Free Greed by Chris Ryan Page B

breaks go with you, sometimes against you.'

'But Jane, the kids – you haven't split with them have you?'

Reid put down the fork, a piece of bacon still hanging from it. 'Leave Jane? Are you joking?' He paused, put the food into his mouth and chewed slowly. 'Sometimes I think I love her too much.'

For a moment Matt found himself thinking about Gill, wondering what she might be doing.

'So, this loving her too much,' he said, 'you express it by walking a couple of miles down the road and sleeping in a hovel? Christ, we should have let the Kosovans finish you off when they had the chance.'

'You don't understand.'

'Tell me then.'

'I lost my job,' said Reid. 'I had some work body-guarding a French guy, paid quite well. I lost that, and we ran up some debts. Then I got some work for some South Africans, but they buggered off without paying me, so that was even worse. We were getting more and more behind with the mortgage, taking out loans just to pay for the kids' shoes. Then I get a job looking after a Columbian guy in London, but it fell through after two days. I haven't worked for a month, and I haven't earned any proper money for six months.'

We're all the same, thought Matt. Trying to keep some woman happy. We just have different ways of going about it.

'You told Jane you still had the job, and you were dossing down in the barn, right?'

'You know the kind of woman Jane is,' Reid said. He turned to his cup of tea, stirring in two sugars. 'She's a princess. She expects a man to be able to go out and earn a living and support her and the kids. I can't go home and look her in the eye and say that I'm not able to do that.'

Matt didn't know what to say. 'Sooner or later, you've got to level with her.'

Reid shrugged. 'Maybe something will turn up,' he said sourly.

Matt paused. 'It just did,' he said.

Reid looked up towards him, a question-mark in his eyes.

'There's a job,' said Matt, lowering his tone. 'For Five. Off the books, unofficial, but we get training and gear. At the end, a big pay-off.'

Matt watched him closely. He had seen Reid in many different situations: under fire, showing incredible bravery and determination; in a funk of cold fear when he lost his nerve; drunk out of his brain on cheap beer; sighing over pictures of his children on a cold, lonely and distant battlefield. But he had never seen the look he saw in his eyes now: hope, mixed with relief. 'How much?'

We listen in different ways. Some of us want to know who we hit. Some of us how dangerous it is. And some of us just want to know how much.

'Enough,' said Matt. 'You could get your princess a new tiara, yourself a new car, and still never have to work again.'

'And you're in charge?'

Matt shook his head. 'Five are in charge,' he replied. 'They just started with me.'

Reid took his hand-rolled cigarette from his pocket, slipped it between his lips, and searched around for a light. 'One question,' he said. 'Who handles the money? I don't mind doing a job for Five, but I wouldn't want their thieving hands on my cash.'

Matt nodded. 'A friend of mine,' he said. 'Five don't know it yet, but we bring along our own boy for that end of the deal.'

Reid drained the last of his mug of tea, glanced towards the window, then looked back at Matt. 'Well, if it's good enough for you ... I can't face going back to Jane and telling her we might lose the house. Christ, we might have to go and live at her mum's.'

 

You look at people you grew up with, the first thing you notice is how they've aged, Matt realised as he shook Damien by the hand. Then it hits you. If they've aged, so have you. 'You're looking good,' said Matt.

'You too,' said Damien.

Matt glanced along the length of the bar. The Two Foxes was an average boozer, in a side street around the back of Camberwell High Street in south London. To anyone dropping in for a pint it looked like one of thousands of pubs tucked into every street of the city: faded Victorian coach lamps on the walls, thick,