When Paul Storey comes home from London he’s escaping an event that ruined his professional life. Now he’s slowly making contact with people again … but the people he winds up meeting are lowlifes, thieves and conmen.
Exactly the kind of people he was trying to escape.
Worse, one of them is a con-woman who, for some reason, he can’t get out of his mind and who has a habit of manipulating men …
When he gets involved in a scam to sell smuggled antiquities from Syria he realises he can’t escape being a professional either—and one with a specialised skill that makes him even more desirable to his new colleagues.
Finding a purpose in life while keeping his head connected to his shoulders keeps him busy, until a Syrian who wants the return of one of the stolen antiquities shows up … and he’s not inclined to take prisoners.
With a casual movement Paul knocked Gary’s pint of beer into his lap and before Gary could slide back and stand up, Paul grabbed his hair and pushed his face down into the wet slick, holding him there while he went back to looking at Cliff, ignoring Gary’s attempts to pull away. Tarzan and Dutch had tensed but did nothing.
Cliff hadn’t moved. He said, ‘Gary never touched you.’
‘Really? Then he should look at the company he keeps.’
‘He’s gettin wet, there. He’ll stink afterwards, too.’
‘He needed a change of clothing anyway. I was getting sick of that jacket.’
Paul pushed Gary’s head away and the small man stood up, beer dripping from his face and took a step forward.
In a low voice, Cliff said, ‘Don’t do it. Not here. Go wipe your face. Teach you to laugh at other people’s misfortunes.’
‘I’m going to fuck him over,’ Gary said, wiping his chin. ‘You wait and see if I don’t. Just when he doesn’t expect it.’
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