Grit: Grass 2

Grasses are generally not that hard to find, because if they were then how in the hell would they do any trade? They were the bottom feeders of the intelligence community – they knew things but they didn’t often know what to do with it or, even if they did, they didn’t have the pull to do anything. The better grasses knew who to give the nod to when they had some data and, considering the length of his career and the number of cases he was connected with, Charley Katt must have been pretty good with the placement of his information.

Katt had gone to ground – the weaselly little fuck couldn’t stand the heat that his latest foray into spilling the beans had generated. If Schopenauer didn’t have a tame cop on a leash then his whole operation would have come crashing to the ground – as it was now he had to fork over even more money to keep the pig sweet. Schopenhauer wanted Katt dead and buried.

The Dog And Bone was a place where criminals of all colours met – Grit had been known to drink there himself quite often; they did a decent pint so why wouldn’t he? All of them knew that the people who ratted them out generally clung to the community like an infestation of ticks but part of the unspoken code that governed this place meant that even the backstabbing bastards who’d betray you would get given a fair go of it.

He was watching Pilchard, Fratwurst, Gonner and Coinflip nattering away like an old wives’ meeting. He went and sat down with them. He knew that heads were turning behind him and there were three sets of eyes in front of him that were bugging out. Everyone knew Grit and everyone would be wondering why in the hell he was sitting down at this table.’

‘So,’ he said ‘Where’s Katt? Answer me quickly and this will be a pleasant transaction; think about dicking me around and you’ll all get the beatings you so richly deserve.’

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