Sucker Punch Read Online Free

needs to do. And while you're keeping out of the way, you're going to go to bars or Universal Studios or Hollywood, eat a burger or a hot dog or some Reese's Pieces and act like a bloody tourist. Pretty much anything you want that'll get you out of this funk you've been in.”
    “Why didn't you ask me about this before?”
    “Because you would've said no.” Paulo gets up, pushes back his chair. “C'mon, I'll introduce you to Liam.”
    I drag a few quick ones off the Embassy before I grind it out and follow Paulo out into the club. He's obviously picked up a few moves from Don Plummer, added a few of his own. Like me not having the chance to turn him down. I promise myself I'll find a way out of it. I'm not well. Got to go to the doctor's tomorrow and get a refill on my script, so I'll get him to conjure up a bogus sick note. My GP's a bastard, but I get the feeling he's corrupt. Because I don't think I'd be able to stand the flight, never mind all the crap I'd have to do in Los Angeles. Apart from my back, which has been murder for months, I'd have to spend time with Liam Grannybasher Wooley.
    As soon as I see him, I recognise the lad. He was just a record before, but now his face pops into my memory. A couple of months ago, he'd been a real beast and a bad fighter. Anger issues, not someone you wanted to fuck about with. He had the scally dead-eye to a tee and liked using his forehead instead of his fists.
    Now the kid I knew has been stretched to a hair under six foot. His face is long, sallow in the strip light. Liam's sporting a number one and deep shadows under his eyes. As we approach, he's battering the shit out of a heavy bag. For all the force, the bag doesn't move that much.
    “Liam,” says Paulo.
    Liam laces a couple more rights into the side of the bag before he takes a step back and looks at the pair of us. Gives me the once over and obviously isn't impressed with what he sees. I'm the same, reckon he looks like a thuggish gazelle.
    “What's up?” he says.
    Paulo points at me. “This is Cal.”
    “Y'alright?” says Liam with a twitch of the chin.
    “Cal's going with you to the smoker.”
    Liam's eyes flash blue just the once. He almost looks happy. “You sorted it?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Ah, sweet.” Liam pulls off one glove with his teeth, offers me his hand, slick with sweat. I take it, shake it. His is a solid-grip handshake with nothing to prove, a direct contradiction to his eyes. It doesn't sit well with what I know about him. “Nice to meet you, Cal.”
    “Yeah,” I say. “You too. Can I have my hand back now?”

4
    I know they're in there. As I pull up outside the Harvester, I notice Baz's pimped-out ride parked up the street. A Vauxhall Nova, Baz is the kind of bloke to spend all his money on a car that's neither fast nor furious. This isn't the country for fast motors, but to Baz it's all Miami waiting to happen. Doesn't matter that the underlighter he's got on the car probably eats away half the battery.
    I feel like putting a brick through the windscreen. Stick my hands in my pockets instead. I'm shaking, don't want Mo to see the tremble in my hands. He might think it's got something to do with him. And that's the last thing I want.
    The Harvester's the hyena's den. They want to be lions in here, but there's no chance. Skinny, teeth permanently bared in a whisky grimace, the scavengers of Salford come here to drink when they've been barred from all the other pubs. Mo Tiernan's barred because he kicks off, or he deals. Or it's one of his dad's pubs. Time was, Morris Senior ignored Mo's activities as long as they didn't step on his own, but that time's long gone. Last I heard, Mo'd been dealt a paternal beating that puts him way out on his own. Uncle Morris Tiernan, veteran hard bastard, wants nothing to do with his son. He's out of the family and good fucking riddance.
    I push open the door, catch a whiff of beer and urine, stale sweat. Under it all, the smell of yeast, throwing me back