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   Chapter 30 No.30

Sheryl's Last Stand By Kerrie Noor Characters: 5110

Updated: 2018-02-07 12:01

A small trickle of smoke escaped from the bonnet, followed by a hiss and the smell of burning oil.

'I'd get out of the car, ' said Jimmy.

Steven, still thinking about the cyclist and other annoying things, didn't hear. He tried the engine again; it made a loud rumble and then a bang. Jimmy pulled Steven out of the car.

The milling crowd now formed a semi-circle around the car as a flame appeared from the side of the bonnet. Someone mumbled something about the fire brigade, as another appeared with a fire extinguisher and tried to get it to work. Steven stood back in his Boots position, and watched as a tyre hissed itself flat.

Timing, thought Steven, it's all about timing.


Conway's fiesta rumbled into Oban. As he braked at the lights, the back seat slid forward for what seemed the millionth time to Martin.

'You ever think of fixing this seat?' grumbled Martin.

'Oh that? It's been like that since I brought this car, hardly notice it now.'

'Ever think 'bout getting a new car.'

'You kidding? The wife hates this car; she won't even get in it.'

Before they hit the first roundabout, Martin ordered Conway to slow down and then pointed to the 'Wee bit of Art' Shop.

Conway pulled into a disabled car space and slapped a sticker on the windscreen.

Martin looked around; there was no sign of his BMW and no sign of life in the shop. The blinds were closed and the door was locked, but as they walked around to the back of the shop, the faint beat of Status Quo could be heard.


in some burnt-out Fiesta with some 'bastard' called Conway. She sighed and then phoned George.

Timing, she thought, and then she couldn't be arsed thinking any more.


Conway and Martin at the same time came up with the same idea, Chubby would be the best person to stay and watch /guard the merchandise. She was big, strong and an expert with any sort of hitting/sawing implement.

'You're the perfect person to guard the gallery, ' said Conway putting the pyromaniac toolbox in his boot.

'And we need Imogene to connect with Rodger, ' added Martin.

Imogene sighed, another ride on the moveable back seat, what a way to spend a Saturday.

Chubby stood huffing on the pavement. 'And what would a calligrapher know about connecting?' she thought, except maybe joined up writing. She wanted to look for her Nefertiti, she wanted to see the wrestlers. She watched the fiesta drive off with a jolt, and Imogene's long face wince as the back seat lurched forward, and then she walked inside the shop.

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