Bozo
glanced around the bar. It was a quiet night; an old man dozing over his half
of mild and a young bloke and his girlfriend whispering at one of the tables. “We’re horse and track lads and we look after a
couple of brothels and clubs. But something different has
come up, that’s why Mr McDonald thought of you lot with all your contacts.” Nero
looked puzzled. “Go on, Bozo. What have you got?” “Sparklers,”
he said.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Colour-Smoke-London-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook-x/dp/B00RYR8BWG geoffreyhowe.wix.com/howebooks
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