appreciate what had happened. As he stepped back, out of her sight, she reached up, gagging as she tried to draw air in through her severed windpipe. He looked on, fascinated and horrified as she lurched forward off the settee and began to crawl across the carpet on her hands and knees. Where the fuck did she think she was going?
Reaching forward and gripping a handful of the hearth rug ’s matted nylon pile, Brenda emitted a low whistling exhalation. Her head dropped down and she became still in a fitting position of supplication; her bottom raised up and facing him. He waited for a couple of minutes. He was sure that she was dead, but a loud release of wind riveted him to the spot. He had not expected a corpse to fart.
From there on in it was plain-sailing. He crept upstairs and into his mother ’s bedroom, where Leroy was sprawled across the bed face up, still dressed and snoring like the pig he was. Carefully placing the knife in the man’s left hand and allowing blood from it to drip onto the no-good, drugged-up bastard’s clothing, he then retreated, went into the bathroom and flushed the bloody wad of paper towel, and finally returned to where the body of his mother was still knelt in parody of a praying Muslim. He hugged the corpse and rolled it over onto its side – an act that would explain any blood on his clothes – and then phoned the police and was suitably hysterical as he reported the murder.
The case was cut and dried from the start. Leroy was so out-of-it that even he thought he might have topped Brenda, though he vehemently denied it. Trouble being, for Leroy, that his record included two counts of GBH and one of aggravated assault. One of the grievous bodily harm charges had been for using a Stanley knife to cut the ear off a hooker who’d held out on him. It was a slam dunk. Bad, bad Leroy Brown went down for life, for a crime he had not committed. Who said life is fair?
He smiled and put the memories aside for a while. All that he had done was like an epic movie. He could watch it over and over, dipping into a scene he wished to replay. In his case, it was a whole lot more than a two-dimensional medium. He could recall the atmosphere, sight , smell, sound, touch and taste of any and all instances in his life; just conjure it up like a regular Gandalf.
It was time to get on with the job at hand. Although he savoured the thought that when Leroy eventually got parole, then the dumbfuck nigger was dead meat. He was safe behind bars, but was on a leash that grew shorter with each day he served. It was good to have something to look forward to. The pimp came under the heading of unfinished business, to be punished in a more fitting and permanent manner. All i’s had to be dotted and t’s crossed. It didn’t do to leave loose ends. And he never forgave or forgot.
The drive out to Grove Park was uneventful. He observed the speed limits and had checked that all his lights were working. It wouldn’t do to be stopped by some overzealous cop. Not with a body in the back of the van. It would result in him having to use the sawn-off 12 bore shotgun that he kept under his front seat for use in the event of extreme emergencies; when on forays that carried the attendant risk of being discovered. It was a last line of defence, only to be employed if capture was otherwise inevitable. He was extremely cautious, but knew that the best laid plans could turn pear-shaped. The chaos theory dictated that even the most painstaking attention to detail could not take into account unknown factors that might present themselves. Life was unpredictable at the best of times. You had to be ever ready and prepared to overcome adversity, and he was.
The dense profusion of gorse bushes at the side of the lane shielded an incline that led down to a rusted railway track in a disused siding. There was a small, brick built building, no more than a shell, its
Reaching forward and gripping a handful of the hearth rug ’s matted nylon pile, Brenda emitted a low whistling exhalation. Her head dropped down and she became still in a fitting position of supplication; her bottom raised up and facing him. He waited for a couple of minutes. He was sure that she was dead, but a loud release of wind riveted him to the spot. He had not expected a corpse to fart.
From there on in it was plain-sailing. He crept upstairs and into his mother ’s bedroom, where Leroy was sprawled across the bed face up, still dressed and snoring like the pig he was. Carefully placing the knife in the man’s left hand and allowing blood from it to drip onto the no-good, drugged-up bastard’s clothing, he then retreated, went into the bathroom and flushed the bloody wad of paper towel, and finally returned to where the body of his mother was still knelt in parody of a praying Muslim. He hugged the corpse and rolled it over onto its side – an act that would explain any blood on his clothes – and then phoned the police and was suitably hysterical as he reported the murder.
The case was cut and dried from the start. Leroy was so out-of-it that even he thought he might have topped Brenda, though he vehemently denied it. Trouble being, for Leroy, that his record included two counts of GBH and one of aggravated assault. One of the grievous bodily harm charges had been for using a Stanley knife to cut the ear off a hooker who’d held out on him. It was a slam dunk. Bad, bad Leroy Brown went down for life, for a crime he had not committed. Who said life is fair?
He smiled and put the memories aside for a while. All that he had done was like an epic movie. He could watch it over and over, dipping into a scene he wished to replay. In his case, it was a whole lot more than a two-dimensional medium. He could recall the atmosphere, sight , smell, sound, touch and taste of any and all instances in his life; just conjure it up like a regular Gandalf.
It was time to get on with the job at hand. Although he savoured the thought that when Leroy eventually got parole, then the dumbfuck nigger was dead meat. He was safe behind bars, but was on a leash that grew shorter with each day he served. It was good to have something to look forward to. The pimp came under the heading of unfinished business, to be punished in a more fitting and permanent manner. All i’s had to be dotted and t’s crossed. It didn’t do to leave loose ends. And he never forgave or forgot.
The drive out to Grove Park was uneventful. He observed the speed limits and had checked that all his lights were working. It wouldn’t do to be stopped by some overzealous cop. Not with a body in the back of the van. It would result in him having to use the sawn-off 12 bore shotgun that he kept under his front seat for use in the event of extreme emergencies; when on forays that carried the attendant risk of being discovered. It was a last line of defence, only to be employed if capture was otherwise inevitable. He was extremely cautious, but knew that the best laid plans could turn pear-shaped. The chaos theory dictated that even the most painstaking attention to detail could not take into account unknown factors that might present themselves. Life was unpredictable at the best of times. You had to be ever ready and prepared to overcome adversity, and he was.
The dense profusion of gorse bushes at the side of the lane shielded an incline that led down to a rusted railway track in a disused siding. There was a small, brick built building, no more than a shell, its
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