Snippet #1355548

Tom slipped under the half open metal shutters at the rear of the convenience stoor and closed them fully behind him, remembering to turn the lock on the side to keep from anyone lifting them during the night. The place was in darkness and from the state of the shelves looked like it had been shut down for several days already, some of the less longer lasting foods already starting to smell with a lack of refrigeration. The owner Mr Sanjeev was an associate of Tom's and although the man hadn't gotten too heavily involved in organised crime with any of the London gangs he was deep enough to be obliged to give them support, money and a place to sleep if needed. A note behind the main counter read 'away for the forseeable, take what you need. Fuck you gangsters'. Tom assumed by the note that Mr Sanjeev didn't intend to return home at all.

The money was in the usual place behind the air vent in the living room upstairs, although the revolver and ammunition that was always laid next to it was conspicuous in its absense. He took a few thousand pounds worth, a fake passport with his face but completely different name and details, and scoured the shop floor for an edible supper. An hour later he was lying under a blanket on the sofa with his police issue sidearm on the coffee table next to him and the stolen suite jacket, boots and jeans folded neatly on the chair opposite. It always amazed him that with a little ingenuity and the right contacts you could make yourself feel at home hours after escaping from custody and killing a man. Tomorrow he would catch the first coach to Edinburgh and begin anew up in Scotland, most parts of England now knowing him more than a little well. He would sleep soundly tonight...