Free The Galician Parallax by James G. Skinner Page A

Cheshire Cat. As the afternoon lagged on, and Stan was enjoying an unusual overdose of bitter, Bernie, the pub’s barman, said to him, ‘Now that you’ve joined the enemy, what now lover boy?’ For a second Stan just stared at an old friend.
    He then reacted. ‘She’s not… the enemy, Bern. She’s…’ At that moment Yolanda walked over and took Stan by the arm, then looked at Bernie.
    ‘I’m taking him home with me. He’s mine now!’
    Stan was too over the top to realise what Yolanda was saying. Bernie went back to washing the glasses. Yolanda never told Stan about the details of her drug rehabilitation programme that she underwent just before she travelled to Falmouth. All she said was that she was under severe medical prescription for several months to cure her “depression”. The details had been kept a family secret on purpose.
Port of Villagarcia, Arousa Bay, Galicia
    Lieutenant Sergio Quiroga loaded his laptop with the details of the Castro drug cartel. He was also given a new mobile phone with an unlisted number and instructions on how and when to contact the department. He sped back on his motorbike to pack his things and bid his mother a brief farewell, ready to move into the Villagarcia area. It was early in the afternoon, around four. He parked his bike in the shed and went over to the house. He opened the front door to the cottage and was about to holler his usual welcome when he heard unusual sounds coming from one of the bedrooms. Instinctively he lowered his equipment onto the floor and grasped his 9mm pistol. Slowly he crossed the lounge and crept towards the bedroom door. Releasing the safety catch and raising his gun into a firing position he gently opened the door. His mother was crouched faced down on the bed, completely naked whilst a man in his late fifties, also naked, was making love to her.
    Without a word, Sergio replaced his gun, walked over as silently as possible to his own room and after closing the door, went over to the wardrobe, took out a large rucksack and began to pack his clothes. Once he had finished, he left the room and after ascertaining that he had not been heard, returned to the entrance, picked up his office things and left the cottage. The middle-aged couple were still at it.
    Since that infamous evening and registering into a modest boarding house in the Galician seaport, Sergio spent the next couple of weeks checking out the town. It didn’t take him long to change tactics. The normal folk were non-starters.
Bugger the job seeking bit
, he thought. He worked on a plan to go for the jugular and hopefully work his way into the underworld of drug addicts, pushers and peddlers; bagmen and homeless. Why not join them? There’s always a link.
    Although he was in a small hotel he had to change his physical appearance before he could even attempt to make contact. He decided to grow a beard and let his black hair grow almost level to his shoulders. Next move was to not wash for weeks until his body stank. He needed to outfit himself “for the occasion”. He checked on their whereabouts and found that many slept under the archway of the port fish market. All he needed was to make the right moves.
    Sergio’s mother was heartbroken. She’d desperately tried to find out the whereabouts of her son only to be told by his superiors that he was away on a mission. She never knew that her son had caught her in her menopause delight, or did she realise that in a strange way it helped him adapt to his new assignment. He’d switched off all his human feelings to concentrate on going after the Galician drug trade.
Small Office, Tall Building, Manchester
    ‘Are you sure these two guys are “fit”?’ asked Mr Billson. ‘Yachts have been used before!’ Three other younger men were in the accounting firm’s private conference room.
    ‘Simmons knows the ropes,’ said one of them. ‘He was on our payroll until the Panama affair.’
    Another had a report in his hand. He read