Free The Nothing Job by Nick Oldham Page B

cops.
    Downie crossed the narrow road and stopped suddenly.
    Henry froze, then sidestepped smartly into a recessed doorway, hoping the dark shadow would hide him.
    Downie turned slowly.
    He stood there for a few seconds, carefully scanning the street behind him. Henry held his breath. Then Downie started moving again with more purpose. At the junction with Chapel Street he crossed the road quickly and entered the maze of terraced side streets opposite which contained a tight mix of B&Bs, guest houses, private houses, pubs and shops bordered by Chapel Street and Yorkshire Street. Henry knew he would have to close in on Downie if he didn’t want to lose him in there.
    He sprinted across into Dale Street, keeping his footfalls as quiet as possible, thinking Downie had gone out of sight, but just saw him turn into York Street. Henry bared his teeth. He was starting to sweat now, despite the chill of the night. Crouching low, he jogged up to the junction and saw Downie do a right into Singleton Street – and Henry knew for sure if he lost touch now, Downie would be gone for good. If the man increased his pace he had a variety of choices of direction to take and could disappear without a trace in a matter of seconds.
    Henry took a chance. He legged it up to the next corner and just spotted Downie bearing left into Back Shannon Street. Henry ran.
    With his back to a wall, he peered around the corner and saw Downie was now stopped outside a terraced house, inserting a key in the door and with a quick check each way, stepping inside the property.
    Henry had found his lair.
    There were two uniformed constables hidden in the back alley behind the address. Henry had picked them purposely, two of the biggest, meanest-looking guys on duty that night. They had to be in case Downie managed to break out at the rear. He would be like an angry lion and they had to be ready to flatten him without compromise.
    That left him and a female PC to do the front door.
    Having said that, she was a pretty-sturdy-looking girl and she certainly knew how to swing the door opener, the two-handed tube of solid metal used by the police to smash down locked doors. She had given Henry a quick demo for his benefit and nearly caved his ribs in.
    â€˜You two guys in position?’ Henry asked the two PCs at the back via the PR.
    â€˜Affirmative.’
    â€˜You ready?’ he asked the female officer.
    â€˜And willing,’ she said, brandishing the lump of metal with relish.
    â€˜Let’s do it, then.’ Henry patted himself down. This time he had made sure he had his handcuffs and extendable baton with him. And he wore a lightweight stab vest.
    They walked side by side down Back Shannon Street and stopped at the front of the house. It was in darkness. Henry inspected the front door, a fairly flimsy piece of joinery needing replacement. It would not withstand the door opener and its operator for long.
    But before resorting to that, he gave it a gentle push and tried the handle to confirm it was in fact locked. It was.
    Henry touched his stab vest for reassurance, then cleared his throat.
    He gave the PC a nod and at the same time radioed the two at the back to tell them to get ready, the door was about to go in.
    With a grunt like a tennis player, the PC drove the flat-end of the opener against the Yale lock.
    The door didn’t even try to resist. It flew open on first impact, clattering back. The PC stepped aside and Henry strode over the threshold shouting, ‘Police officers.’
    The hallway was in darkness. On the right was a closed door leading to the lounge and straight ahead was the kitchen door, the stairs being slightly offset to the left.
    For a very brief flash, Henry relived a memory of not too long ago when he had entered a similar hall and had to fight for his life against a man armed with a knife before discovering two murdered cops in the front room.
    He shook away the memory, shouted ‘Police officers’ once