“I’ve told you everything I know! You can take my phone—he’s saved under Uncle Dave. I can give you his address as well. Just please, quit with the questions.”
“We’re just trying to learn from your mistakes,” said Fox. “Do you think you were born into a life of crime, or was it down to the lack of positive role models in your life?”
“Let me go! I’ve told you everything. You can take what’s in my wallet, too!” He nodded toward his pocket.
“You came on a job with your wallet?” Fox reached into the guy’s pocket and pulled out a battered black canvas wallet. He pulled open the Velcro and plucked out his driving license. “Rob Dexter. A real ID with your home address on?” He turned to me. “It’s okay, he really is twenty.”
“I didn’t expect to get caught!”
Fox shook his head. “You really have a lot to learn, Rob. Always prepare as if you could be taken. You need to—”
“I don’t think we should be giving him tips,” I said.
“Right. Of course.” Fox shook his head. “It’s just hard when you see someone messing it up so badly.” He turned back to Rob. “Find a real job. Anything. You’re not cut out for this.”
Rob puffed up his chest. “Are you going to kill me?”
We looked at each other and laughed. “God, no. Give us some credit.”
Fox pulled him to his feet. “Just get out of here—and make better choices.”
“And no warning Dave.” I tucked the gun back into my tote bag. “We’ve got your home address, remember.”
Rob nodded repeatedly. “Please don’t go there. My mum’ll kill me.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Fox
The address Rob gave uswas in Slough. The neighborhood was blessed with a local park, but it was one that had made headlines for being considered such a hotspot for crime that locals refused to venture into it.
“Has Jenny run a check on the address?” I was pulling into a parking space several streets away from Dave’s house.
“She’s not replying to texts.”
“Right.” I looked at Haze. She was staring straight ahead, doing her very best impression of someone who felt it wasn’t a big deal that our teammate was not jumping to help us in our time of need.
Nothing about the semidetached house on a quiet street stuck out—except the state-of-the-art security system.
Dave opened the door to us on the second ring of the doorbell. He was in his early fifties. He had dark hair in a side parting, and was wearing a shirt and sleeveless sweater. He looked like an accountant. “New customers?”
I nodded.
“If someone has given you this address, you’ve been vouched for. So come on in.”
He opened the door wide and ushered us into his living room.
I didn’t want to rush to any judgment on how someone of a certain profession should live. But a beige carpet, a mauve three-piece sofa set in a floral pattern, and ceramic ducks on the wall wasnot what I pictured as the décor of choice for a drug dealer. The only items that didn’t make it look like an ancient grandma’s home were the sixty-inch flatscreen television over the fireplace and the high-spec home computer set up on a desk in the corner. There were even coasters on the coffee table.Coasters.
Dave motioned toward the sofa. “Please, do sit.”
We sat down slowly on the edge of the sofa. Haze gripped her handbag on her lap with both hands.
“So.” Dave rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Let me guess. Viagra and cocaine?”
Haze leaned forward and hissed, “Did you just accuse my husband of having a limp dick?”
Dave’s smile disappeared. He had good instincts.
