Spaghetti kept his
Webley trained on the hawk-faced man in handcuffs beside him in the van. He began muttering when the men
pulled off their balaclavas. “We’ll
get your handcuffs off and have a chat back at the brothel.”
Sowerbutt frowned: “He’s muttering. Spaghetti, shut him up, will you. We need
to concentrate in case anyone is following us.” With a grin,
Spaghetti slapped McGaskie’s face hard. Silence.
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