The second, a head shot, knocked him down. Ray Cross thought he’d killed him, hesitated, then stepped over the copper and ran for all he was worth. He couldn’t believe they were on to him so fast. The past 24 hours had been among the most shocking of his erratic life: having the money, successfully planting bombs, he should have been over the moon. Instead he was on the dark side of it. It had begun with him acting purely on instinct, playing a hunch. Jimmy was heavy on his mind and it was the first time Jimmy had been on his own. In the flat by himself, he was bound to panic. So, despite the resolution to stay apart until the storm had passed, Ray went on over. He had a key, which Angie didn’t know about. There were a lot of things he didn’t tell the Vixen. As soon as he opened the door, he knew it was bad. The smell of… what?… like singed leather or worse. He took a deep breath, said: ‘Jimmy, yo buddy, you okay? It’s Ray, where are you, pal?’ No answer. The sitting room was in shadow and he pulled open the curtains, the light from the street illuminating the furniture.
