The Lottery Ticket Read Online Free Page B

had landed on the table instead of the ashtray which was even now overflowing.
    The whole flat had a mixture of smells ranging from stale smoke, sweaty clothes and cooking fat that must have been off.
    Mick, who was in his late forties but looked ten years older, had met Roger when they served time in the category B prison just outside a small town in the north of England called Nelson.
    Mick had been caught trying to break into the back of a grocery store with the intent of stealing Fags and booze. He had jumped out of his car in such a rush that he had dropped his keys. In the dark he was unable to find them.
    He was convinced that he would find them after he had broken in. As he tried to jemmy the steel door the alarm sounded inside. Minutes later he found himself staring at the security mans dog which was ready to pounce should his owner allow him freedom from his lead. Shortly after this the police arrived to take him away. By the time he had served his sentence of fifteen months his car was smashed and sitting on bricks exactly where he had left it.
    Roger moved some clothes from one of the two armchairs that faced the wall mounted gas fire, while Mick turned off the television.
    “Do you want a drink”, asked Mick as he pulled the ring on another John Smith’s Smooth beer can.
    “No thanks, I want you to ring Bert and Pete and tell them to get over here fast”, said Roger with a sense of urgency.
    Roger had always been the main man of the outfit. He was trusted by the rest of the gang and so when he asked for something to be done it was done. Mick made his way through the maze of disorder he called his lounge and picked up the phone that hung on the wall in the hall.
    All that Roger could here was Mick mumbling indistinguishable words. That was enough for him, as this conveyed that Mick had managed to get in touch with either Bert or Pete, as they both lived together.
    Mick returned to the ‘lounge’ to inform Roger that both would be over within the hour. Now Roger would have a drink. Mick passed him a whisky neat which he knew was Roger’s favourite tipple.
    The clock on the makeshift mantelpiece ticked loudly as both men sat in silence waiting for the other members of the gang to arrive. The time was coming up to two o’clock.
    35 minutes later there came a knock on the door. Thinking this was Bert and Pete he went to the door. Even though he was confident as to whom the caller would be, he still went through the ritual of putting the chain on the door before opening it.
    Two men dressed in suits stood in front of him. This scared the living daylights out of him as the only people who visited him in suits were invariably the law or someone he owed money to.
    “We would like to talk to you about the bible”, one of the men began as he started to open the book he had in his hand.
    “I’m not interested so bugger off”, was the irritated response from Mick.
    No sooner had he slammed the door on the two Jehovah’s Witnesses and returned to the living room than another knock came at the door. He was certain this would be Bert and Pete this time and answering the second knock he opened the door. This time his guess was correct. They both stepped in and followed him through to where Roger was now standing with his back to the fire waiting for them.
    Bert was the first to speak. He was in his late forties; about five foot eight with a beer belly that his tee-shirt had little chance of covering. He had spent time in the same prison as Roger and Mick serving a sentence of five years for armed robbery of a sub-post office. This was his second period at ‘Her Majesties Pleasure’. The first was a stretch for tax evasion which cost him two years of freedom.
    “What’s this all about” he inquired. “I thought we were meeting tonight as planned”, he continued puzzlingly.
    Pete did not need to speak as his question had already been asked. To describe this man as handsome would be an injustice to Quasimodo. He