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“Never let the right hand know what the left is doing.”
That was how he justified it to me afterwards.
“What the hell are you talking about? Your clichés don’t count for a damned thing after what happened today. Do you even comprehend how serious this is? The damage you’ve done?”
“Calm down Michael. Getting angry won’t change anything. I accept that I may have miscalculated how much information certain individuals would need available, but the theory is a sound one.”
I could feel my blood pounding through my veins. The realisation that this prehistoric b*****d didn’t give a damn about the people who had willingly put themselves on the line for him. In a last ditch effort to maintain self-control I turned from the room.
As I walked away my smouldering contempt for the man spread to a wildfire of hatered.
Driving home I plotted. Someone had to do something. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be James now.
The cold morning numbed my face. I stood outside the offices that were the front for the Markovs’ operations. I pressed the buzzer.
Frog-marched into an office with a gun pressed under my chin. It wasn’t how I’d hoped to make my big entrance, but it would no doubt be greeted with the same attention.
“What the hell is he doing here?” A gravely voice, eastern European, snapped.
“The peasant just rang the door bell.” A couple of my captors laughed.
“Look, Mr Markov, I understand how you must feel after yesterday’s events. But I think we can find a mutually beneficial course of action…”
“Kill him” Markov commanded.
“Wait, our next delivery, a big one, huge. You can get it all, but I need you to hear me out…”
“Okay. You have ten minutes.”
Quarter of an hour later I was marched outside again. Embraced by daylight I was grateful simply to have got out alive.
“This is for Luther” I heard, as a fist struck me to the ground.
A week later, at a small motorway café outside Dover. I’d collected the lorry from the ferry terminal as scheduled. I handed the keys to Mr Markov himself.
“Hey, it has to look convincing.” He mused.
By a small mercy I lost consciousness after the second blow to the head.
“It looks like you’ve had a bad day,” the old b*****d swam into vision, “well Michael, it’s about to get a hell of a lot worse. You think I’m stupid? You think you can screw me over like a blind fool? Well Michael, in light of the more favourable time you’ve spent working for me I’m going to make this quick for you.” He turned slightly. “Now, please David”
I closed my eyes.
*Bang*
What the hell? Slowly, I opened my eyes again. The b*****d knelt with his hands to his stomach, hopelessly fighting the flow of blood.
“That’s for James… and this one’s for Angie”
*Bang*
“What?” David looked at me. “You think you’re the only one who’d do something about it?”
I smiled and took the gun.
One last bullet slammed into the body.
“For Luther”
That was how he justified it to me afterwards.
“What the hell are you talking about? Your clichés don’t count for a damned thing after what happened today. Do you even comprehend how serious this is? The damage you’ve done?”
“Calm down Michael. Getting angry won’t change anything. I accept that I may have miscalculated how much information certain individuals would need available, but the theory is a sound one.”
I could feel my blood pounding through my veins. The realisation that this prehistoric b*****d didn’t give a damn about the people who had willingly put themselves on the line for him. In a last ditch effort to maintain self-control I turned from the room.
As I walked away my smouldering contempt for the man spread to a wildfire of hatered.
Driving home I plotted. Someone had to do something. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be James now.
The cold morning numbed my face. I stood outside the offices that were the front for the Markovs’ operations. I pressed the buzzer.
Frog-marched into an office with a gun pressed under my chin. It wasn’t how I’d hoped to make my big entrance, but it would no doubt be greeted with the same attention.
“What the hell is he doing here?” A gravely voice, eastern European, snapped.
“The peasant just rang the door bell.” A couple of my captors laughed.
“Look, Mr Markov, I understand how you must feel after yesterday’s events. But I think we can find a mutually beneficial course of action…”
“Kill him” Markov commanded.
“Wait, our next delivery, a big one, huge. You can get it all, but I need you to hear me out…”
“Okay. You have ten minutes.”
Quarter of an hour later I was marched outside again. Embraced by daylight I was grateful simply to have got out alive.
“This is for Luther” I heard, as a fist struck me to the ground.
A week later, at a small motorway café outside Dover. I’d collected the lorry from the ferry terminal as scheduled. I handed the keys to Mr Markov himself.
“Hey, it has to look convincing.” He mused.
By a small mercy I lost consciousness after the second blow to the head.
“It looks like you’ve had a bad day,” the old b*****d swam into vision, “well Michael, it’s about to get a hell of a lot worse. You think I’m stupid? You think you can screw me over like a blind fool? Well Michael, in light of the more favourable time you’ve spent working for me I’m going to make this quick for you.” He turned slightly. “Now, please David”
I closed my eyes.
*Bang*
What the hell? Slowly, I opened my eyes again. The b*****d knelt with his hands to his stomach, hopelessly fighting the flow of blood.
“That’s for James… and this one’s for Angie”
*Bang*
“What?” David looked at me. “You think you’re the only one who’d do something about it?”
I smiled and took the gun.
One last bullet slammed into the body.
“For Luther”
My typing is having an off day. Nice snapshot story.
Interesting. The end confused at first.
“Never let the right hand know what the left is doing.”
That was how he justified it to me afterwards.
“What the hell are you talking about? Your clichés don’t count for a damned thing after what happened today. Do you even comprehend how serious this is? The damage you’ve done?”
“Calm down Michael. Getting angry won’t change anything. I accept that I may have miscalculated how much information certain individuals would need available, but the theory is a sound one.”
I could feel my blood pounding through my veins. The realisation that this prehistoric b*****d didn’t give a damn about the people who had willingly put themselves on the line for him. In a last ditch effort to maintain self-control I turned from the room.
As I walked away my smouldering contempt for the man spread to a wildfire of hatered.
Driving home I plotted. Someone had to do something. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be James now.
The cold morning numbed my face. I stood outside the offices that were the front for the Markovs’ operations. I pressed the buzzer.
Frog-marched into an office with a gun pressed under my chin. It wasn’t how I’d hoped to make my big entrance, but it would no doubt be greeted with the same attention.
“What the hell is he doing here?” A gravely voice, eastern European, snapped.
“The peasant just rang the door bell.” A couple of my captors laughed.
“Look, Mr Markov, I understand how you must feel after yesterday’s events. But I think we can find a mutually beneficial course of action…”
“Kill him” Markov commanded.
“Wait, our next delivery, a big one, huge. You can get it all, but I need you to hear me out…”
“Okay. You have ten minutes.”
Quarter of an hour later I was marched outside again. Embraced by daylight I was grateful simply to have got out alive.
“This is for Luther” I heard, as a fist struck me to the ground.
A week later, at a small motorway café outside Dover. I’d collected the lorry from the ferry terminal as scheduled. I handed the keys to Mr Markov himself.
“Hey, it has to look convincing.” He mused.
By a small mercy I lost consciousness after the second blow to the head.
“It looks like you’ve had a bad day,” the old b*****d swam into vision, “well Michael, it’s about to get a hell of a lot worse. You think I’m stupid? You think you can screw me over like a blind fool? Well Michael, in light of the more favourable time you’ve spent working for me I’m going to make this quick for you.” He turned slightly. “Now, please David”
I closed my eyes.
*Bang*
What the hell? Slowly, I opened my eyes again. The b*****d knelt with his hands to his stomach, hopelessly fighting the flow of blood.
“That’s for James… and this one’s for Angie”
*Bang*
“What?” David looked at me. “You think you’re the only one who’d do something about it?”
I smiled and took the gun.
One last bullet slammed into the body.
“For Luther”
That was how he justified it to me afterwards.
“What the hell are you talking about? Your clichés don’t count for a damned thing after what happened today. Do you even comprehend how serious this is? The damage you’ve done?”
“Calm down Michael. Getting angry won’t change anything. I accept that I may have miscalculated how much information certain individuals would need available, but the theory is a sound one.”
I could feel my blood pounding through my veins. The realisation that this prehistoric b*****d didn’t give a damn about the people who had willingly put themselves on the line for him. In a last ditch effort to maintain self-control I turned from the room.
As I walked away my smouldering contempt for the man spread to a wildfire of hatered.
Driving home I plotted. Someone had to do something. And it sure as hell wasn’t going to be James now.
The cold morning numbed my face. I stood outside the offices that were the front for the Markovs’ operations. I pressed the buzzer.
Frog-marched into an office with a gun pressed under my chin. It wasn’t how I’d hoped to make my big entrance, but it would no doubt be greeted with the same attention.
“What the hell is he doing here?” A gravely voice, eastern European, snapped.
“The peasant just rang the door bell.” A couple of my captors laughed.
“Look, Mr Markov, I understand how you must feel after yesterday’s events. But I think we can find a mutually beneficial course of action…”
“Kill him” Markov commanded.
“Wait, our next delivery, a big one, huge. You can get it all, but I need you to hear me out…”
“Okay. You have ten minutes.”
Quarter of an hour later I was marched outside again. Embraced by daylight I was grateful simply to have got out alive.
“This is for Luther” I heard, as a fist struck me to the ground.
A week later, at a small motorway café outside Dover. I’d collected the lorry from the ferry terminal as scheduled. I handed the keys to Mr Markov himself.
“Hey, it has to look convincing.” He mused.
By a small mercy I lost consciousness after the second blow to the head.
“It looks like you’ve had a bad day,” the old b*****d swam into vision, “well Michael, it’s about to get a hell of a lot worse. You think I’m stupid? You think you can screw me over like a blind fool? Well Michael, in light of the more favourable time you’ve spent working for me I’m going to make this quick for you.” He turned slightly. “Now, please David”
I closed my eyes.
*Bang*
What the hell? Slowly, I opened my eyes again. The b*****d knelt with his hands to his stomach, hopelessly fighting the flow of blood.
“That’s for James… and this one’s for Angie”
*Bang*
“What?” David looked at me. “You think you’re the only one who’d do something about it?”
I smiled and took the gun.
One last bullet slammed into the body.
“For Luther”