Chapter Three
They sat in one of the Gutterfighters' pool cars, a small black Peugeot. The windscreen wipers had been pretty much active since the beginning of their watch that had started an hour ago. It was the routine that they had agreed on; Grant was the driver, watcher and muscle and Grenham-Smythe was the senior officer in the back seat. They had formed an uneasy alliance over the past few weeks, each of them tiptoeing around the other and not wanting to overstep the boundaries of their respective roles.
Grant had parked fifty metres further back, at an angle that gave him good concealment as well as an excellent view of the pickup point. So far, there was nothing out of the ordinary and no sign that anyone was paying them or the pickup point any attention; not pedestrians, not po
