5 Daggers
By Steve O’Brien
Copyright 2012
Smashwords Edition
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5 Daggers
Not every story has a happy ending
Table of contents
“Prove it.”
“Prove it?”
“Yes Jonny boy, prove it.” Forbes took a sip of White Zinfandel and looked at the human traffic ebbing and flowing in the sunshine, passed the pavement side table where we sat, shaded by an umbrella endorsed with the name of the bistro. Occasionally someone would throw an odd look in our direction.
“Not sure I follow.”
“It’s simple. I said that the taking of a life is never easy, and you said that it was, and I quote. “A piece of piss.” He made inverted commas with his fingers. “So prove it, pick someone and kill them with your bare hands.” He leaned closer “Up close and personal.”
I gave a rather shaky laugh. “You’re joking, right?” Forbes sat back and smoothed his suit jacket.
“How long have we known each other Jonny?” I thought for a moment. I had known Forbes for a good couple of years and although we were not close enough to be called friends we were certainly not too distant to be called acquaintances, we were.... accomplices, I suppose. I had once asked him what he did for a living. “The odd little job for the government.” He had replied and changed the subject.
He answered the question for me. “Long enough to know that I am not particularly jovial, therefore I am not joking.” He leaned forward again and the average man with average features, average hair and average build disappeared. The set of his jaw or the sudden hardening in his eyes, perhaps. Whatever it was, the sunny June afternoon seemed an awful lot chillier, which was odd as sweat prickled my forehead and trickled down my sides. “Here’s the deal Jonny.” He opened the left side of his jacket to reveal a shoulder holster with the butt of a handgun nestling in it. “Pick someone, follow them and kill them, as you say it will be a piece of piss. If you don’t then I will kill you.”
I tore my eyes away from his and viewed the bustling Aldeburgh high street, packed with people visiting the numerous art galleries, craft shops or just enjoying the sun and the sea air, the beach was so close that I could hear the tide shushing into the pebbles. “You have got to be out of your fucking mind.” I said quietly. Still looking at the crowd, I didn’t know Forbes had moved until I felt him grip my shoulder and almost haul me out of the chair.
“Time to go.” Staying close with his hand inside his jacket he forced me away from the security of the crowded bistro a few yards along the high street and in to one of the many alleyways that bisected the thoroughfare. “If you can’t choose then I will” he paused for a moment scanning the throng. “There, there’s your victim.” I sighted along his pointing finger.
The tiny old lady was tottering away from the high street, plastic bag in her left hand and handbag slung over her right shoulder, white hair and pink cardigan ruffling in the breeze. She looked frail, she looked like my nanny, more importantly, she looked defenceless. Bonus. Not that I was seriously contemplating carrying through with the deed. I would play along, follow the old girl for a while and bugger off at the first opportunity.
“Just in case you are considering not playing along Jonny, I will be with you every step of the way, you may not see me but I will be there.” Adding mind reading to his list of hidden talents. “Now off you go.”
I stood uncertainly for a few moments, until Forbes undid the snap on the holster and nodded after the old lady. I set off. The noise of the crowds and traffic was soon muted as the walls of the alley closed in. I trudged along the passage turning right at the end taking the same direction as the old dear. She had turned left out of the alley and was up ahead moving tiredly along a quiet residential street, I slowed my pace too match her. Glancing around, meaning to reason with Forbes I found myself alone, relief flooded through me and I had another shaky chuckle. The bloody wind up merchant, he was probably back at the bistro with another bottle of wine and congratulating himself.
The sound of a gun cocking is unmistakeable. Forbes was silently and suddenly beside me. “She’s getting away Jonny, I think you need to get a move on, don’t you?” The muzzle of the gun pressed into to my back, for emphasis. I nodded and wiped fresh sweat from my eyes. Up ahead the aged lady turned right into another alleyway, I hurried after her. Once in the alley it took a second or two for my eyes to adjust to the gloom after the glare of the street. She was about 15 yards ahead of me. 2 or 3 miles beyond her I could see the gigantic golf ball that was Sizewell B nuclear power station shimmering in the heat haze. I would have to do something now. I started to run my shoes clattering and echoing of the walls, throwing occasional glances over my shoulder looking for Forbes. She must have been slightly hard of hearing because she shrieked when I placed my hand on her bony collar bone.
I swear to god I had no intention of hurting her but she wouldn’t stop screaming, her face screwed into an octogenarian snarl. “Shut up, just shut up will you” I said, desperately trying to quiet her, but she clawed at my face scratching my cheek with a horny nail, all the time with the constant screaming. Eventually, I don’t remember how, my hands were around her throat, it was like trying to strangle a gristly chicken. “Just be quiet for the love of god.” She stopped fighting and stated turning blue. I eased my grip and opened my mouth to tell her to calm down.
With a speed I would not have believed possible in someone that old and half dead for that matter, she whipped a small silver spray can from her bag and squirted me in the face. It took less than a second for the burning to start. Pepper spray. My eyes were streaming my mouth and nose on fire as chilli pepper particles burrowed into the mucous membrane. I was blind and crying uncontrollably, I think I may have taken a turn at screaming. Hands clasped to my face I dropped to my knees. This proved to be a bad idea. The old bitch kicked me squarely in the testicles. Burning face, burning balls. I must have passed out at that stage.
I woke up, still lying in the alley. Through blurred vision I could see a green clad paramedic and a police officer. My hands were cuffed behind my back. The medic was sponging my face with a milky solution that smelled faintly of honey. “He’s awake, constable.” Said the medic, getting up and packing his bag.