Читать книгу The Women's Club - Abusive partners are winding up dead… Criminals who target women are the victims of nasty accidents… Pretend it's not happening, you might live longer - Michael Crawley - Страница 9

There was a likely one! Rich bitches is so estupido! This one comes swishing out the jeweller’s, wallet thick like a soaking wet bible in her hand, shoves it halfways into her bag and goes off down the road, driftin’ along like she’s dream walkin’. Dream on, bitch! He’d wake her up.

With the wheels on his feet making it feel like he was flying, Jason, El Bandito Loco, Cranford sailed off after her. It was so freakin’ easy. Three bitches he’d done already this week, on this very exact same strip of stores, and it was still, like, only Tuesday. Who’d work when thieving was so easy? There’d be cash in her bag for sure, this time, and coming out of a jeweller’s, maybe something valuable, like a necklace or something, a shiny to give to his Little Luisa and get an all-night hot time back for.

He had it down like a kung fu routine. Quick up behind his mark, left hand grab the strap of her bag, right fist whip out sideways at her face. He was getting real good at it. This one went down hard even though it felt like he’d hardly touched her. Faster, faster, zig and zag in and out through the loser-snoozers as far as the old men’s grotty barber’s shop, swing round on the striped pole to streak into the alley, to the cross alley, hit the post with the flat of his hand to whip round another corner and into the gap between the rusty tin sheds. Neat!

Now for the wallet!

Rats! It was stuffed full of play money, not the real stuff. He threw it down in disgust and dug his hand deeper into the woman’s bag. His fingers touched something cold and metallic that went ‘click’.

A small but intensely hot explosion vaporised his fingers, scalded his cheek and cooked his right eyeball in its socket.