The Wrong Man Read Online Free Page A

halogen light saw the pale sheen of the back-up’s shaved head. His squat body was leaning
     against the corridor wall, and he waspicking at scabs on his scalp like a chimp.As the door swung shut behind him Bishop took several more steps, stopped and glanced at the empty hallway ahead. He remained
     stationary as though trying to remember something, casually rolling the magazine up in a tight tube with the squarebound spine
     facing outwards.
    ‘Ya waitin’ for, asswipe?’ the back-up said.
    Bishop turned back to the Neanderthal. His pig eyes were dull and his mouth hung open as he glared back.
    ‘Inspiration,’ Bishop said and swung the improvised bat at the man’s face with his full weight behind it.
    The spine smashed against the bridge of the man’s nose, and as he slammed back against the wall red spray spattered onto the
     polished tileat his feet. He dropped to his knees with one hand on the floor for support, the other at his face as he tried
     to contain the blood and mucus.
    Bishop looked down at his clothes to make sure nothing had sprayed on him and saw the thug placing a foot on the floor in
     an attempt to rise. He rolled the magazine up even tighter and took another swing, catchingthe guy just above the right ear.
     His head hit the wall with a satisfying thud. By the time his body collapsed to the floor he was unconscious, breathing noisily
     through his mouth.
    Bishop scanned the immediate area. The short corridor leading to the refectory ahead remained empty. Monkey boy’s presence
     must have warned off any witnesses – ironically,most inmates generally didn’t want to be around when blood got spilled; it
     wasn’t worth the grief. Bishop stood motionless for a few moments, breathing slowly. He knew he should just keep walking.
     Down the hallway, through the mess hall and back to his cell. He’d halved the odds for the guy; the rest was up to Falstaff.
     Whatever the problem was – business dispute, personalityclash – it wasn’t
his
problem.
    Except it wasn’t that clear cut. Nothing ever was. And then Bishop realized this might actually work in his favour. At least,
     that’s the reason he gave himself as he turned and pushed back through the library door.

SIX
    Both men were still in the same alcove. Falstaff was pinned against the wall by Alvin, who had his back to Bishop. With the
     sounds coming from the unseen TV Bishop could make out harsh whispers, but couldn’t hear the words.
    Keeping to the right, he spotted a pencil under a table. He put the bloody magazine down next to an ancientcrime paperback
     and knelt down to pick the pencil up, keeping it in his left hand.
    When Bishop was about twenty feet away, Falstaff noticed him and his eyes got wider. Without turning, Alvin said, ‘You don’t
     want to be here.’
    ‘Is that a fact?’ said Bishop.
    Alvin had his left hand in Falstaff’s dreadlocks, forcing his headagainst the wall. His right held the homemade blade against
     Falstaff’s Adam’s apple. The young hustler made no noise as blood dripped steadily onto his grey shirt. Bishop could see the
     whites of his eyes and smell the acrid stench of sweat.
    Without releasing the pressure, Alvin turned to look at Bishop. ‘Need some time with your dark meat before he takesthe express?
     If it’s your roll you’re worried about I’ll send it to you when I’m done.’ He grinned. ‘If I remember.’
    Bishop said, ‘You’re already done.’ He briefly considered telling him to drop the weapon, but why waste valuable breath?
    ‘Tough baby,’ Alvin said and moved his hand down from Falstaff’s hair to cover his mouth before kneeing him in thegroin.
     As Falstaff silently collapsed to the floor, Alvin turned with his right arm extended to display two inches of jagged mirror.
    He reduced the space between them and began circling Bishop. ‘Just stay right there, black boy,’ he said over his shoulder.
     ‘We’re still gonna have our fun once I’ve finished with