Free Micky Finn: The Evildoer 1: A Sexy Times Crime Romance Thriller (The London Irish) by Adele Asher Page A

family feud.

CAMDEN TOWN. 1989.

    SEAMUS WAS A quiet man, but appearances can often be deceptive.
    Underneath his calm, reflective, exterior, Seamus was still one of the most violent and dangerous criminals in London. Most residents of Camden avoided him. If he knocked on your door it meant you probably owed the Finn family money or had upset one of their many business interests.
    Seamus gained the nickname ‘Sharky’ from his early role enforcing the firm’s loan book. Sharky was the sort of loan shark that gave money lenders a bad name; at least until the City of London showed how to extract more money without menaces using nothing more than a suit and a fancy office, and the familie’s principal income stream of unsecured credit was taken over by the cheap and easily available credit on the high street.  
    Being ever adaptable, the Finn family decided to return to their more historical pastime of robbing banks and armoured cars.
    The influx of immigrants to London had however brought a new generation of criminals looking to make a names for themselves, and so it was on the afternoon of May the first, a Bank Holiday, when even bank robbers took a day off, at the Swan on Camden High Street, Sharky’s enjoyment of a pint of Murphy’s whilst studying the Racing Post was rudely interrupted by a young Turk by the name of Ishmael Ozbek.
    “I know who you are,” Ishmael said to Sharky.  
    Sharky turned the page and didn’t look up. “That’s nice for you Son,” he replied dryly.
    “I want to talk to you.”  
    “Well I don’t want to talk to you. So be a good boy and fuck off,” replied Sharky.
    “I’ve got some business for you.”
    “It’s a Bank Holiday. A day off. I suggest you go home, watch a Bond Film on your TV and make an appointment during business hours.”
    Ishmael shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t care about no bank holiday.”
    “Well your sort never does, do you? Work on Sundays as well I expect.”
    “What do you mean my sort ?”
    “Kebab shop owners. I know you. I know your dad. Owns the Kebab Express down Chalk Farm way.”
    “Yeah. What about it?”
    “Well you’re in Camden Son. Not Chalk Farm. I suggest you get on one of those little red buses and fuck off back there. Go slice some pittas for your dad. There’s a good boy.”
    Sharky flicked the page of his newspaper angrily.
    “I’ve got a message for you,” Ishmael replied.
    “And what would that be?”
    Ishmael produced a knife and lunged at Sharky. Quick as a flash Sharky grabbed his arm and pulled it, sinking the knife into the leather buttoned banquette seating. He elbowed Ishmael in the face then pushed him to the floor, produced his pistol and put it to Ishmael’s head.
    “Have you got a fucking death wish?” Sharky asked him. “who sent you?”
    “Nobody. I work for me.”
    “Well you should have stayed in your kebab shop.”
    Sharky grabbed Ishmael by the hair and dragged him screaming outside to the side street alongside the pub. He put his gun away and started kicking him as passers by did their best to ignore the altercation. When he had finished, Ishmael was a bloody mess on the pavement and not moving.  
    Sharky drew a deep breath and straightened his hair and suit. “I was enjoying that pint,” he said, and wiped his nose with his hand before he took out his pistol, cocked it, and fired three shots into Ishmael. “Bloody Turks.” he said scowling. He looked around at all the witnesses staring at him, put his gun away calmly and walked away.  

SHARKY WASHED HIS hands under the cold tap, removing the blood and trying to reduce the bruising when Caitlin, his mother, walked in.
    “You been fighting again Seamus? Can’t you even give it a rest, it’s a Bank Holiday.”
    “Kids Ma. Can’t even go to enjoy a quiet pint and read the paper down the boozer these days without some Turk trying to make a name for himself.”
    “You could just walk away Seamus. Turn the other cheek.”
    “Then where