peered.
"Move." Jack pushed him between the shoulder blades.
"That's incredibly annoying."
Jack pushed him again.
Pearce slammed his head backwards and hit something solid with the back of his skull.
Jack grunted.
Pearce swivelled round and kicked him in the side of the head as he stumbled. Jack went down, sprawled on the ground and lay still.
"Pearce!" Banksy shouted. "What the bleeding bejesus do you think you're doing?"
Jack's gun lay inches from his hand. Pearce booted the weapon out of reach just in case he woke up anytime soon.
"Pearce, stop ignoring me! Leave him!"
Pearce stood where he was, the back of his head throbbing pleasantly.
"Get away from Jack!"
Pearce strode forward. Kept going till he'd covered half the distance between himself and Banksy. The lights made his eyes smart.
"That's close enough."
Pearce stopped, waited.
The lights dipped.
Slowly, Banksy came into view, his arm held out, the gun at the end of it pressed under Julie's chin, forcing her head back as he moved her into position directly opposite Pearce. Banksy's gun was fitted with a silencer, too.
"Let her go, Banksy."
"Give me the money first."
"Pearce." Julie's voice was shaking. "Do what he says. Please."
"Shut it, bitch. I don't need you talking for me." Banksy placed the tip of the silencer on her lips. Turned back to Pearce. "You got the whole twenty grand?"
"Would I be here if I didn't?" Pearce unzipped the bag. He reached in, waited a second with his gloved hand wrapped around the Uzi, then whisked it out and let the bag fall. He pointed the gun at Banksy, finger on the trigger. "Oh. Looks like I would."
Banksy shuffled in behind Julie, his gun pressed to her temple. "I'm disappointed, Pearce. I had high hopes we could settle this without bloodshed."
"We can."
"Yeah? I'm listening."
Pearce heard a slight crunch behind him. Forced himself not to turn around. Then a scraping sound. Like … wheels on gravel? A car? That's exactly what it was. Lights off. Engine off. Free-wheeling towards him. Some pillock trying to sneak up on him, catch him out. The slope in the road levelled off pretty quickly, so it would come to a standstill soon enough. "Tell the prick behind me to stay where he is."
Banksy shrugged. Raised his free hand and shouted, "You heard the man, Ray. Put the brakes on."
Ray Banks was here. Good.
For now, Pearce kept his eyes on Banksy. It was hard to drag his gaze away from the gun. It was back under Julie's chin again. "You want twenty grand, right?"
"You know I do."
"Here's my proposal, then."
"Oh, you have a proposal? That's very business-like. Let's hear it."
Pearce waited.
Banksy shuffled his feet. "Come on."
"It's simple. Lend me the money."
"That's it?" Banksy laughed. "Now that's funny."
"Why? You're a loan shark, right? You can lend me twenty grand. I give it back to you, plus I pay you all the interest. Everyone wins."
Banksy looked thoughtful. "You trying to trick me or are you just really thick?"
Pearce felt something against the back of his neck. Cold and hard. Digging into the skin. Then a click.
Shit, Ray had got out of the car, crept right up behind him and he hadn't noticed. Shit, shit, shit. He should have been paying attention.
"You think I'm really stupid, is that it, Pearce?" Banksy jammed the gun into Julie's throat.
"Banksy." Julie's head tilted to the side with the pressure. "He was just joking. He didn't mean anything by it."
"Who asked your opinion?" Banksy shoved her forward. She stumbled. Managed to stay on her feet.
Pearce didn't see Banksy's hand move, but he heard a slapping sound and saw a jagged flash of light strike Julie in the back of the head.
She dropped onto her knees. Then fell forward onto her face.
And lay there, completely still.
No. Christ, no.
"Well, she's not laughing," Banksy said. "You got any other jokes?"
This wasn't supposed to happen. Banksy was supposed to get angry, distracted, confused. He was supposed to slip up, let Pearce
"Move." Jack pushed him between the shoulder blades.
"That's incredibly annoying."
Jack pushed him again.
Pearce slammed his head backwards and hit something solid with the back of his skull.
Jack grunted.
Pearce swivelled round and kicked him in the side of the head as he stumbled. Jack went down, sprawled on the ground and lay still.
"Pearce!" Banksy shouted. "What the bleeding bejesus do you think you're doing?"
Jack's gun lay inches from his hand. Pearce booted the weapon out of reach just in case he woke up anytime soon.
"Pearce, stop ignoring me! Leave him!"
Pearce stood where he was, the back of his head throbbing pleasantly.
"Get away from Jack!"
Pearce strode forward. Kept going till he'd covered half the distance between himself and Banksy. The lights made his eyes smart.
"That's close enough."
Pearce stopped, waited.
The lights dipped.
Slowly, Banksy came into view, his arm held out, the gun at the end of it pressed under Julie's chin, forcing her head back as he moved her into position directly opposite Pearce. Banksy's gun was fitted with a silencer, too.
"Let her go, Banksy."
"Give me the money first."
"Pearce." Julie's voice was shaking. "Do what he says. Please."
"Shut it, bitch. I don't need you talking for me." Banksy placed the tip of the silencer on her lips. Turned back to Pearce. "You got the whole twenty grand?"
"Would I be here if I didn't?" Pearce unzipped the bag. He reached in, waited a second with his gloved hand wrapped around the Uzi, then whisked it out and let the bag fall. He pointed the gun at Banksy, finger on the trigger. "Oh. Looks like I would."
Banksy shuffled in behind Julie, his gun pressed to her temple. "I'm disappointed, Pearce. I had high hopes we could settle this without bloodshed."
"We can."
"Yeah? I'm listening."
Pearce heard a slight crunch behind him. Forced himself not to turn around. Then a scraping sound. Like … wheels on gravel? A car? That's exactly what it was. Lights off. Engine off. Free-wheeling towards him. Some pillock trying to sneak up on him, catch him out. The slope in the road levelled off pretty quickly, so it would come to a standstill soon enough. "Tell the prick behind me to stay where he is."
Banksy shrugged. Raised his free hand and shouted, "You heard the man, Ray. Put the brakes on."
Ray Banks was here. Good.
For now, Pearce kept his eyes on Banksy. It was hard to drag his gaze away from the gun. It was back under Julie's chin again. "You want twenty grand, right?"
"You know I do."
"Here's my proposal, then."
"Oh, you have a proposal? That's very business-like. Let's hear it."
Pearce waited.
Banksy shuffled his feet. "Come on."
"It's simple. Lend me the money."
"That's it?" Banksy laughed. "Now that's funny."
"Why? You're a loan shark, right? You can lend me twenty grand. I give it back to you, plus I pay you all the interest. Everyone wins."
Banksy looked thoughtful. "You trying to trick me or are you just really thick?"
Pearce felt something against the back of his neck. Cold and hard. Digging into the skin. Then a click.
Shit, Ray had got out of the car, crept right up behind him and he hadn't noticed. Shit, shit, shit. He should have been paying attention.
"You think I'm really stupid, is that it, Pearce?" Banksy jammed the gun into Julie's throat.
"Banksy." Julie's head tilted to the side with the pressure. "He was just joking. He didn't mean anything by it."
"Who asked your opinion?" Banksy shoved her forward. She stumbled. Managed to stay on her feet.
Pearce didn't see Banksy's hand move, but he heard a slapping sound and saw a jagged flash of light strike Julie in the back of the head.
She dropped onto her knees. Then fell forward onto her face.
And lay there, completely still.
No. Christ, no.
"Well, she's not laughing," Banksy said. "You got any other jokes?"
This wasn't supposed to happen. Banksy was supposed to get angry, distracted, confused. He was supposed to slip up, let Pearce
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