Stark Contrasts (An Adam Stark novel Book 1) by Peter Carroll Page B
Authors: Peter Carroll
Ads: Link
there.”
“Yeah? Look, just leave me alone will you. If this is your idea of helping people then I'm not impressed!”
The pitiable wanker cradled the shattered shades like a precious child, looking like he might actually start weeping over their passing. I shook my head, trying hard to suppress the laughter straining to burst forth.
“Ok, whatever, mate.”
With that, I continued up the street a way before doubling back toward the station. I left him checking himself over and reaching for a mobile phone to make a call of some kind. The disorientation of a random encounter with a stranger worn like a fluorescent tabard. My satisfaction tempered slightly by the lack of involvement from any paramedics. Never mind, it was a small victory and a necessary release on the valve. A cuff round the ear of bad manners and the blinded insularity of some city dwellers.
As predicted, once united with the family, my wife was very reasonable and my son easily placated with ice cream. I could get on with enjoying one of my weekend's with the boy. Wife number one away doing whatever she did when given this temporary fortnightly freedom.
When I told him about it, Garry thought the whole thing hilarious.
14. Night-time
I have been patiently waiting for this opportunity. A character trait that has always stood me in good stead. Patience ensures mistakes are avoided. Persistence ensures jobs get completed regardless of obstacles, inexperience or difficulty. The precise, requisite set of circumstances for this lesson have not been easy to come by. But, here and now, all the essential elements are aligned. Patience and persistence, my comrades and confidantes.
This one's not as apprehensive as the others. He doesn't realise how wrong he is to be so casual. Still jostling, still entirely focussed on number one. Still unaware of the wrong, the danger, the wrath.
My power is uncomfortably low. This flickering ember is alien to me. I'm used to it burning like a thousand suns. I almost feel too weak to see this through. I crave the dark, I need the dark, but it cannot be dark in here. I have no choice, no influence over this. I take solace from the darkness nearby until it's ruptured by headlights. Light is my kryptonite.
I don't like crowds - it's risky. Privacy affords time to tidy and repair, make good any spillage or oversight. An audience might mean a witness but there's no other way to make the point which needs to be made. It has to be here, in the light. It has to be now. Yes, I'm weakened, but far from impotent.
I move slowly; like wading through human treacle.
The heat rises.
The lights burn.
The wind blows dragon's breath.
I am fighting against the light.
I move forward and, this time, the tap on the heels is final.
A surge of bodies, voices, grinding metal screeching in protest, hysteria.
I melt away.
He won't be the only one to get the message this time. I've made sure of that.
15. Blood On The Tracks
Stark yawned like a hippo, giving the Bobby an uninterrupted view of his epiglottis. He held up his badge and crossed the tape. It was far too early in the morning to be dealing with this kind of shit. He was not a morning person. Mornings were for the birds and the paper boy, and they were welcome to them. On more than one occasion, he pined for the certainty and solace of constant back shifts. Great for the guy who can't get out of bed unless someone sets fire to it, but not exactly a boon socially. Ah, the job giveth and the job taketh away.
The station hummed with activity. White-suited forensics guys, uniformed cops, a couple of plain-clothes and, unfortunately, a journalist. He recognised Floyd Callahan from The Daily News even from behind. A bean pole of a man - by all accounts six feet seven inches tall - with a shining bald pate. An ex-NBA professional player who retired early due to serious injury and a rumoured fondness for falling down water. Like many guys in his position he started out as a TV
“Yeah? Look, just leave me alone will you. If this is your idea of helping people then I'm not impressed!”
The pitiable wanker cradled the shattered shades like a precious child, looking like he might actually start weeping over their passing. I shook my head, trying hard to suppress the laughter straining to burst forth.
“Ok, whatever, mate.”
With that, I continued up the street a way before doubling back toward the station. I left him checking himself over and reaching for a mobile phone to make a call of some kind. The disorientation of a random encounter with a stranger worn like a fluorescent tabard. My satisfaction tempered slightly by the lack of involvement from any paramedics. Never mind, it was a small victory and a necessary release on the valve. A cuff round the ear of bad manners and the blinded insularity of some city dwellers.
As predicted, once united with the family, my wife was very reasonable and my son easily placated with ice cream. I could get on with enjoying one of my weekend's with the boy. Wife number one away doing whatever she did when given this temporary fortnightly freedom.
When I told him about it, Garry thought the whole thing hilarious.
14. Night-time
I have been patiently waiting for this opportunity. A character trait that has always stood me in good stead. Patience ensures mistakes are avoided. Persistence ensures jobs get completed regardless of obstacles, inexperience or difficulty. The precise, requisite set of circumstances for this lesson have not been easy to come by. But, here and now, all the essential elements are aligned. Patience and persistence, my comrades and confidantes.
This one's not as apprehensive as the others. He doesn't realise how wrong he is to be so casual. Still jostling, still entirely focussed on number one. Still unaware of the wrong, the danger, the wrath.
My power is uncomfortably low. This flickering ember is alien to me. I'm used to it burning like a thousand suns. I almost feel too weak to see this through. I crave the dark, I need the dark, but it cannot be dark in here. I have no choice, no influence over this. I take solace from the darkness nearby until it's ruptured by headlights. Light is my kryptonite.
I don't like crowds - it's risky. Privacy affords time to tidy and repair, make good any spillage or oversight. An audience might mean a witness but there's no other way to make the point which needs to be made. It has to be here, in the light. It has to be now. Yes, I'm weakened, but far from impotent.
I move slowly; like wading through human treacle.
The heat rises.
The lights burn.
The wind blows dragon's breath.
I am fighting against the light.
I move forward and, this time, the tap on the heels is final.
A surge of bodies, voices, grinding metal screeching in protest, hysteria.
I melt away.
He won't be the only one to get the message this time. I've made sure of that.
15. Blood On The Tracks
Stark yawned like a hippo, giving the Bobby an uninterrupted view of his epiglottis. He held up his badge and crossed the tape. It was far too early in the morning to be dealing with this kind of shit. He was not a morning person. Mornings were for the birds and the paper boy, and they were welcome to them. On more than one occasion, he pined for the certainty and solace of constant back shifts. Great for the guy who can't get out of bed unless someone sets fire to it, but not exactly a boon socially. Ah, the job giveth and the job taketh away.
The station hummed with activity. White-suited forensics guys, uniformed cops, a couple of plain-clothes and, unfortunately, a journalist. He recognised Floyd Callahan from The Daily News even from behind. A bean pole of a man - by all accounts six feet seven inches tall - with a shining bald pate. An ex-NBA professional player who retired early due to serious injury and a rumoured fondness for falling down water. Like many guys in his position he started out as a TV
Similar Books
