This story has now been published as part of the collection 'A Pattern of Murder'. To whet your appetite, here's the opening page...
In my experience, those who beg for mercy seldom deserve it.
In spite of which, I was begging.
“Please – I’m sorry – I’ll do it…”
Kincaide continued to push my head against the wall with the muzzle of his gun.
He didn’t seem inclined towards mercy, deserved or not.
“It’s just not that easy…” I continued. Despising the desperate whine in my voice.
“Not easy? All I asked you to do, jerk, was to be in a certain place at a certain time. And you weren’t there, were you?”
‘Jerk’ is what Kincaide calls people he’s pissed with. He seemed very pissed with me.
“I got called to a job, urgent, aggravated burglary….” Gabbling. Kincaide talked right over me.
“You kept me waiting, jerk. Three bloody hours…..I’m a busy man. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“I – I’m sorry” I said again. “Please – don’t ..”
“Don’t what?” Kincaide leaned on my head, via his pistol. “Don’t shoot? Is that what you’re asking me, jerk?”
I sobbed. I couldn’t help it. It slipped out. Something else was slipping out: I could feel it running down my leg. Kincaide wrinkled his nose.
“You need a shower, Baz.”
Actually, I prefer ‘Barry’ to ‘Baz’, but I let it pass. It was, after all, a clear improvement on ‘jerk.
“So,” he continued, “since you’re sorry, and since you’re asking me nicely, I’ll give you one more chance. You go and have your shower, then get out there and get this sorted, alright?”
“Yes, yes, of course, I’ll be right on it….”
Kincaide stepped back, handing the gun to one of the big lads he’d brought with him, took out a cigar. With the pressure on my head released, I nearly fell over.
“Two hours, Baz. Be at that address, with your van and all your clever forensic bits and pieces, in two hours. You won’t keep me waiting again, will you?”
He didn’t say ‘Or I’ll be back.’ He didn’t need to. He just stood there smiling gently, puffing on his cigar and watching me struggle to hold myself up against the wall.
Smart suit, wavy grey hair, perfectly groomed – Kincaide looked like a respectable businessman, pillar of the community, everyone’s favourite uncle. Until you saw the hardness in his eyes, and realised that this man would walk right through you to get what he wanted.
“Right, then, gentlemen.” He said to the two big lads. “We’ll be on our way. Mr Sutter has business to attend to.” They followed him out, leaving me with my problems.
In my experience, those who beg for mercy seldom deserve it.
In spite of which, I was begging.
“Please – I’m sorry – I’ll do it…”
Kincaide continued to push my head against the wall with the muzzle of his gun.
He didn’t seem inclined towards mercy, deserved or not.
“It’s just not that easy…” I continued. Despising the desperate whine in my voice.
“Not easy? All I asked you to do, jerk, was to be in a certain place at a certain time. And you weren’t there, were you?”
‘Jerk’ is what Kincaide calls people he’s pissed with. He seemed very pissed with me.
“I got called to a job, urgent, aggravated burglary….” Gabbling. Kincaide talked right over me.
“You kept me waiting, jerk. Three bloody hours…..I’m a busy man. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“I – I’m sorry” I said again. “Please – don’t ..”
“Don’t what?” Kincaide leaned on my head, via his pistol. “Don’t shoot? Is that what you’re asking me, jerk?”
I sobbed. I couldn’t help it. It slipped out. Something else was slipping out: I could feel it running down my leg. Kincaide wrinkled his nose.
“You need a shower, Baz.”
Actually, I prefer ‘Barry’ to ‘Baz’, but I let it pass. It was, after all, a clear improvement on ‘jerk.
“So,” he continued, “since you’re sorry, and since you’re asking me nicely, I’ll give you one more chance. You go and have your shower, then get out there and get this sorted, alright?”
“Yes, yes, of course, I’ll be right on it….”
Kincaide stepped back, handing the gun to one of the big lads he’d brought with him, took out a cigar. With the pressure on my head released, I nearly fell over.
“Two hours, Baz. Be at that address, with your van and all your clever forensic bits and pieces, in two hours. You won’t keep me waiting again, will you?”
He didn’t say ‘Or I’ll be back.’ He didn’t need to. He just stood there smiling gently, puffing on his cigar and watching me struggle to hold myself up against the wall.
Smart suit, wavy grey hair, perfectly groomed – Kincaide looked like a respectable businessman, pillar of the community, everyone’s favourite uncle. Until you saw the hardness in his eyes, and realised that this man would walk right through you to get what he wanted.
“Right, then, gentlemen.” He said to the two big lads. “We’ll be on our way. Mr Sutter has business to attend to.” They followed him out, leaving me with my problems.