowing the traffic to pass. Everything had to look normal, it was a game of stealth, a challenge and it felt good to be back.

The tourists were there in full. The first bike pulled to the side of the road and waited. It was all about finding the right target. Sadiq’s words rang in Quasim’s ears.

The hunting animal chasing the herd will only see one of the many and no matter how close another of the herd comes, the hunter will stay focused on the selected one ignoring all else. That is why the big cats survive, they have an inner discipline. You will pick one target from the crowd and that is the one you will strike.

Scanning the road, he slowly moved from the kerb and followed a car along the one-way system. On turning left at the top, he spotted his target, a woman. The bag was by her feet as she steadied the camera she held. Her gaze was away from the oncoming traffic. She appeared to be alone. He tapped his pillion’s knee and called out the coat colour of the target. He received a response as the pillion tapped his shoulder. They were now as one.

Twisting the throttle, the moped screamed along the road keeping as close to the kerb as possible. Quasim switched his weight to the right side expecting the pillion to lean to the left as his job was to snatch the camera. People turned on hearing the high-pitched sound, but their prey did not. In one swift, yet destabilising moment, they struck. The bag was collected from between her feet. Quasim had the camera; the strap still around her neck took her off her feet in the direction of the moving bike.