Read Online Crooked by Camilla Nelson - Free Book Online Page A

and took a swig from a half pint of Vickers. He offered some to Gus.
    Gus shook his head.
    Driscoll went on, ‘Fact is, there’s only one way I can account for this particular malfunction. First up, I guess you’ve got to understand that the Dreyse is a semi-automatic weapon and the semi-automatic weapon is loaded and cocked manually for the first shot only. Once the first shot gets off, the mechanism automatically loads the next cartridge from the magazine into the firing chamber, and cocks itself for the second shot, and the third shot, and so on … until the magazine is exhausted. Now it’s my experience that crooks, being generally untrained and incompetent in the maintenance and discharge of firearms, don’t understand this. Such persons will, after the first shot is discharged, treat such a gun as a bolt-action repeating weapon. Hence the magazine is loaded –’ Driscoll picked up the magazine and clipped it to the Dreyse. ‘The gun is cocked –’ He cocked the gun. ‘The first shot is got off –’ He pivoted suddenly, firing the gun into the trap behind him. ‘Then, instead of the second shot letting off automatically, the incompetent crook manually pulls back the slide, causing the cartridge on top of the magazine to move up with the cartridge being extracted from the chamber.’ Driscoll pulled back the slide and gave Gus the gun. ‘You have a go.’
    Gus took the weapon. He pointed and squeezed. Nothing happened. He tried again.
    â€˜What did I tell you?’ Driscoll let out an actual whoop. ‘See, the only way this bludger could’ve shot himself is if he was able to grab hold of the gun and manually pull back the slide, using, might I add, both of his hands, and all of this after his head was blown off with his brains on his face.’
    â€˜Jesus,’ Gus swore.

Glory McGlinn stubbed out a fag in a dolphin-shaped ashtray, and blew a long cloud of smoke up to the ceiling. ‘I don’t trust him, Johnny,’ she said.
    Johnny Warren was curled under the small dormer window, all knees and elbows, reading a comic book. ‘What was that?’
    â€˜Tommy Bogle. I don’t trust him.’
    â€˜Well, I reckon that you’re being a bit harsh.’ Johnny lowered his comic, glancing at Glory over the top of the page. ‘I’ve known Tommy since, well, as long as I can remember.’
    Glory wasn’t happy with the way Johnny’s ideas about Tommy seemed to have changed in a matter of days. ‘I reckon he’s a crook.’
    â€˜There are some that would say we’re all of us crooks,’ Johnny laughed and, getting no response, went back to his comic.
    Glory tightened her viyella dressing gown and sat down at the dressing table before three arching mirrors. Johnny had been working himself into a regular state ever since Tommy walked into their lives. He and Tommy spent half their mornings yammering on about the old days and the club at Kings Cross, until Johnny had clean forgot what the Cross was really like. The way Glory remembered, it wasn’t only Reilly’s boys who fancied the place, but every other two-bob bludger who turned up on the doorstep and asked for a ten to keep going. Out in Liverpoolthere was nobody to grudge you the business you did, and many who were actually grateful for the service. It was true that she hadn’t liked it at first. It was a fair distance from Enmore and that meant long hours of travel, but with her mother helping out on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and Kimberley at school, they’d fallen into a rhythm that was as easy as breathing.
    Johnny and Moylan were already expanding the club. They were now running a small game on Wednesdays, in addition to their regular Fridays, and Moylan was talking about putting in a new bank of telephones, maybe renting a larger place on top of the pub. So long as they slung their fair share to the coppers there