Table Of ContentONE
DAMN
THING
AFTER
ANOTHER
By the same author
Never Look Back
Risky Mission
Out of the Night
Run for Home
A Death at South Gare
Living Dangerously
And Then You’re Dead
ONE
DAMN
THING
AFTER
ANOTHER
Dan Latus
ROBERT HALE
First published in 2017 by
Robert Hale, an imprint of
The Crowood Press Ltd,
Ramsbury, Marlborough
Wiltshire SN8 2HR
www.crowood.com
www.halebooks.com
This e-book first published in 2017
© Dan Latus 2017
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage and
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978 0 71982 252 0
The right of Dan Latus to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Dedication
For Sandra, with love.
Chapter One
I , peaceful place. Or so I had been assured. A small boutique hotel in an
T WAS A QUIET
unfashionable quarter of the city, a couple of miles from the usual Prague tourist
spots. Perhaps it was quiet and peaceful normally. But when I stepped outside
onto the pavement, and the ornate timber door closed automatically behind me,
things looked very different.
A Range Rover with darkened windows was parked immediately across the
pavement, a rear door open, ready for someone to step inside. A Toyota Land
Cruiser, also with darkened windows, was parked close behind, and there was
another one in front.
The man who probably should have been holding the door open lay prone on
the pavement, bleeding heavily, his chauffeur’s cap by his side. The man who I
assumed had been about to step inside the Range Rover was being badly beaten
by three other men, who looked as if they didn’t know when to stop.
There were no screams or cries for help. There was no shouting in either
triumph or despair. Nothing like that. Just a lot of grim, determined grunts and
thuds, as the three doing the attacking slammed into their victim savagely and
relentlessly.
The victim had his back to the vehicle. He was sagging, pretty well spent. But
he wouldn’t go down, and he was still flailing wildly and hopelessly at his
assailants.
It was a good time to turn around and step back inside the elegant tranquillity
of the boutique hotel. Instead, I did a stupid thing – not for the first time, some
would say.
Instinct shouldered reason aside. This couldn’t be allowed to go on. I yelled at
the men in front of me to stop, grabbed one by the shoulder and pulled him back.
Then I stepped forward into the middle of it and lunged sideways, knocking
another of them out of the way with my shoulder.
The third man turned and swung a fist that thudded heavily into my chest,
knocking me back. I kicked out and hit his lower leg hard, as an arm wrapped
round my throat from behind. I was hauled backwards but managed to stamp on
somebody’s instep with my heel hard enough for the arm to drop from my
throat.
I spun round, my back to the Range Rover. The guy who had been about to
collapse to the ground was straightening up now I’d relieved him of some of the
weight and pressure. Together, side by side, we fought back. A fist crashed into
the side of my head, and another into my chest, but my blood was up and I
registered little pain. I kicked and punched my weight automatically, without
any thought whatsoever.
Suddenly there was blood everywhere. It was on my hands and in my eyes.
The guy beside me let out a loud grunt and sagged. Then I saw the man in front
of him was using a knife, and about to thrust with it again.
I reached out, grabbed the knife arm with both hands and put my whole body
weight into throwing it over and back. Bone snapped as the arm broke free of the
elbow joint. Somebody screamed. The knife dropped loose and disappeared from
sight.
Then a bright overhead light came on, a security floodlight. It was followed
by lots of yelling and shouting, and suddenly there was breathing space. People
stopped hitting me, and the bodies in front of us thinned out until there was
nobody left for me to hit back at.
I doubled over, breathing hard, but ready for more of the same if it started up
again. It didn’t. Nobody came back. The pavement between me and the door of
the hotel had cleared.
Engines roared into life. The Range Rover shook as something slammed into
it heavily. Tyres squealed. Both Land Cruisers were departing in a hurry.
It was over. I was heaving for breath and felt like vomiting, but somehow I
straightened up. I glanced sideways. The man beside me gasped something I
could barely hear, and couldn’t understand anyway. Then the effort of trying to
speak became too much for him. He just pushed his head into my shoulder, a
gesture of thanks, and slowly straightened up himself.
While I stayed where I was, and continued struggling to get my breath back,
he staggered forward a couple of paces and leant down to attend to the man on
the ground. I could see he was in no state to manage alone. So I joined him and
tried to help.
The chauffeur was conscious, but a long way from having his wits about him.
We sat him up, with his back against the door of the vehicle. He was still leaking
blood from the head wound, but by then uniformed staff were streaming out of
the hotel and I eased back to let them take over.
Remarkably, the man who I had fought alongside was recovering fast. He
shook my hand and thanked me in what sounded, surprisingly, like Russian. I
nodded and gave him a brief appreciative smile. Then I did my best to melt away
out of sight.
I sought the sanctuary of my ornate baronial-style room inside the boutique
hotel, where I laid down on the bed to recover, and to wonder why such things
happened to me. Other people can go on holiday and nothing out of the ordinary
ever happens. Not me, though. Oh, no! If not this, then something else. It’s
inevitable. Just one damn thing after another!
