“Let’s go through the back and have a listen, shall we, Stephen?”
Stephen smiled and followed him.
“Sit yourself down there, son.” Terry pointed to a chair.
He put the guitar strap over his neck, plugged it into a Marshall amp and switched it on.
Terry played a few chords in different positions. The guitar was going out of tune and he detected fret buzz. He placed the Strat in a wooden jig and made a few adjustments. Sure enough, the neck was warped. He turned to Stephen and pointed it out to him.
“Can you repair it?”
“I don’t know, son, depends how badly damaged it is. Even if I can, you might have to shell out a bit more money.”
“What’s caused it?”
Terry raised his hands.
“Could be anything, son.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Robbie Carter was on surveillance duty. He’d spent two hours yesterday camped outside the music shop in Bursley Bridge, watching and waiting, in case the parasite who had emptied his house decided to try and sell the goods.
Nothing. It was eleven o’clock.
Robbie decided it was time to go in, put the feelers out.
He opened the door and stepped inside. The place was empty – the atmosphere suited his mood.
The man behind the counter glanced up. He was probably mid-fifties with silver hair, a chubby face, stocky body; he wore a brown apron, white shirt and brown tie. A radio on a shelf above him was playing seventies music, which suited Robbie. The man was sitting on a stool reading the paper, with a cup of tea in front of him.
He placed the paper on the counter. “Morning. Can I help you?”
“I’m not sure,” replied Robbie. “What have you got?”
“We have everything here. If we don’t have it, we can get you it.”
“Sounds good to me. Do you have much second-hand stuff, or is it all new?”
“Depends how good the used stuff is, and where it comes from.”
“Can I?” Robbie gestured with his arm that he would like to go through to the back.
“Of course. Help yourself. All the amps and speakers are in the back, some of the guitars. The smaller, more expensive stuff is where I can see it, in here.”
“Can’t blame you, mate. The bastards will steal anything not nailed down.”
“Sounds like you’ve had a few problems yourself.”
“I’ll say.” Robbie nodded.
“Terry,” he said, sipping his tea. “Terry Jones.”
“Robbie Carter.”
Robbie noticed Jones flinch a little.
“Robbie Carter. Where have I heard that name?”