Still Bleeding (A Jack Nightingale Short Story) by Stephen Leather

the
shotgun.’
    ‘That’s right,’
said Nightingale. ‘But that depends on whether or not you believe
in free will, doesn’t it?’
    Connolly raised
his hands in surrender. ‘To be honest, Nightingale I’m getting to
the stage where I’d rather you pulled the trigger. I really can’t
be bothered listening to you any more.’
    ‘Put your hands
behind your neck.’ Nightingale pointed the shotgun at Connolly’s
chest and the priest did as he was told. ‘. ‘For God’s sake be
careful with that thing,’ he said.
    ‘For God’s
sake? You realise the irony in that statement.’ Nightingale lowered
the shotgun but kept it pointed at the priest’s groin. ‘You’ve done
this before?’
    ‘Is that a
question or a statement?’
    ‘Both, I guess.
I think I know the answer already. It’s what you do, isn’t it?’
    Connolly
nodded. ‘Someone has to.’
    ‘To protect the
Church?’
    ‘The Church has
been around a lot longer than you or me,’ said Connolly. ‘It’s like
a living organism, it fights to stay alive.’
    ‘And it kills
if necessary?’
    ‘If it has to,
yes. There’s no arguing with that. The Catholic Church has killed
hundreds of thousands of people over the years. Look at the
Crusades.’
    ‘ And
because Tracey Spradbery is a threat, you’re here to kill
her?’
    ‘Is that what
you think?’ He laughed harshly. ‘It’s not about killing her. It was
never about that.’
    ‘What
then?’
    ‘We’re going to
take her to a safe place. Somewhere where she can be looked at by
experts. People who understand stigmata.’
    ‘Where
exactly?’
    ‘A convent in
Spain,’ said Connolly.
    ‘A prison?’
    ‘If she truly
has been blessed by God, we need to know,’ said Connolly. ‘And we
can’t do that here.’
    ‘So you’re
planning to kidnap her?’
    ‘I am to take
her to a safe place,’ said Connolly.
    ‘That’s
kidnapping. Pure and simple.’
    ‘We need to
know the truth, and we won’t get the truth here.’
    ‘I told you the
truth. She has the stigmata, that’s a fact. And she believes that
she talks to the Virgin Mary. Take your bag off and slide it across
to me.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘The bag,’ said
Nightingale, nodding at Connolly’s backpack. ‘I need to look inside
it. Take it off very slowly.’
    ‘You think I
have a gun?’
    ‘Or a knife.
Either way, I’ll know that you’re lying and that you came here to
do her harm.’
    ‘And then what?
You’ll shoot me?’
    ‘I’ll call the
cops.’
    ‘You broke in
here as well, remember?’
    Nightingale
shook his head. ‘I was invited in by Tracey’s uncle. It’s his
house. He gave me the key. Do you have a key? Oh no, of course not.
You smashed a window to get in.’’
    Connolly nodded
at the shotgun in Nightingale’s hands. ‘And you’ve got a licence
for that sawn-off shotgun, of course.’
    ‘Mate, I’ll
whack you over the head with it, hide it and then call the cops.
Oh, and I used to be a cop so there’s a good chance they’ll listen
to me.’ He gestured at the backpack with his gun. ‘Take it
off.’
    Connolly
scowled, but did as he was told.
    ‘Push it over
here,’ said Nightingale. ‘Not to enthusiastically, I’d hate to pull
the trigger accidentally.’
    Connolly pushed
the bag across the floor. Nightingale pointed the gun at his face.
‘Now put your hands behind your neck again.’
    Connolly obeyed
the instructions.
    ‘Now move your
right foot over your left.’
    Connolly did as
he was told. Nightingale nodded his approval. In that position
Connolly wouldn’t be able to get the jump on him. He kept the
shotgun aimed at Connolly’s chest with his right hand while he used
his left to root around the inside of the bag. He pulled out two
rolls of duct tape and tossed them on to the kitchen table. Then he
took out a small leather wallet with a zip running around the outer
edge. Nightingale walked over to the table, put the shotgun down
and quickly unzipped the wallet, never taking his eyes