Read Online To Kill Or Be Killed by Richard Wiseman - Free Book Online Page A

of hit men that the cleaner was a male and the right
size and seeing a short, very thin, bald man step in front of him
sighed and knocked this man out too.
    As the body
slumped forward onto the floor Wheeler thought of a Carry On film.
After tying and gagging the bodies, taking keys, radio, tear gas,
baton, all cash, the cleaner’s keys and from the cleaner’s belt one
of those folding multi-tools in a leather belt case, popped them
into a white bin bag from the cleaner’s trolley, he stepped into
the corridor, knowing the detective was on the way.
    In the corridor
the occasional nurse passed by, he could see to his right the
reception for his ward and to his left a corridor with a wall end
and a dog leg right turn. On the floor there was a neat red line,
indicating a route through the hospital. Wheeler instinctively went
down to the dog leg, turned right to see a long corridor with wards
off to left and right, indicated by different coloured lines on the
floor. The nearest sign was radiology. Wheeler headed straight for
it, noting a staircase and lift on the right as he passed them.
    He was on the
first floor. He walked into radiology and the reception. Self
conscious in his hospital gown he knew he didn’t have long. He
confidently walked past reception and seeing a changing room walked
straight into that. There was a dressing gown hanging there, he
immediately put it on. There were four lockers; three were locked,
so clearly full. Wheeler pulled out the cleaner’s multi-tool,
selected screw driver, inserted it in each locker and twisted the
locks open, each forceful jerk making his head rock.
    The contents of
the lockers yielded cotton track suit bottoms and a ‘hoody’, just
too small, but bearable, an oversize T- Shirt, jeans the right
length, but too narrow at the waist, but thankfully, work boots in
tan leather and thick socks which, though loose, would do the job.
There was no coat in any, but a fold up umbrella, a clear rain
poncho the kind old people wear, a green bobble hat, some cheap
jewellery, two watches, one waterproof, a wallet, a purse, two
loose credit cards and some cash in notes and change.
    Wheeler added
these to the white bin bag. Tugged and squeezed into the clothes
and finally put on a pair of glasses, which though female, looked
acceptable and changed his face. He added the bobble hat and clear
poncho.
    Having done
this speedily and with some nervousness he walked rapidly out
through the busy reception turned right, through the stair doors
and down to the first floor. He followed signs for the casualty
exit, where he knew there might be police, but not as many he was
sure would be at reception.
    As Wheeler had
made the stairs the summoned detective entered the room Wheeler had
left behind him and found his constable and the cleaner both still
unconscious. Immediately he made a call on his radio putting out an
alert, but sadly too late. Wheeler’s luck changed. He passed
through casualty, fortunately for him lacking any police presence,
and outside he saw a bus stop across from the entrance with a
waiting bus.
    He wasn’t an
odd sight to the bus driver. Wheeler looked like the standard
alcoholic homeless passenger he always saw returning from casualty.
Wheeler paid his fare and sat down. There were agonizing moments of
waiting for the bus to go and then they were away.
    Police cars
with sirens headed into the hospital as the bus came out and
Wheeler smiled. Some shopping, a neat change, cheap hotel room and
a change of look would put him back on track. He gingerly touched
the top of his head and winced. He hoped that his luck would change
for the better from there on in.
    He knew, as an
experienced assassin that even the best plans went wrong. He mused
on the fact, as the bus swung widely around a corner just missing
someone chancing a quick run across a junction, that he had no plan
on this job at all. It was all chance, in a way, until he got to
London and actually got the contract. He