Page 42 of In Too Deep

Jake saluted, then scaled the scaffolding to the top.

There were eight of them up there in total. More than Jake was used to. Enough to make it busy without getting in each other’s way. Two already on the strip, crowbars and claw hammers working under the edge of a sheet, levering it up with a screech of metal. Another pair stacked the lifted sheets to one side, careful enough not to bend them beyond reuse. One lad further along pulling back the underlay, black felt peeling away in damp, heavy strips.

Jake scanned it all in seconds.

Standard job. Just bigger.

“New lad?”

Jake looked up to the bloke approaching. He was around his age, broad-shouldered beneath his high-vis, dark hair sticking out from beneath his hard hat. He had the easy confidence of someone who belonged there.

“Aye.”

“Roman.” He held out his hand. “Levenson.”

Jake shook it. Right. The son.

Roman’s gaze flicked over him. “Whitton, right?”

Jake narrowed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable follow-up.

“Dad said.” Roman pointed down at the car park. “Plus your name’s written in massive letters on the side of your van.”

“Jake, though, aye.”

Roman nodded. “You’ll have a different name by the end of today.”

A couple of the lads nearby snorted.

Roman nodded towards the stripped section. “You local then?”

“Born and bred.”

“Condolences.”

Jake laughed despite himself. “Cheers.”

Roman grinned. “Right. You’re on lift and clear with us. Get these sheets off, stack them clean, then we’ll see what state the deck’s in before we start boarding.”

“Sound.” Jake dropped his tool bag, pulled on his gloves and got to work.

Crowbar under the lip. Lift. Shift his weight carefully. Feel for movement before committing. The first sheet came up fighting him. Screws tore loose one by one, metal groaning against metal.

“Easy,” Roman said. “Don’t butcher it. Boss’ll have us reusing whatever he can get away with.”

Jake adjusted his grip. “Noted.”

The sheet lifted clean enough after that and together they carried it across the roof and laid it onto the growing stack. It was good work. Physical. Focused. The sort that usually cleared his head. Only the helicopter overhead wasn’t helping. The noise was louder up here. Closer. Constant.

“That been going all morning?” Jake asked, not looking up as he worked the crowbar beneath the next sheet.

“Since about six,” Scotty said. “Drones, too.”

Jake kept his eyes on the metal. Kept his hands moving.

“Press, more likely,” another lad called from further along the roof. “Saw a news van go through the gate earlier.”

Roman glanced towards the river beyond the estate. “Summat’s happened down there.”