Making It Pay by J.L. Merrow
Daniel always looks at the shoes first. You can tell a lot from a bloke’s shoes: what sort of work he does, how well off he is, how much it’ll hurt if he gives you a kicking. Then he slowly raises his gaze, taking in all the details on the way, until he gets to the man’s face. A punter once told him it’s dead sexy, like he’s drinking in the sight of them, savouring every inch. Talk about making a virtue out of necessity.
Course, sometimes he doesn’t need to go that slow. He’d know those boots anywhere—he knew them the minute they turned the corner from Market Street, just from the sound they made on the pavement. Heavy, but not quite even; the left one’s been mended at some point, and the nail or the staple or whatever they used must stick out a bit. It gives
