Doors Open Read Online Free Page A

music track, seeming even louder in the sudden silence, and as he craned his neck to look, the man called Calloway caught the movement and stared back at the trio. His bulbous shaved head rested on huge hunched shoulders. He wore a black leather jacket and a distended black T-shirt. The champagne glass looked like it was being choked by his fist.

    Allan had opened his catalogue on the table and was pretending to skim through it. ‘Nice going,’ he muttered.

    ‘I was at the same school as him,’ Mike added quietly. ‘Not that he’ll remember . . .’

    ‘Probably not the time to remind him,’ Allan cautioned as their drinks arrived.

    Calloway was a known face in the city: protection, strip bars, maybe drugs, too. Their waitress added a warning look of her own as she moved off, but it was too late: a hulking figure was moving towards the booth. Chib Calloway rested his knuckles against the table and leaned across it, casting a shadow over the three men seated there.

    ‘Are my ears burning?’ he asked. No one answered, though Mike returned the gangster’s stare. Calloway, only half a year older than Mike, had not worn well. His skin had an oily look to it, and his face was chipped and dented, evidence of past battles fought. ‘Gone all quiet, hasn’t it?’ he went on, lifting the catalogue and examining its cover. He opened it at random, examining an early masterpiece by Bossun. ‘Seventy-five to a hundred? For some wattle and daub?’ He tossed the catalogue back on to the table. ‘Now that, my friends, is what I call daylight robbery. I wouldn’t pay seventy-five pence for it, never mind K.’ He met Mike’s stare for a moment, but, as the silence persisted, decided there was little else to detain him. He was chuckling to himself as he went back to the bar, chuckling as he finished his drink and headed out into the night with his scowling colleagues.

    Mike watched as the waiting staff’s shoulders relaxed and they scooped up the ice bucket and glasses. Allan’s eyes were on the door. He waited a further few seconds before speaking.

    ‘We could’ve taken them.’

    But his hand wasn’t at its steadiest as he lifted the champagne to his mouth. ‘Rumour has it,’ he added from above the rim of his glass, ‘our chum Calloway pulled off the First Caly heist back in ninety-seven.’

    ‘He should be retired then,’ Mike offered.

    ‘Not every retiree is as canny with their cash as you, Mike.’

    Gissing had drained his whisky and was waving towards the bar that a further offering was required. ‘Maybe we could get him to help us,’ he said as he gestured.

    ‘Help us?’ Allan echoed.

    ‘Another raid on First Caly,’ the professor explained into his empty glass. ‘We’d be freedom fighters, Allan, fighting for a cause.’

    ‘And what cause might that be?’ Mike couldn’t help asking. He was working hard at controlling his breathing, bringing his heartbeat back to something like normal. In the years - around twenty of them - since he’d last seen Calloway, the man had changed substantially. These days he glowed with menace and a sense of his own invulnerability.

    ‘Repatriation of some of those poor imprisoned works of art.’ Gissing was grinning as the whisky arrived. ‘The infidels have held on to them for long enough. Time we took our revenge.’

    ‘I like your thinking,’ Mike said with a smile.

    ‘Why pick on First Caly?’ Allan complained. ‘Plenty of other villains out there.’

    ‘And not all of them as public as Mr Calloway,’ Gissing agreed. ‘You say you were at school with him, Mike?’

    ‘Same year,’ Mike answered, nodding slowly. ‘He was the kid everyone wanted to know.’

    ‘To know or to be?’

    Mike looked at Allan. ‘Maybe you’re right. Be nice to feel that sense of power.’

    ‘Power through fear isn’t worth the candle,’ Gissing grumbled. As the waitress swapped his glass for its replacement, he asked her if Calloway was a