#7 Traffic: Part 4

The raid

Greetings, subscribers! I hope your Friday is as sunny as it is here in Norwich. Here we have chapter 7 of Tales from the Triverse and a new instalment in the on-going ‘Traffic’ storyline. There’s one more episode to come in this particular storyline before I move on, and I’m aiming to get another bonus piece out next week as well.

In case you’re new, you can jump to the very start of the story with this handy button:

Read the prologue

And here’s last week’s chapter:

Simon K Jones writes
#6 Traffic: Part 3
This is chapter 6 of my on-going weekly fantasy/sci-fi/crime serial Tales from the Triverse. Today is the day the book goes into exclusive early access mode, which means only paid subscribers can read this chapter in full (at least until it appears on Wattpad a whole month from now…
Read more

Previously: Linking a body washed up on the banks of the Thames with an unsolved missing person case, DC Yannick Clarke followed the evidence to ‘The Palinese Express’, a London brothel. The SDC is now readying for a surprise morning raid on the establishment…

Early Shift
On duty: DC Nisha Chakraborty and DC Zoltan Kaminski

1972. August.

The grey morning light seeped around the edges of the rooftops, not quite penetrating down to the narrow alleys that ran through the Barrel. The streets had their own hangover, shutters for eyelids, doors half-open and venting odours from within, an odd quiet hanging in the air compared to the previous night. Visitors from across London had retreated to their safer neighbourhoods, leaving the more permanent residents to clean up the mess.

Kaminski dropped his cigarette to the floor and ground it down with his heel. “Make sure the rear exits are secured before we go in,” he said, the sergeant nodding as he continued readying his officers. “I don’t want anyone getting out through doors, windows, secret passageways or fucking hot air balloons. We think the boss man is in there, most of the staff are still clearing up the place. I want to talk to all of them.” He turned to the others: Chakraborty present, of course, but Clarke also, looking like he hadn’t slept and was about to fall into his own grave. “I need you to identify your witness. Point her out and we’ll get her into protective custody. And we’ll talk more about you stealing our case later.”

Clarke shrugged. “Fine. I gave it back to you. You can thank me later.”

“OK, let’s go,” Chakraborty said, “we don’t want any lookouts sending out a warning before we get in.”

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