The Standalones

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Ken Preston

5 July 2024

Silhouette of a rock band against a spotlight and the words The Standalones

For a moment there, Ratzo thought he might faint. Full on, drop to the floor like a rag doll, eyes rolling into the back of his head, faint. If that happened, he would probably wake up to find himself in hospital. Questions, obviously, would be asked. Nothing he couldn’t handle. No-one else needed to know about the continually mysteriously disappearing holdall full of cash. Far too many people already knew about it.

But there had been a moment when he had stepped into the left luggage department and seen the locker door wide open, the broken padlock hanging from the clasp, and the distinct lack of said holdall full of cash inside the locker, that Ratzo had thought of confessing everything.

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