Nick S. Borden (3)
After Bart's funeral the mourners headed for his mother's apartment where drinks and food had been catered for by one of Nick's companies. Most of them were old friends of Emma and a few old mates of Bart. Several of Nick's men had also been there to pay their respects, but they together with Nick got ready to leave after ten minutes.
"Why on earth are you already leaving?" Christine asked him.
"The boys and I have to go baby, there're things we have to attend to."
"It's your brother's funeral! For heaven's sake!"
"For two weeks now the lads and I have been interviewed as potential suspects, and frankly I don't give a fuck that he's dead. Now I have to take care of some business and you stay and see to Ma. I'll see you back at the house later tonight."
He motioned with his eyes to the door.
"Let's get the hell out of here." And he and his lads were gone.
They were a formidable sight. All four in black Armani suits, dark shades, each face etched with life. Joshua was driving the black BMW with Michael beside him. Nick sat in the back with Oliver.
"So spit it out Mikie, what's the beef on the Turk?" Nick demanded.
"What I heard from the Toad was he's been skimming the milk since the investigation. Fucking Danny's been taking his job a bit serious on this one hasn't he? Anyway, he's Afghani, not Turk."
"Forget about Danny, he's just made Chief Inspector and this one just fell into his virgin lap. I don't give a fuck whether he's Turk, Afghani, Hindufuckingstani! What's the skim worth?"
"Toad says it's about a hundred grand, give or take."
"That sonofabitch! A courageous arsehole, that's for sure. Where is he now?"
"Hiding since he found out no charges were to be made."
"This has got to be sorted, he's fucking pushed me into a corner. If I don't make an example there'll be no respect, and everyone will start skimming."
Nick put his head back on the rest, annoyed that he was forced to go down a road again that he never wanted. In his world only the strong and smart survived and lived happily ever after, but they were constantly fucked around by the strong, dumb and greedy.
Oliver, his muscular body uncomfortable in the suit, pulled out his little black note book, and flicked through the pages several times.
"I think I know where the Turk is."
Nick looked at him and smiled. Good old Olie, who only ever spoke when he had something important to say. All brains and brawn, always underestimated by fools who didn't know him.
"Give the driver the address Olie." With that Nick slapped him on his knee. They looked at each other and grinned.
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So, here we go again... I am still hanging on your ears and words, exciting...story, wher will it go? A gain I learn a lot slang with it.
killea: Thank you for reading me Dora
I agree with Door en Maurice.
killea: Thank you so much Greta