He eyed the younger member of the gang, Carl, thoughtfully. “Did Stan say he could shift it?” Carl shrugged and threw himself into the easy chair in the corner of the room. “No problem. He said he’d ring you when he’d found a safe home for it.” The other two gang members laughed and high-fived each other, but he glared at them and shook his head. “This ain’t a game, you tossers!” He stormed out of the messy lounge and headed up the hallway to the kitchen. He hated the shithole, but it was a convenient place to meet up after a job. He preferred to be tucked up in his own swanky surroundings out in the sticks. He’d be back there soon enough. One more job that night, and they’d need to back off for a bit anyway. Too many ‘convenient’ jobs taking place, and the cops would start making some connections. Nope, he’d make sure that didn’t happen on his watch. Taking a can of lager from the fridge that was stacked with four-packs instead of food, he headed to look out the back door, checking the jungle of a garden attached to the tiny two-bed terraced house that belonged to Carl.
