Kick Back

Начало книги

Wyatt tensed. A silver BMW had emerged from the driveway of the Frome place. The headlights plunged, then levelled, as the car entered Lansell Road. Wyatt counted heads: Frome driving, wife next to him, kids in the back. He checked the time-8 pm-and watched the BMW disappear in the direction of Toorak Road.

‘Let’s go,’ Sugarfoot Younger said.

He reached for the key in the ignition but before he could turn it Wyatt’s fingers closed like a steel clamp on his wrist. He looked around. The eyes were close and remorseless in Wyatt’s narrow face. ‘We wait,’ Wyatt said.

Sugarfoot jerked free his hand. ‘What the fuck for?’

‘People forget things, Sugar. They feel cold and come back for their coats. We wait.’

‘Aaah,’ Sugarfoot Younger said.

He lit a cigarette. The match flared, illuminating his blockish face, his disgust with the world and Wyatt and all this buggerising around. He pitched the match out of the window and began to pull at his hair, caught in a stubby ponytail at the back of his head. ‘First lesson,’ he said, huffing a smoke ring at the windscreen, testing for a reaction from the still figure next to him, ‘never strike while the iron’s hot.’

Читать дальше →