Free The Purple Contract by Robin Flett Page B

was the uninspiring Victorian prison on the outskirts of Glasgow. Temporary abode of many a Scottish hooligan.
    ‘Look,’ Stewart thought this was pretty obvious, but still …‘he has to be a local plod, the Glasgow lot wouldn’t be seen dead in this dump.’
    ‘What, don’t you like Largs, then? Al turned the key and they moved off in pursuit of the gray Lexus
    ‘He’s still a copper,’ bleated Paul plaintively.
    ‘Yes, and don’t you think the local boys would know their MP?’ Stewart answered. ‘And none of them are going with him to Glasgow, that’s not their patch.’
    ‘So what’s he doin’ in the car, then?’ Paul wanted to know.
    ‘I don’t know, just follow them.’ Les sat back in his seat and they all watched the car ahead. Al kept far back, not wanting to push his luck––he had been in Barlinnie too. The edge of town was in sight, and they were all getting steamed up, when an orange turn-indicator started blinking and the Lexus slowed and disappeared into a side-road.
    Al braked the Astra to a halt, jumped out and sprinted to the corner. He watched for a few seconds and then ran back. ‘Nice one, Les! It’s a housing estate, he must be giving the copper a ride home.’
    ‘Thank fuck for that!’ was Moloney’s heartfelt comment.
    A few minutes later, the Lexus appeared at the corner, turned right on to the main road and made its way out of town. The Astra followed at a discrete distance. The A78 crossed the river and moved on north, heading ultimately for the town of Gourock, twenty miles or so away.
    On the way down, Moloney had insisted they identify a suitable stretch of road. ‘We can’t piddle around all night hoping something will turn up,’ had been his comment. So they knew precisely where the deed would be done. The only uncertainty factor was other traffic––in either direction. That would have to be dealt with as and when.
    Eventually the houses thinned out and stopped altogether, and they were twisting and turning through rough scrub and peatland. The road pressed close against the coastline, with drops of varying heights to the stony beaches below. They had stopped at one of those drops earlier and decided it was ideal for their purpose this night.
    When Moloney saw the signpost for St Phillans he banged his hand on the dashboard in front of him. ‘Not far now, get closer.’
    Al Hendry nodded, he had already closed the gap between the two cars. ‘When we pass the layby we stopped in on the way down, I’ll come up behind him and nudge the rear wing. That’ll spin him round and over the edge.’
    Moloney grunted as he pulled something out of his jacket. ‘Too dangerous, he’ll be spinning round right in front of us, this road’s too narrow to play silly buggers. This’ll do it.’ He laid the automatic pistol on his lap.
    ‘For fuck’s sake Con! I didn’t know you were carrying!’ Al was shaken, and no wonder. Suddenly this was becoming real gangster stuff. Real life-sentence stuff to be more accurate.
    Behind them, in the rear seat, Les Stewart had turned pasty white.
    ‘Don’t worry, just go past him at the right place and I’ll shoot his front tyre out. The crash will happen behind us and we’ll be clear.’
    ‘Jesus wept! ’ Al looked across at him. ‘You shouldn’t keep these things to yourself, Con. We deserve to know about what’s going down, you know what I’m saying?’
    ‘The prang might kill him, but I won’t. Relax.’ Moloney had a smug smile on his face. Shook the bastard right off his perch that time, boy!
    They had only seen the occasional vehicle since leaving Largs and nothing was in sight as the Lexus, closely followed by the Astra moved through the last bend on to the short straight run past the target area. There were no barriers, railings or walls on this stretch of road. Just a grassy verge on the left sloping into a steeper drop to a stone and gravel beach peppered with large angular rocks.
    ‘I’ve seen him checking us