through slowly.”
“Thank you, I’d love to share dinner, very kind of you to ask.”
Great, thought Joey, another nutter. With any luck he won’t have dragged any animals out of the zoo along with him.
Stepping through the door, Joey noted that the man, despite his amused tone and breezy affectation, kept part of his body behind the door, giving himself a partial shield. This confirmed for Joey that despite his almost bizarre appearance and manner, he was not a fool.
Tall, maybe six-two, he had a lean, muscular build. Red hair fell long over his forehead and partly over his eyes, and a neatly-trimmed but longish beard framed his face. With all the slightly-greying red hair it was difficult to make out any of his features distinctly. Joey guessed that he might be in his mid-fifties or older.
What he’d dressed in couldn’t be more out of place in the dead city of Edinburgh; that was probably the point. The man wore the jacket, trousers, spiked shoes and hat of a golfer. Down to the single gloved hand holding a nine iron he was the perfect image of a man out playing a round. Looking around the dark interior as he poked half his body through, he spotted Joey, bow arm extended, string drawn, and greeted him like an old friend.
“Oh! It’s a bow. How perfectly wonderful.”
He immediately entered the room fully, leaving the cover he’d had behind the door. Arm extended, hand offered for a gentlemanly shake, he strode over to Joey who remained as still as rock and as friendly as one. When he reached within three feet of an immovable and unfazed Joey, Jock flashed out from a hidden alcove on the man’s right and pressed one of his knives to the man’s throat, the other to his genitals.
“That’s far enough,” Jock growled, in what he’d once told Joey was his ‘Batman voice’. The reference, as usual, was lost on Joey.
“Drop the club.” Jock motioned at the man’s hand.
“Oh, wonderful, simply wonderful luck. There are two of you,” exclaimed the man positively thrilled to be held at the end of Jock’s knives. “How lovely to meet y…”
Jock pressed his blade in against his throat, cutting him off, clearly not buying the man’s cheery demeanour.
“Drop the blade,” Jock whispered this time, “last warning.”
Joey took final aim and prepared to release if and when Jock dropped his shoulder, giving him the shot.
The stranger didn’t bother to talk or smile this time. He simply dropped his club as requested, waited for the infinitesimal withdrawal of Jock’s blade and then flashed his own very small, very pointed stiletto blade out from nowhere up to and into Jock’s carotid artery.
Spinning Jock around with his left arm hooked over the older man’s chest, he faced Jock toward Joey whilst keeping the blade lodged in Jock’s neck. Joey’s eyes never left the blade. It didn’t budge a centimetre despite him manhandling Jock. Instantly the man’s tone changed to pure reptile as he addressed Joey.
“Okay, young man. The situation is thus. I have your… father?” He stole a quick glance at Jock. “Whatever he is to you, I have him positioned just so.” He made an almost imperceptible little movement of his eyes, motioning to the dagger. “If I remove this blade, the old minister here will give this lovely public house a new coat of paint. A badly needed new coat of paint, if you don’t mind me saying. It’s terribly dreary in here.” He laughed at his own joke.
Still smiling his crocodilian smile, he continued. “I’m willing to gamble that you don’t have the skills to repair this wound before he bleeds out.”
Something Joey did, although he’d swear he hadn’t reacted, told the man that he was right.
“Ah, good,” he said. “I’m also willing to gamble that you’re nowhere near so effective with those blades on your waist as you clearly are with that bow. That rigid arm of yours tells me how much you practice with that lovely weapon.”
Joey stood completely
“Thank you, I’d love to share dinner, very kind of you to ask.”
Great, thought Joey, another nutter. With any luck he won’t have dragged any animals out of the zoo along with him.
Stepping through the door, Joey noted that the man, despite his amused tone and breezy affectation, kept part of his body behind the door, giving himself a partial shield. This confirmed for Joey that despite his almost bizarre appearance and manner, he was not a fool.
Tall, maybe six-two, he had a lean, muscular build. Red hair fell long over his forehead and partly over his eyes, and a neatly-trimmed but longish beard framed his face. With all the slightly-greying red hair it was difficult to make out any of his features distinctly. Joey guessed that he might be in his mid-fifties or older.
What he’d dressed in couldn’t be more out of place in the dead city of Edinburgh; that was probably the point. The man wore the jacket, trousers, spiked shoes and hat of a golfer. Down to the single gloved hand holding a nine iron he was the perfect image of a man out playing a round. Looking around the dark interior as he poked half his body through, he spotted Joey, bow arm extended, string drawn, and greeted him like an old friend.
“Oh! It’s a bow. How perfectly wonderful.”
He immediately entered the room fully, leaving the cover he’d had behind the door. Arm extended, hand offered for a gentlemanly shake, he strode over to Joey who remained as still as rock and as friendly as one. When he reached within three feet of an immovable and unfazed Joey, Jock flashed out from a hidden alcove on the man’s right and pressed one of his knives to the man’s throat, the other to his genitals.
“That’s far enough,” Jock growled, in what he’d once told Joey was his ‘Batman voice’. The reference, as usual, was lost on Joey.
“Drop the club.” Jock motioned at the man’s hand.
“Oh, wonderful, simply wonderful luck. There are two of you,” exclaimed the man positively thrilled to be held at the end of Jock’s knives. “How lovely to meet y…”
Jock pressed his blade in against his throat, cutting him off, clearly not buying the man’s cheery demeanour.
“Drop the blade,” Jock whispered this time, “last warning.”
Joey took final aim and prepared to release if and when Jock dropped his shoulder, giving him the shot.
The stranger didn’t bother to talk or smile this time. He simply dropped his club as requested, waited for the infinitesimal withdrawal of Jock’s blade and then flashed his own very small, very pointed stiletto blade out from nowhere up to and into Jock’s carotid artery.
Spinning Jock around with his left arm hooked over the older man’s chest, he faced Jock toward Joey whilst keeping the blade lodged in Jock’s neck. Joey’s eyes never left the blade. It didn’t budge a centimetre despite him manhandling Jock. Instantly the man’s tone changed to pure reptile as he addressed Joey.
“Okay, young man. The situation is thus. I have your… father?” He stole a quick glance at Jock. “Whatever he is to you, I have him positioned just so.” He made an almost imperceptible little movement of his eyes, motioning to the dagger. “If I remove this blade, the old minister here will give this lovely public house a new coat of paint. A badly needed new coat of paint, if you don’t mind me saying. It’s terribly dreary in here.” He laughed at his own joke.
Still smiling his crocodilian smile, he continued. “I’m willing to gamble that you don’t have the skills to repair this wound before he bleeds out.”
Something Joey did, although he’d swear he hadn’t reacted, told the man that he was right.
“Ah, good,” he said. “I’m also willing to gamble that you’re nowhere near so effective with those blades on your waist as you clearly are with that bow. That rigid arm of yours tells me how much you practice with that lovely weapon.”
Joey stood completely
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