Free What's Left is Right: Book two of The Detective Bill Ross Crime Series by Irving Munro Page A

about the social graces; he was right in Bill’s face from the off.
    “It’s a long story,” replied Bill. “I found the two boys who killed his father a few years ago and we’ve been friends ever since.”
    “Oh aye, I guess that would do it. Still breathing are they, the two boys?”
    “They’re locked away for life in Peterhead prison.”
    “Aye, no doubt they’ll get out for good behavior.”
    It was obvious that Martin didn’t approve of Britain’s abolishment of the death penalty, and he would have gladly volunteered to save the British taxpayer the cost of keeping the killers incarcerated.
    “So what do you want to know about the Iraq stuff then, Bill? It’s been a few years ago now and my memories are fading a bit.”
    “Tell me about The Spirit Riders. There were six of you, I understand, four Americans, you and an Aussie. What was it like to be part of that team?”
    “Best time o’ my life,” said Martin and the tone in his voice suggested that he would go back again tomorrow if asked.
    “Of all of the operations I was part of over the years, this was by far the best and I was the only Brit. I loved Carl Conrad like a brother, the mad Aussie git. He’s back in Ballarat now, retired and taking tourists around the sheep-shearing demonstrations. He’s drunk most of the time on Ballarat Bitter, the local beer, and loving life. We keep in contact and send each other a postcard once a year.”
    “What about the Americans? It must have been devastating when two of them were killed by a land mine.”
    “Part of the job, mate! We’re in the killing business. We want to kill them and they want to kill us. I’ve seen many boys cop it right there in front of me. If it’s your time, then it’s your time. Can’t let it affect you too much; the job needs to get done, enough said, end of,” replied Martin.
    “Did you like the Yanks, Martin?”
    “They were just like me and Carl. We all were peas from the same pod. We had similar training, almost identical, to be honest. We respected each other, had shared experiences and, most importantly, didn’t get in each other’s face. Tough to be the big dog in a small group when you know that any one of the other dogs knows just as much as you do and could kill you in an instant. Tends to level the playing field, no egos, no room for them.”
    “What was Raul Hernandez like?
    “Ah, the silent assassin. He was a little pit bull was Raul Hernandez. He was a rich kid, the son of some bigwig banker in Houston, Texas. He reminded me more of a street fighter like that Mexican César Chávez. He was five-seven, hard as nails and never quit. It would have had to be a bomb that would take him out, doubt he would have lost mano-a-mano. He probably never felt a thing!”
    “He was only five foot seven?”
    “Yes, he was five-seven. We were all pretty stocky. The tallest was Mike Muguara, and he was six-one.”
    “What happened to him? Is he out of the service now?”
    “Don’t know, never kept in touch with Buzz. Don’t know where he is, if he is alive or dead. Even if he’s dead he’ll still be with us!” laughed Martin Peters, showing the first bit of genuine emotion since the call started.
    “His nickname was Buzz, why was that, Martin?”
    “He wanted to be called that, his choice. He told us that he was a Native American Indian and that his tribe was part of the Comanche. They were called the Penateka and he explained that it meant honeyeaters in the Comanche language. So he wanted to be called Buzz, like the bees, I guess it was his little joke.”
    “Why do you say - Even if he’s is dead he’ll still be with us ?”
    “It’s the same reason we were called Spirit Riders . Buzz explained that Muguara meant Spirit Talker and he would sit off on his own in the desert at night and stare up into the stars and talk with his ancestors. Our team got the reputation that our success in engaging with the enemy and finding the scud missile sites was