The Wrong Man

by Jason Dean

  Bishop stared at him. ‘You’re kidding, right? You hang me out to dry and now you want me to work for you again? You got balls, I’ll give you that.’

  Royse lowered his eyes and said, ‘It wouldn’t be like that. Believe me, you’d be entirely independent. A man named Giordano makes the decisions and he’s never met me. I provide finance from a distance, but other than recommending you I have nothing to do with the running of it. I’ve also provided him with a sizeable budget for outside referrals, such as yourself. That’s his number on the back. You should call him. He’s waiting and I’m sure he could tell you more than I can.’

  Bishop turned his attention back to the field. He was tired of talking. And tired of listening. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he said in a flat tone. ‘Better warn him not to hold his breath.’

  ‘Very well,’ Royse said and got up from his seat. ‘I’ll warn him.’ Marcus and the rest of the close protection team – one in the row ahead, one at Royse’s left and two more in the row behind – immediately stood up, too.

  Royse looked down at Bishop and said, ‘I hope you make the right choice, Sergeant.’ Then he turned and began walking towards the aisle fifteen feet away, surrounded at all times by his ten-legged shield.

  Bishop watched them leave, then glanced down at the card again before dropping it into his shirt pocket. He’d think about it later. Maybe. Although the thought of having anything to do with Royse again left him cold. But right now there was a game on. He’d paid good money and waited a long time for this.

  Leaning back in his seat, he watched as the visitors’ number ten, a past-his-prime player from England called Jameson Wright, volleyed a through-ball from the centre line to the team’s number nine running down the left flank. Wright kept running towards the goal mouth to await a cross. In it came, just as the Bulls’ defender carelessly dived in and took the legs out from under the winger. The referee didn’t blow for a foul and Wright leapt up past his two markers and twisted his head as the ball made contact, directing it past the goalkeeper’s hands with the force of a bullet until it poked out the back of the net.

  Five thousand voices screamed their delight as Wright was instantly smothered by his team-mates in front of goal. The home crowd showed their disapproval by remaining silent, some so annoyed they actually looked to be leaving their seats with most of the half still to go.

  Bishop frowned and wondered how anyone could give up before the final whistle. There was still time yet. Lots of time.

  Almost anything could happen.

  Meet James Bishop again in

  BACKTRACK

  Coming soon in 2013

  ONE

  James Bishop put on his sunglasses and got out of the silver Toyota Camry. He didn’t say anything to the driver. There was no need. He shut the door, adjusted his leather jacket and looked down at his watch. 09.12. He turned and headed north along Main Street at a steady stroll. Neither fast nor slow. As though he had some specific destination in mind, but wasn’t in any rush to get there.

  Which was true enough to a point.

  It was a warm Tuesday. Warm for early May, anyway. The sun was out, but there was also a cool breeze to take the edge off. Good spring weather. Even better when you were experiencing it outside of a prison cell. Almost nine months since Bishop had gotten out and the novelty of walking around in fresh, pristine air still hadn’t entirely worn off.

  Parked vehicles already lined both sides of the street, but Bishop saw little actual traffic. Scratching his beard, he looked around as he walked and counted six other pedestrians. The town of Louisford, Eastern Pennsylvania, was still in the process of waking up. Most of the stores were either still closed or just opening. That was one of the things Bishop liked about small towns. That casual indifference towards scheduled hours.

  But there were also plenty of places that opened on time, day in, day out. Banks. Post offices. Franchise stores. Especially the franchise stores. They took customer care a little more seriously. Like the small Starbucks over there. Bishop could already see a queue of people inside, waiting at the cash register for their morning caffeine fix.

  But it was a franchise of a different kind that Bishop was heading towards. The one situated at the end of the street about two hundred yards away.

  Bishop saw an elderly local coming his way, led by a black Labrador on a leash. The guy nodded a good morning to Bishop, who smiled and nodded back. Once they’d passed each other, Bishop immediately lost the smile and carried on walking until he reached his destination seventy-two seconds later.

  The check-cashing store was one of hundreds operating under the Standard Star umbrella. Most offered cash advances too, but Bishop knew Pennsylvania was one of fifteen states that had either outlawed payday loans or capped the excessive interest rates to such an extent that there was no profit in it. Which probably made the banks happy, at least.

  Bishop stood looking through the windows for two seconds before turning back to the street. Long enough for the interior to be imprinted on his mind in every detail.

  It was still the same.

  This branch had a row of four partitioned counters behind bullet-resistant glass and an ATM near the entrance. In the ceiling, closed circuit cameras covered each counter. A pair of customers – a bald, middle-aged guy and a young, blonde woman – were being served at two of the counters. Following a rash of check-cashing store robberies over the past six months, the owners had obviously felt the need for a uniformed security guard too. He’d been standing next to the ATM. Bishop figured late fifties. Overweight with a prominent potbelly. Probably a retired cop. Holstering an old service Walther 9mm and clearly bored beyond belief.

  Bishop used a hand to brush his dark hair away from his eyes and checked the street. Empty of traffic now. He checked his watch again. 09.14. It was time to go to work.

  He pocketed his sunglasses, pulled out a pair of thin leather gloves and slipped them on. As he reflected on how it had come down to this moment, he recalled a lesson that had been drilled into him more than once in the Marines: anybody’s life can turn on a single event. It was true. He’d experienced one of those events already, and wondered if he was about to again. If he did, he’d have nobody to blame but himself.

  Well, too late to worry about it now. Besides, I’ve got no other choice.

  Then he walked over to the entrance, pulled the door open and stepped inside.

  TWO

  Bishop paused just inside the door. The guard watched him and gave a welcoming nod. Public relations at work. You can wear a gun, but be nice to potential customers or you’re gone.

  Bishop walked over. He put a frown on his face as though he wanted to ask a question, but wasn’t sure who to ask. The guard watched him approach. Once he’d closed the distance, Bishop turned so the cashiers couldn’t see, leaned in and pulled the .357 Smith & Wesson from his waistband. Jamming the five-inch barrel into the guard’s ample mid-section, he said, ‘You know what this is, so don’t do anything dumb. They don’t pay you enough.’ At the same time, he used his right hand to unlatch the guard’s holster and pull out the Walther.

  ‘Hey,’ the guard said, wheezing. ‘Are you crazy? You can’t do this.’

  ‘I am doing it,’ Bishop said, sliding the magazine out one-handed and stuffing it in his pants pocket. He also ejected the chambered round and saw it drop to the carpeted floor. ‘Relax and keep your voice down. A couple of minutes from now, this’ll all be over.’ After checking to make sure the guard carried no extra ammo, he placed the Walther back in the guy’s holster and said, ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘My name?’

  ‘Yeah, your first name. What is it?’

  The guard looked at him like he’d lost his mind, but Bishop noticed he’d stopped wheezing. ‘Randolph,’ he said.

  ‘Is that Randolph or Randy?’

  ‘It’s Randy to my friends. To jerks like you, it’s like Randolph.’

  Bishop smiled. ‘Okay, Randolph. Now, I figure you’re th
e one holds the keys to the front door, right?’ Bishop already knew this was so, but wanted Randolph to get in the habit of answering his questions. Simple psychology, but it made things easier in the long run.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Good. What say we go over and lock it so nobody else walks in? Right now.’

  Still keeping his back to the cashiers, Bishop slowly walked with Randolph to the entrance and watched him pull a keychain from his utility belt. He selected a key, inserted it into the lock and turned it a hundred and eighty degrees clockwise. ‘It’s locked,’ he said.

  ‘Not that I don’t believe you,’ Bishop said, ‘but try pushing the door for me.’

  Randolph pressed a hand against the frame. The door didn’t move.

  ‘Good,’ Bishop said. He took the keys from the guard’s hand while he studied the street outside. Still empty except for the occasional vehicle passing by. ‘Okay, Randolph. Let’s go over to the counters now.’

  Randolph turned and Bishop stayed at his back as they walked towards the rear of the store. Bishop quickly stooped down to pick up the extra round he’d dropped as he passed. He didn’t want Randolph getting any ideas. When they were a couple of feet away from the counters, Bishop said, ‘Walk over to the first counter and just stand there.’

  He waited as Randolph did as he was told, watching the two cashiers’ faces. The woman serving the bald guy was the first to notice something was wrong. The eyes behind her glasses grew wide when she saw Bishop. She said something to her male colleague, who was in conversation with the woman customer. The man immediately stopped talking and stared at Bishop with his mouth open.

  ‘Okay, everybody,’ Bishop said. ‘Hands where I can see them. I’m here for the company’s money, not yours. So no heroics.’

  The two customers jumped at his voice and turned round. The blonde woman saw the cannon in his hand and took a sharp intake of breath. The bald guy said, ‘What? Hey, wait a minute. I ain’t even . . .’

  ‘Everybody relax,’ Bishop said, cutting him off. ‘This’ll soon be over and then you can all go back to your normal lives. But right now, I want you and you,’ he pointed the gun briefly at the two customers, ‘to stand over there with Randolph and just be quiet. I’m calm right now, but if you play up I’ll get angry and you really don’t want that. And keep your cell phones in your pockets. They make me angry, too.’

  Bishop watched the woman nudge the man. Then they both shuffled to the left and stood next to Randolph a few feet away.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Randolph said. ‘Everything’ll be fine. Just do what he says.’

  The bald guy snorted and just looked at him. ‘You kidding me?’

  ‘No, he’s not,’ Bishop said. ‘Now shut up.’

  He stepped forward and faced the male cashier at the third window. Placing the revolver in plain sight on the counter, he glanced at his name badge and said, ‘You stay right there, John. Don’t move.’ He turned to the bespectacled woman, checked her name and said, ‘Leanne, I want every note in the place except singles. You’ll place them in a bag fast as you can and when you’re done you’ll pass it through to me. Got that?’

  Neither cashier moved. Neither of them said anything. Bishop knew they probably felt safe as houses behind the thick wall of glass. And that the only reason they weren’t running out the back was because of the two customers on this side. He also knew one of them had already triggered a silent alarm somewhere, but he’d already planned for that.

  Bishop tapped the gun barrel against the glass. ‘Leanne, the only thing separating us right now is a three-quarter-inch thick layer of polycarbonate. You know why they call this glass bullet-resistant and not bullet-proof?’

  Leanne’s eyes were orbs. She swallowed and gave a small shake of her head.

  ‘It’s because they don’t want to get sued for false advertising.’ He tapped the glass with the barrel again. ‘And this is a .357 Magnum loaded with light grain, one hundred and twenty-five-gram hollow-points. The main advantage of using a light-grain round is that it travels a lot faster than a normal bullet. Fast enough to zip right through this glass like it was rice paper. I’ve seen it happen. Which means there really isn’t anything separating us at all. Randolph, I’m guessing you were a cop once. Convince Leanne I’m not making this up. I don’t want to have to give John here an extra eye to prove my point.’

  Randolph said, ‘He’s not making it up. Get the money.’

  Neither cashier moved. They were probably still in shock. Bishop needed to get things moving. He tapped the barrel against the glass again. ‘Three,’ he said.

  He paused. Tapped again. ‘Two.’

  Pause. Tap. ‘One.’

  John suddenly came out of his trance and said, ‘No, wait. Please.’ He turned to Leanne. ‘Quick. Get him the money.’

  Bishop watched Leanne jump off her stool and look around the room. Then she knelt down and picked a small canvas sack off the floor. Then she started rummaging around under the counter and sorting through notes.

  ‘When you finish here, Leanne, don’t forget to get the rest from the manager’s office out back. I’m sure he’ll help once you fill him in.’

  Leanne nodded as she worked and Bishop turned to look at the three people in the corner. He ignored their stares and checked his watch as it changed to 09.18. Then he heard the sound of sirens. Two vehicles, it sounded like. And not far away. Maybe three or four blocks at most.

  ‘Faster, Leanne,’ he said, and then heard the sound of a horn out front. He turned and saw the silver Toyota right outside where it was supposed to be, Sayles behind the wheel looking back at him, moving his head back and forth like a rooster. As the sirens got louder, Sayles beeped the horn once more. He looked at Bishop for a long moment. Then he shook his head, revved the engine and just took off.

  Without expression, Bishop watched him disappear. He allowed a long breath to escape from his lips.

  The sirens were getting much louder now. Probably already at the next block. Looked like from here on in, he was on his own. Bishop stared at a spot on the floor for a moment and then at the three people in the corner.

  Well, not alone, exactly.

  He focused on the woman. Early twenties. Very pretty, if pale. Five-six, slim, with straight blond hair down to her shoulders and large blue eyes. Wearing a long-sleeved baseball shirt and jeans. Gold band on the third finger of her left hand.

  She must have felt his gaze on her. She turned her face from the direction of the sirens and stared at him. Bishop thought she looked plenty scared.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

  She paused. Swallowed. ‘Sonja Addison.’

  Bishop heard the screeching of tires in the street outside and then the sirens cut out entirely. He turned and saw flashing red lights in the reflections of the stores opposite, but that was all. Turning back to the girl, Bishop reached into his back pocket. He pulled out a set of nylon flex cuffs and said, ‘Okay, Sonja. Step over here.’

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  THIRTY-FIVE

  TH
IRTY-SIX

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  THIRTY-NINE

  FORTY

  FORTY-ONE

  FORTY-TWO

  FORTY-THREE

  FORTY-FOUR

  FORTY-FIVE

  FORTY-SIX

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FORTY-EIGHT

  FORTY-NINE

  FIFTY

  FIFTY-ONE

  FIFTY-TWO

  FIFTY-THREE

  FIFTY-FOUR

  FIFTY-FIVE

  FIFTY-SIX

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  FIFTY-NINE

  SIXTY

  SIXTY-ONE

  SIXTY-TWO

  SIXTY-THREE

  SIXTY-FOUR

  SIXTY-FIVE

  SIXTY-SIX

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  SIXTY-EIGHT

  SIXTY-NINE

  SEVENTY

  SEVENTY-ONE

  SEVENTY-TWO

  SEVENTY-THREE

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  SEVENTY-SIX

  SEVENTY-SEVEN

  SEVENTY-EIGHT

  SEVENTY-NINE

  EIGHTY

  EIGHTY-ONE

  EIGHTY-TWO

  EIGHTY-THREE

  EIGHTY-FOUR

  EIGHTY-FIVE

  EIGHTY-SIX

  EIGHTY-SEVEN

  EIGHTY-EIGHT

  EIGHTY-NINE

  NINETY

  NINETY-ONE

  NINETY-TWO

  NINETY-THREE

  NINETY-FOUR

  NINETY-FIVE

  NINETY-SIX

  NINETY-SEVEN

  NINETY-EIGHT

  NINETY-NINE

  ONE HUNDRED

  ONE HUNDRED AND ONE

  ONE HUNDRED AND TWO

  EPILOGUE

  BACKTRACK

  ONE

  TWO