Frankie, sitting in the Humber, finally had time to gather his thoughts and analyse where it had all gone wrong.
The information about the wages collection had been reliable.
He had reconnoitred the scene and observed the wages pick-up for himself.
He had the guns he needed.
He had had, he thought, a good steady driver, a driver who had come highly recommended. So much for that recommendation, the man had lost his bottle and panicked like a rabbit at the sight of a hawk. He’d driven badly, swerving all over the place like a headless chicken and had knocked down that little child.
He hoped to God the girl was all right, the thought that they may have killed her was too painful to contemplate. Frankie thought of his own daughter, Marilyn, who now was 7 coming on for 8. Even though he
