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Book Description
A stolen identity. A hitman. A bent cop.
Relic Black takes things that don’t belong to him—credit cards, golf clubs, toothbrushes. But when a
hitman mistakes him for someone else, Relic lands himself in a difficult situation. With a dead man
on his hands and a guilty conscience, he sets off to save the life of the man whose identity he has
stolen.
And that’s when the real trouble starts…
Excerpt
Petty thief Relic Black has moved into a B and B in Inverness as part of his plan to steal the identity of
a man named Carl Palfreyman. However, the first job is to obtain a copy of Carl’s bank card. Having
tracked the man’s route, Relic is about to put his plan into action:
The Columba Hotel, Ness Walk, Inverness
The walk from the restaurant down to the bridge and over the river should’ve satisfied
his need for post-meal exercise, but as usual, the pizza had been too tempting and the
appetite too unrestricted. One of these days Relic might get his foodie yearnings under
control. In the meantime, he loosens his belt just enough to allow reasonable
movement. Doesn’t want a full stomach cramping his proposed activities.
Pushing through the double doors, he wanders into the pub self-consciously
fingering his latest facial accessory. The Columba is one of those does-what-it-says-
on-the-tin pubs—jammed with a nice cross section of local populace. Early-evening
horsey types and young farmers gravitate towards the restaurant area, leaving the
teuchters and students to the joys of the public bar. Relic selects a spot propping up
the bar next to the half-glass partition that separates the two rooms. From here he can
observe his objective.
By leaning forwards, he has a clear view past the partition into the other room.
Keeping an eye on his target has never been easier, and when the man and his current
squeeze move off to one of the alcoves (as they surely will do), he'll still be able to see
them. More to the point, if Mr Slapdash acts as he usually does, it'll be an easy matter
of lifting and departing.
‘Ye wantin another one, pet?’
Relic turns his attention back to the barmaid and offers his glass. ‘Aye, thanks.’
Fetching him another bottle of the piss-water that passes for alcohol-free-lager, he
notes her steady hand as she executes an excellent pour, producing a head to be proud
of.
Her eyes, however, are on him. ‘Seen you in here afore, eh?’
He blinks. ‘What? No, I don't think so.’ His mind flicks through the images relating
to his previous visit but her face is not among them. Course, he's not as young as he
was, so maybe the brain cells aren't chugging on all cylinders.
‘Aye, ye were,’ she insists. ‘Stood in the same place, ye did.’
Fuck. All praise, observant barmaids. Probably best just to go with it—if her
memory's better than his (and it clearly is), there's no point making her suspicious.
‘Oh aye, you're right. Last Friday.’
‘Saturday.’ She grins. ‘I only do Thursdays an Saturdays, an it wasnae Thursday
cos there was a private function on.’
‘Ah.’ He takes the glass and slides a fiver across the bar.
‘I get off at ten if you're interested,’ she says, with a wink.
Oh, for Christ's sake. ‘I'm waiting for a friend, actually.’ He turns away from the
bar just as Palfreyman emerges from the restaurant. Relic watches as his target
approaches, pushes two empty glasses across the counter and crosses the room
towards the gents. This is it. Relic takes his drink and meanders over to the jukebox,
makes like he's choosing something. Seeing the man on the return journey, Relic
follows him back to the bar. Luckily, there are a half a dozen punters already there,
some getting served, others standing drinking. Relic slides in next to Palfreyman. It's
a long two minutes before the drinks are passed across, but it's perfect. The mark
pockets his wallet then stretches towards the glasses, allowing just enough leeway for
Relic's hand to slide into the outer jacket pocket (only an idiot sticks his money in
there) and lift out the wallet. Easy as pie. Then it's into the toilets, lock the door, whip
out that handy little gadget he got off the Internet and a minute later the card details
are copied onto a plastic dummy.
Putting the wallet back where it belongs is a little more problematic, involving a
well-timed trip-and-slip technique Relic's been working on for several weeks. Waiting
until his victim is settled, he makes his move. It goes well. Giving Palfreyman a well-
aimed knee to the thigh, Relic pushes him into his girlfriend's lap while the wallet
slips nicely back into the man's outside pocket.
‘Yer dozy twat,’ mutters the Yorkshireman, brushing a hand down his trousers.
‘Nearly had me fuckin beer over.’
Relic adopts a generic Cockney accent, offering a, ‘Sorry, me old son, nevva saw
yer.’
Palfreyman doesn't quite make eye contact, but even if he had, it's doubtful he'd
remember this face. Relic moves away, pushing through the crowd at the bar, but
waits until he's outside before peeling the fake tache off his upper lip. Throwing it into
a rubbish bin, he heads for the taxi rank. Job done.
Author Bio
Colin Garrow grew up in a former mining town in Northumberland. He has worked
in a plethora of professions including: taxi driver, antiques dealer, drama facilitator, theatre
director and fish processor, and has occasionally masqueraded as a pirate. All Colin's books are
available as eBooks and paperback.
His short stories have appeared in several literary mags, including: SN Review, Flash Fiction
Magazine, Word Bohemia, Every Day Fiction, The Grind, A3 Review, 1,000 Words, Inkapture
and Scribble Magazine. He currently lives in a humble cottage in North East Scotland where he
writes novels, stories, poems and the occasional song.
He also makes rather nice cakes.
Social Media Links
Website/Blog: https://colingarrow.org/
Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/-/e/B014Z5DZD4?ref=d6k_applink_bb_dls&dplnkId=091d309e-bc51-4161-be4a-47642ff5d688
Twitter:
The Watson Letters: https://thewatsonletters.com/
Purchase Link
Thanks very much, Kirsty. 😉