TWENTY-SIX
Some hours earlier, Cabel blasted through the door of his local pub, eyes leaping over the many faces turned to his direction, found the others and crossed the room at a run.
Lassiter watched him and knew he was about to hear bad news. He sat back, his arms folded and waited whilst Cabel spent the next few moments rubbing his chin, surveying the room, body quaking, looking as if he were about to vomit.
“What the f**k happened?”
Cabel’s eyes grew wider and he froze, mouth trembling. “Jesus, Frankie, I’m sorry.”
“You lost him?”
The words fell like hammers, slamming into Cabel’s body with such force he winced at each one. He slumped into the vacant chair and the third man, a wiry individual with bright carrot-coloured hair sitting next to him, groaned, and stood up. “I’ll get
