Alistair Coatsworth, Ally to his friends. He was forty-nine years old but looked a decade older. ‘People pay thousands to get into the UK. Thousands.’ His nose and cheeks were flecked with broken blood vessels, the result of years at sea and a taste for strong liquor. There were three men sitting at the table listening intently as they finished off their plates of steak and chips. They were on their second bottle of red wine and a third had already been opened. They were in a small restaurant in a coastal village between Calais and Dunkirk, close to the border with Belgium. They had a table by a roaring fire that had shadows flickering over the roughly plastered walls. Coatsworth waved his knife in the air for emphasis. ‘It’s the Wild West over here, mate. You can make money hand over fist if you know what you doing. I’ve got a pal who smuggles them on to trucks for a grand a go. He pays the driver two hundred of that and keeps eight hundred for himself. Gets maybe five on a truck.
What do You think about Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies?
