The Cleaner Quotes

“Bizness grinned at them both, displaying his gold teeth. He reached over for a remote control and quietened the music so he could more easily be heard. “Look who it is, my two best bredderz. Big Pops and little JaJa. A’ight, bruv?”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“The front door of the BMW opened, and a man slid out from the driver’s seat. Elijah recognised him immediately. Risky Bizness was tall and slender, a good deal over six feet, his already impressive height accentuated by an unruly afro that added another three or four inches. His face was striking rather than handsome: his nose was crooked, his forehead a little too large, his skin marked with acne scars. His eyebrows, straight and manicured, sat above cold and impenetrable black eyes. He was wearing a thin designer windcheater, black fingerless gloves, and his white Nike hi-tops were pristine. He wore two chunky gold rings on his fingers, diamond earrings through the lobes of both ears, and a heavy gold chain swung low around his neck.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“There was a small mini-market serving the area. It was sparsely stocked, a few bags of crisps and boxes of cereal displayed under harsh strip lights that spat and fizzed. Alcohol and cigarettes, however, were well provided for, secured behind the Perspex screen from behind which the owner surveyed his business with suspicious eyes. Milton nodded to the man as he made his way inside and received nothing but a wary tip of the head in return. He made his way through the shop, picking out cleaning products, a carton of orange juice and a bag of ice. He took his goods to the owner and arranged them on the lip of counter ahead of the screen. As the man rang his purchases up, Milton looked behind him to shelves that were loaded with alcohol: gin, vodka, whiskey.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“Good manners don’t cost anything”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“apart,”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“point, but he had anticipated that it would be necessary to underline it. Another”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“Elijah. He looked small, vulnerable and helpless. Milton looked at the clock on the wall for the”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“appointment.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“marked”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“John Milton was a chameleon. He had twenty years’ experience of blending into the background, surfacing only to do the bloody work of his trade before sinking out of sight again. Control felt an icy knot in the pit of his stomach. Milton was the most dangerous man he had ever met, and now he knew that the State wanted him dead. He had no idea what he would do next, and that was the kind of thought that would keep a man up at night.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“He had been working on damage control ever since Twelve had limped out of the church hall and called for emergency pickup. He had taken the response team himself to ensure that there was no trace of Twelve ever having been there. The blood from his leg had been scrubbed away and footage from local CCTV cameras had been deleted. The dead man—Rutherford—was left where he was. Twelve had explained what had happened. The surprise of Rutherford’s appearance had saved Milton’s life, so now, in death, he would have to pay back the damage that he had caused. His body would prove to be useful. It was easy to fabricate the story. CCTV footage placed Milton at the scene and showed Rutherford arriving moments before he was shot. A camera at the entrance to the park had footage of Milton heading north. He was wounded, too, a bullet to the shoulder. They had immediately checked local hospitals for admissions, but it was perfunctory; Milton was much too savvy to do something as foolish as that. An hour later they had intercepted a call to local police of a break-in. A couple had returned to their house on the edge of the nearby park to find that someone had forced the door to the garden. Their car and a few clothes had been stolen. That, in itself, would have been enough for Control to have investigated, but they had also reported that their first aid cabinet had been ransacked, that a lamp had been moved onto the kitchen table, and that kitchen utensils had been found covered in blood.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“GROUP FIFTEEN had its own private medical facilities attached to a well-known London teaching hospital. State-of-the-art facilities, the best doctors in the country, absolute discretion. Control watched through the window as the surgeon bent low to examine the damage that had been done to Twelve’s knee. The man—and his three colleagues—were wearing green smocks, their faces covered by surgical masks and latex gloves over their hands. Twelve had been anaesthetised and was laid out on the operating table, covered by a sheet with a long vertical slit that allowed easy access to his right leg. The surgeon had already sliced open his knee, a neat incision that began just below the quadriceps and curved around the line of his leg. The opening was held open by medical clips, and a miniature camera on an articulated arm had been positioned overhead, its feed visible on the large screen that was fixed to the wall in the observation suite.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“The pain flared once, a crescendo that Milton met by slamming his fist against the table, and then slackened off.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“Don’t,” Milton said. The pain from his shoulder washed over him in nauseous waves, but he managed to aim the pistol. Twelve stopped. He was six feet away. Blood ran freely from his broken nose. His eyes shone with anger. Milton slowly got to his feet. His left shoulder felt as though it had been mangled, the arm hanging uselessly down by his side. He was woozy from the pain. He knew, from experience, that it would get worse. It was the adrenaline that was holding him together, but the pain would overwhelm him eventually. He held the advantage, but he would not have it for long.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“Milton knew how well he had been trained—he would have gone through the same programme as he had, after all—and he was able to anticipate all of the variables that he would be considering. First, he would assess the threat that Milton posed: significant, but limited as it stood. Second, he would confirm that the surroundings were suitable for an elimination: perfect. Once those quick assessments had been made to his satisfaction, he would carry out his orders. It would be quick and efficient. Milton guessed that he had a handful of seconds. A minute if he was lucky and could muddy the waters. He would not go down without a fight. If there was a chance, a half-chance, he would take it. He assessed the situation himself. Six feet separated him from Twelve. Another indication that the agent was good; not enough to compromise his aim but enough to make sure that Milton could not attack before he could fire. Milton explored his own body, his posture, tensing his muscles and assessing how quickly he might be able to move. The position of his feet. The angle of his hips, of his shoulders. He would need to be decisive, but even then, he knew that his chances were slim. He would certainly be shot before he could reach him, and even if he was not, he did not fancy his chances in unarmed combat with Twelve. He was younger, his muscles more pliant and less damaged and scarred than Milton’s.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“It was his turn to feel discomfited. “Doesn’t have to be a reason, does there?”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“You sit in your cosy homes… with your soft, comfy lives… nothing bad ever happens…” He coughed, a tearing cough that brought blood to his lips. “You look at us and… you shake your head. You need people like me so you can shake your fuckin’ heads and say, ‘See that guy, he’s bad,’ just so you can feel better about yourselves.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“A ringing sound danced in Milton’s ears, and his eyes stung with sweat. The smell of cordite was acrid, and he gagged a little. A trickle of blood, specked with bubbles of breath, dribbled from Bizness’s mouth.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“A second man appeared at the top of the stairs. Milton recognised him from the crack house. He squeezed the trigger and shot him in the chest, the impact peppering him from his navel to his throat. He staggered, his hand pointlessly reaching for the knife in his pocket. Milton fired a second spread. Spit and blood foamed at the man’s lips as he pirouetted back into the room above, dropping to the floor.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“The sound of alarms filled the air, loud and declamatory, and beneath their sharp screech came the occasional noise of windows shattering and the hubbub of shouts and shrieks from the rioters on the street.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“He stared in stupefaction as a group of teenagers smashed the window of a parked police car.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“metastasizing into something much bigger and more dangerous.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“Rutherford had read the reports in the newspaper about the gang banger who had been shot and killed, and it seemed that the protests in Tottenham and Enfield had spread, metastasizing into something much bigger and more dangerous.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“The sound of sirens was audible in the distance, an up-and-down ululation that seemed almost constant and seemed to be coming from several directions at once.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“He craned his neck around so that he could look into the back at Pinky. “You done good tonight, younger. Did exactly what I told you. Ain’t no way no one’s going to be able to tie that back to us, and anyway, it’s all gonna get lost in all this nonsense.” “Yeah,” Pinky said proudly. “Thanks.” “First time you done that, right?” “Yeah.” “How was it?” “Cool,” Pinky said. “You should’ve seen his face when I pulled the gun on him.” He giggled. “Looked like he was going to shit his pants. Then”—he made the shape of a gun with his forefingers—“blam, blam, blam, blam.” Bizness looked at him. There was a smile on his face, but there was no emotion in his eyes. They were blank and empty. Boy was a stone-cold killer. It was a little unsettling. He could see he wasn’t the smartest kid, and he knew he’d end up getting merked himself eventually, but until that happened, he’d keep him close. People like him, with no empathy, they were hard to find. They were useful, too. There were plenty of people he could do with having out of the way. Wiley T, for a start. Finish the job that JaJa never even started.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“Where you going, anyway?” Pops said. “Following me around like a bad smell.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“He had never spoken to Pops like that before. A week ago, he would not have had the nerve, but he knew more now. There was no reason to fear him. And he didn’t need to listen to his sanctimonious nonsense. Pops gave a gentle shake of his head but did not rise to it.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“He had never spoken to Pops like that before. A week ago, he would not have had the nerve, but he knew more now. There was no reason to fear him. And he didn’t need to listen to his sanctimonious nonsense.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“They were what they were: young boys caught in the awkward hinterland between being children and men. He felt a moment of mawkishness.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner

“Pops watched the five of them, the easy banter that passed between them. Only JaJa was quiet, the rest joshing and ribbing each other without affectation or agenda.”
― Mark Dawson, The Cleaner