Trembling, Tommy pushed a stuffed brown envelope over to me.
“It’s all there,” he said. “Can you honestly do what you say?”
“Of course I can,” I said. “I’m as honest as the day is long.”
If you live in Iceland.
Tommy nodded and headed off out into the breaking storm.
I bought another pint and sat reading the Seatown Gazette, which had the usual stories about smack-heads running riot and a free supplement about even more new expensive flats that were going to be built on the Marina. The front page story, though, was about a local boy made good. One of my old schoolmates, in fact: Simon Lecher. He’d hit the big time and made a fortune by writing crime thrillers and selling them as eBooks – whatever they were – over the internet. Meanwhile, the centre pages proclaimed that Seatown’s prem
