Free Slow Burn by Conrad Jones Page A

Rozzo had broken the protocol. “What the fucking hell are you playing at, Rozzo?”

    “A weird looking bloke has been asking questions in the park, Salim. Questions about you, I`ve never seen him before. Don`t think he`s a dealer. He`s not a pig, no way!”

    “Take it easy,” Salim lowered his voice to try to calm his frightened associate. “What was he asking about?”

    Rozzo spat on the floor, and a string of saliva hung from his chin. He wiped it excitedly away with the sleeve of his black tracksuit before answering. “He was asking who worked for Ash, but he`s not a pig. I swear he`s not a pig.”

    “When was this?”

    “Five minutes ago, Salim. I came straight here!” Rozzo smiled a toothless smile. He had lost his front teeth to an angry customer who wanted credit for a hit, but was refused. His line of credit was revoked when he failed to pay his debts on time. It was one of the hazards of the job. Rozzo was convinced that he had done the right thing by alerting his boss immediately. Salim was smarter, and he knew it was a mistake. Rozzo had led the inquisitor straight to him.

    “What did you tell him?”

    “Nothing, Salim!” Rozzo pulled a three hundred and sixty degree wheelie on his bike. “I told him to fuck off!”

    “What did he look like?”

    “He`s a fucking weirdo, mate! Army pants and boots, and he`s a real ugly motherfucker! Massive head like a caveman!”

    “Did he follow you?” Salim reached into his white Nike windbreaker for his phone. White was his colour of choice. Salim thought it made him stand out from his colleagues, who always opted for black hooded shell-suits. He dialled quickly, looking left and right along the empty street. It was time to acquire his weapon. A young voice answered the call.

     “Bring me the ten, and bring it fast,” Salim spoke quickly, trying to keep his cool. His runner kept a reactivated Mac-10 machine pistol in a duffle bag. He kept the weapon safe, constantly circling the area on his bike, in the event that Salim would need it for protection. “Have you seen anyone wearing combats?” He asked the runner on the telephone. Salim nodded his head at the reply and ended the call with a stab of his finger. 

     “Could he have followed you?” He asked turning back to Rozzo.

     “No way, Salim, I`m too fast,” Rozzo bragged proudly, pulling the bike into a wheelie again. He was about to speak again when a nine millimetre hollow-point smashed into his back. It was as if he had been hit with an invisible sledgehammer. Salim thought that he had tumbled off his bike for a moment, but as a dark pool of blood spread quickly from beneath his body, realisation hit home.

     Salim froze to the spot in panic, it was every dealer`s worst nightmare. He was under attack, and unarmed. He couldn’t tell which direction the bullet had been fired from, because Rozzo had been spinning the bike when he was hit. Salim flattened himself against the wall and scanned the area for his attacker`s possible hiding places. The street was empty. He reached down and touched Rozzo`s neck, checking for a pulse. There was none, he was long gone. Salim looked down the alleyway, which ran between the tower blocks. The darkness was impenetrable. His mobile vibrated and he looked at the illuminated screen. It was his runner. He was a minute away, bringing Salim his machinegun. The sound of rubber tyres approached, a splashing drone as rainwater sprayed up from the tarmac. A mountain bike approached at high speed. The young runner was standing as he pumped the pedals as fast as he could. Salim felt adrenalin pumping through his veins now as his weapon neared. The Mac-10 would even things up. Whoever this clown was, he would be sorry that he crossed paths with Salim. He was destined to be a famous gangster. Malik Shah and Ashwan Pindar would be impressed when they heard that Salim had taken out a rival. He could taste the street-cred a kill would bring to him.

     Salim broke