Larry McCulloch was a survivor, no doubt about it. Say what you like

about him,

oh and they did

but the one thing you could never do was deny his ability to worm his way out of trouble. In his sixty-seven years, Larry had been shot,

twice

stabbed,

thrice

and beaten to a pulp,

too numerous to mention

but had always come out the other side smelling of roses, no matter

what the bastards had thrown at him. He’d led a charmed life that was for sure, so how he’d come to find himself in this present company eluded him. Larry looked around at the three

plain clothed officers he was sharing the car with as they drove through the rain and turned onto yet another dimly lit street.

They were kids really, not one of them was over forty, and although he had only known them a matter of hours, he hated the lot of them already and certainly didn’t relish the fact that these three were his last line of defence against those who, most of whom he had once called friends, now wanted him very dead.

Lewis, who Larry had already taken a particular dislike to, was in the front passenger seat fumbling with a hand drawn map. The man was thirty five at most, and looked like a dishevelled accountant in his crumped cheap suit and badly combed dirty blond hair. Larry figured none of them had heard of a SAT NAV which didn’t bode well. Lewis frowned at the makeshift map and absently ruffled his already

messy mop of hair. “Ok Jeff, you want to take your next left,” he instructed Jeff, the driver who was barely into his twenties, but looked even younger, the kid nodded and obediently took the next turning.

Larry peered out of his side window at the urban decay as it passed by. “Hmm,” he said. “Dark deserted streets, that’s a good idea.”

Lewis craned his neck around. “Relax Larry, you’re with the professionals now. No more uniforms, we’re the real deal.”

“Huh!” Larry grunted in way of response: MI5? Bollocks, he thought, this was all far short of the five star treatment he had been promised by the pencil pushers in Whitehall. Oh, he had been assured this was only temporary of course, just until things died down a little and they could guarantee his safety. Then they would begin the negotiations in earnest. Larry had already made up his mind to make them pay a little extra, to make them beg a little more,

for the gold mine of information he had ferreted away down through the years.

It still brought a smile to his face when he recalled how Chief Inspector Willis had almost had a thrombosis upon seeing just a glimpse of the evidence he had gathered over his fifty odd years of criminal activity. There was dirt on most of the underworld’s biggest movers and shakers.

Larry knew, sometimes literally, where the bodies were buried. But it was the other stuff that had Willis practically panting, the names of all the bent judges, coppers and the odd politician

past and present

that Larry had encountered, all backed up with cast iron proof. That had been the real gold. It was that mother lode more than anything that would save Larry McCulloch’s life.

It had started as a hobby of sorts, little pieces of information filed away here and there, just in case. But the evidence had mounted up over the years and Larry soon began to realise what if things went badly for him, then this was his winning lotto ticket, his get out of jail free card. And he sure as he intended to play it now that things were looking bleak. Queen’s evidence; Two of the sweetest words in the English language.

He must have been smirking to himself because Peroni who was sitting next to him, an Italian Woman in her early thirties who Larry had first thought attractive until he realised she never smiled and who had the dubious honour of being the leader of this happy little troupe, gave him a sideways glance.

“Having fun?” She said with a strong accent. Larry assumed Lewis and the kid Jeff must be MI5 so that made Peroni Interpol, which made sense considering Larry’s mischief over the years had often taken him over to fleece our European friends.

Quite a collaboration he thought, maybe he would see if he could get

these three fuckwits fired as part of his deal, or shipped off to Outer

Mongolia. “Yes,” he finally replied meeting her brown eyed gaze. “Yes I am

having fun.”

“That’s it,” Lewis piped up. “Last house on the left.”

Jeff nodded. “Yep got it, number twenty.” And pulled the car over to the side of the road. Larry looked up at the house they were parked in front of in dismay. Now they were just taking the piss. “Oh come on,” he said. Even under the flattering mask of night the place looked dilapidated.

Lewis folded away the map and glanced back at Peroni. “Don’t think he approves of your choice of safe house, Ania.” To which Peroni just raised an eyebrow in way of response. “Careful Larry, you’ll hurt her feelings.” Lewis

added.

The old crook glared at Lewis who clutched his heart in mock pain. “Ugh! If looks could kill we’d be a man down,” Lewis said. And Larry wished he had a gun.

Peroni opened her door and moved to get out. “Come on Larry, let’s get you inside before the bad men see you, eh?” And with that she got out. “Huh,” Larry snorted. “No self-respecting hit man would be seen dead in a place like this,” he added more to himself than anyone.

“Exactly Larry, exactly.” Lewis said as he got out.

“Here,” said Jeff before Lewis closed the door. “I tell you what, he catches on quick though, doesn’t he?”

Larry exhaled and buttoned up his coat. ‘Just relax,’ he told himself,

‘don’t bite and in a few days you’ll be away from all this bollocks.’ the thought warmed him as he stepped out in to the cold night air and followed his protectors over to the safe house. Rundown as it was, this was to be his

home for the next couple of days or so. Then he promised himself, it would be nothing but five stars for the rest of his, hopefully very long, life. Once Jeff had finished fumbling with the front door keys they finally got

inside, it was just as Larry had feared. The place was as rundown inside as the outside had suggested. The interior décor reminded him of a time, back in

the eighties, when he had briefly gotten into renting fire traps to students. Everything was second hand and mismatched, the whole place smelt of damp. Hardly the Ritz.

Lewis pushed passed Larry rubbing his hands together. “I’ll get the

heating on,” he said and then disappeared into the kitchen.

“I suppose room service is out of the question?” Larry deadpanned.

Ignoring the remark Peroni went through into what looked like the living room jabbering in Italian on her mobile phone, leaving Larry in the hallway with Jeff. The kid locked the door and turned to Larry grinning. “You’re a real card, Larry,” he said. “A real card.”

“Yeah,” came Lewis’ voice from the kitchen. “Ought to be dealt with!”

Peroni reappeared snapping her mobile shut, she could see Larry wasn’t happy. “It’s just temporary, until things die down,” she told him. “I’ll order some food, you’ll feel much better after you have had a shower and something to eat. Besides, it doesn’t look too bad to me.” She eased past

Larry and started up the stairs.

“I can’t believe I agreed to all this,” Larry said.

Without stopping Peroni called over her shoulder; “Don’t recall you

having much choice McCulloch, do you?”

Lewis came back through from the kitchen. “Heating’s on, it’ll be toasty

warm in no time.” He unzipped his jacket. “Tell you what,” he continued.

“You can have the big bedroom if you like?”

“Oh, well that makes all the fucking difference then doesn’t it?” Larry

said testily. He rubbed his tired eyes with the balls of his hands. Yep, it was

going to be a long few days, he thought, a long few days.