And finally Bodie and Donnelly came for him.
Doyle slid the motorcycle neatly into a space in front of the cafe.
Bodie didn’t move or speak again, only watched intently as Doyle stiffly uncurled from his position on the steps.
Leaning forward he peered through the scope. There was activity at the door to the club. He tensed and set his finger to the gun’s trigger.
Willis and Cowley in the line of fire.
Doyle set his eye to the site and his finger to the trigger.
A familiar hand on his arse, propelling him up the stairs, answered that question. He let the smile playing at his lips have its due.