Mental Check

Mental check
I left the flat at about 9:45. It was one hell of a day, you might say. I put on my sunglasses. The Paki over the road stared at me the whole time. He doesn’t have anything better to do. I’ve actually witnessed him looking into my flat from his window. What a sad bastard. I bypassed the bastard and made for my car, which was parked out back. It was the only car left in the car park, I suppose on account of most people having jobs. Well, proper jobs anyway. I whipped out my keys, found the right one and opened the car. It was roasting in the car, and I believe I even made a point of stating this fact. Before I even started the engine, I opened both of the front windows all the way, well, as far as they would go, anyway (for some bizarre reason, some idiot who designed it thought it would be a good idea if the windows only wound down half-way. I started the engine and followed my usual procedure when starting the car, making sure to attach my seatbelt. I turned on the radio and some faggot was whining about something or other. But, I left it on in the hope that the song would finish soon. I pulled out of the car park and onto the road. I lit up a cigarette whilst waiting at a pedestrian crossing. Just my luck that there was some old dear making her feeble way across the road, as slow as you can imagine. I revved my engine, and she tried to go faster, leaning heavily on her Zimmer frame for support. I couldn’t help but laugh as she finally reached the other side, and disappeared round the corner as fast as her feeble legs could carry her.
Now, I’ve been alone for a long time, you must understand. I live alone and I don’t like..well, I guess you could say I don’t like people. I do what I have to do, then I go home to my empty flat and maybe have a drink or three, a few cigarettes, perhaps. I never speak to any of my family, or they don’t speak to me. Either way you look at it, we don’t get on. So, I sort of make my own way.
As my car drove along the dual carriageway, I made a mental check that I had covered all my bases. I had, and I smiled through the cloud of smoke I exhaled from my blackened lungs. The sun was still beating down. Was it normally this hot in June? I suppose it’s summer. About half way there now, I supposed. The road was filled with cars filled with families, probably on their holidays or something. Who the fuck would want to come here on holiday? It’s like when you see American people, or should I say you hear Americans here, in our country. It doesn’t make any sense to me. I drove past one car and there was a kid at the window, pulling faces at me. I glared at him, he didn’t care, so, I stuck my middle finger up at him, he stuck his right back. So, I pointed at him, then ran my finger along my throat, like a knife. I burst out laughing when he burst out crying. His car sped up , and he was gone. He couldn’t have been any more than five, he was probably wearing a nappy. Well, he shouldn’t have been such a little brat. His parents should control him. I hate kids.
I arrived at my destination at the time I had predicted I would, and stopped the car. The house was over the road and there didn’t seem to be any movement. I was sweating heavily from my armpits, and between my legs. I should have worn my shorts. Do I even own a pair of shorts? There he is! Jack Wiley exited his house and locked the door. He made his way down his drive, towards me and I felt under my seat. “Excuse me,” I said, my hand, out of his view, fumbling underneath the seat. Got it!
Jack Wiley turned towards me. “Yes.”
“I wonder if you know how to get to…” I pulled the gun out and shot him between the eyes. The stunned look never left his face as his lifeless body slumped onto the pavement. I use a silencer, and I was sure I heard the bullet penetrate his skull. I pulled the car away as fast as I could, whilst making the minimum of noise. I’m pretty sure my blood pressure didn’t rise, and I was sweating no more than usual. As long as no one saw me. It was quite a quiet street, unlike mine. The weather, however, seemed to have got even hotter. The sun burning on, relentlessly. I can’t stand it when people complain about the weather, especially when it’s hot, though they’d be quick to moan if it was cold, I’m sure. Once I was a good distance away, I lit up a cigarette. It tasted sublime.
The guy had it coming. I knew him from school. I hadn’t forgot him. And, when I had decided what to do, his was the first name on my list. Work has dried up completely lately. Doesn’t seem like people want to do things like kill each other when the weather’s so good. They’d rather be on the beach, having a barbecue or something, I guess. And, I really need a new place. It wasn’t so bad when she was there, but since she left, it’s been unbearable. You don’t realise how much someone means to you until they’re no longer there. It’s true.
So, this seemed like the best solution. Better give it a few days to let the heat die down. I drove around for a while, until a felt hungry and went to the café. I sat and read through the latest local news, looking for any potential work. Nothing, as usual. Oh well, looks like I’ve made myself some work. I had a breakfast and some coffee, then left. I went for a walk down to the beach and had a cigarette. My phone was ringing. It was the Police Station. “Hello?”
“Kingsley? Black here.”
“Why, good afternoon, sir. What can I do for you on this glorious day?” He said, more than a little sarcastically.
“Yeah,” he snorted. “There’s been a murder.”
What? Already? What a time to be quick off the mark.
“Kingsley?”
“Yeah. OK. What do you want me to do? Come to the station?”
“I suppose you might as well.”
“Be there in half an hour.” Neither of them said goodbye.
****************
I arrived at the Police Station and finished my cigarette before going in. It was roasting inside, and I hoped that I wouldn’t have to be there for any longer than necessary. I walked down the corridoor. Nobody seemed to notice me. They all seemed to be working very hard. I knocked on Black’s door.
“Come in. Kingsley,” he said, obviously in a bad mood.
“Nice to see you too, White. Fine day, isn’t it?”
“Yes, well, I haven’t exactly had the chance to enjoy it myself.”
“So, what have you got for me?” I asked, sounding as casual as I could.
“Jack Wiley,” he said, slamming a file down onto his desk, causing all his other papers to jump up. “Shot through the head at point-blank range. No witnesses. Neighbours, apparently, didn’t hear a thing. Nobody noticed anything until an elderly neighbour discovered the body, while out walking his dog.”
“Apart from that,” I said, squirming only slightly. “Is there anything else for me to work with?”
“Well, I thought, it being you, you wouldn’t need anything else.”
I smiled and shook my head. “Nothing at all?”
“Look in the file, do some research, do whatever the hell it is that you usually do.”
“Right, sir. I guess I’d better get started,” I said, making for the door.
“Kingsley?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t you want to look at the file?”
“Oh…yes,” I turned back around and picked up from the file, off his desk. “Thank you, sir.” I left the room. What’s the matter with me? I’m not normally that nice to White. Did he notice anything unusual? Well, this case shouldn’t be too difficult, I smiled as I thought to myself. How am I going to do this? I’m going to have to be careful. White might get impatient with me if I take too long on it. But, I can’t solve it. I drove home. I needed a bath and a change of clothes. Christ, I have the same clothes on that I did this morning! I didn’t even think! I looked at my shirt. Nothing on it. If there was, wouldn’t White have mentioned it? Although, I did look the car over quickly. Miraculously, it had been spotless. Maybe I could go out tonight?
When I arrived home, my next door neighbour was working on his car, as he seemed to do every day. He must be at least seventy, and I can’t understand why he’s always stuck underneath that car. Seems like a complete waste of time to me. “Afternoon, Alan.”
“Afternoon. Beautiful day.”
“Sure is.” I walked round the front. I glanced over the road and sure enough, there was that Paki staring down at me. I stared back for a second, then looked away. Get a life. I opened the door and stood on a letter. For me. Oh, from the back. I opened it as I climbed the stairs to my flat. ‘YOU HAVE BEEN APPROVED FOR A CREDIT CARD!’ Yeah, right. I screwed it up and shoved it into my pocket. I opened my door, sat down at the window and lit a cigarette. So, what to do about my friend, Jack Wiley. I wonder if he recognised me. He didn’t look as if he had. I scratched my head and watched as the dandruff snowed down. It’s a genetic problem.
I suppose I could solve the case. Frame someone? Perfect! Who? How? No rush. Plenty of time to think about it later. Better have something to eat. I didn’t have much food, so I decided to go out for dinner. Anyway, I should be coming into some money soon.
When I got to the restaurant, there were no other diners. I asked for a table for one and the waiter lead me to a table with four seats. However, I didn’t mind, and asked for some red wine.
“Small or large glass?”
“Glass?” I said, settling down into my rather uncomfortable seat. “Bottle of your cheapest, please.” The waiter gave me a strange look, then went over to the bar, while I examined the menu on my table. Chicken looks good, the waiter brought over the wine.
“I’m guessing you’ll be wanting a glass,” he said, smugly.
“Well, if you insist,” I said, pouring my first glass.
“Let me know when you’re ready to order.”
I nodded and he went back to the bar and leaned up against it. I had nothing but time, so I decided to have a little fun with this dumbwaiter. He seemed to have nothing else to do nothing but stare at me. I would smile to myself, sipping from my glass, and casually looking at my menu. Every now and then, he would come over and ask if I was ready to order, to which I would reply, “Not yet, thank you.” He would then resume his position at the bar. However, after another glass of wine and a few more “Not yet, thank you”s, I decided that this dumbwaiter had suffered enough. And, more importantly, I was really getting hungry. “Waiter,” I called, waving my hand in the air. He came back over, visibly annoyed.
“I was thinking of having the chicken,” I said.
There was a pause.
“Yes?” He said.
“Well, do you recommend it?”
He looked at me as if he hoped I was joking. “Yes.”
“Well, with a recommendation like that, it must be unmissable.”
“Anything else?”
“Not at the moment.”
He started to leave.
“Unless you have any more recommendations?”
He stared at me again. A more angry stare. “I recommend the chicken.”
“Very good.”
He went to leave again.
“Oh, waiter?”
“Yes?” His patience was obviously running out.
“Be a good boy and make sure my food is clean. I work in Forensics and if I should discover that anyone has tainted my food, in anyway, I will be sure to alert the health inspector.”
He glared at me, then went off, into the kitchen, shaking his head. A young couple came in and stood in the doorway, waiting to be shown to their seats. I poured myself another glass and thought of where I could go after the restaurant. There was a pub a few doors down that I’d never been to. Maybe they would have entertainment.
Jack Wiley. I should get started on that tomorrow. The dumbwaiter came back from the kitchen, and showed the young couple to their table, before, once again, resuming his position at the bar and staring at me. I ignored him and drank my wine.
After a while, a chef stuck his head out from the kitchen door and yelled “Chicken!” at the dumbwaiter, who went into the kitchen and came back out with my meal. He placed it in front of me. “Thank you,” I said.
“Enjoy.”
The meal was good, and went well with the wine. I usually eat fast, but I made sure to take my time, enjoying every mouthful. Once I had finished, I pushed my plate away, and the dumbwaiter came over. “Would you like a dessert?”
I hadn’t yet looked at the menu. “Yes.” I picked it up. “I will have….the….Chimichanga…Apple and Cinnamon.”
“Very good.”
I had another glass and it wasn’t long before my dessert was brought out. It was disappointing and I considered if I wanted to come back again. I decided that the chicken wasn’t enough to bring me back. So, I took as much time as I could with my dessert and waited.
I had just finished the bottle of wine when I noticed that the young couple were finally giving the dumbwaiter their order. This is my chance! He went into the Kitchen and I got up from the table and made for the door. I greatly recommend this little trick. It never fails. As long as you don’t go back, I suppose. I walked down to the pub and went in. It was quite busy , and I realised that it was Friday night. In that case, maybe I could wait until Monday to start on the ‘case’. I sat down and ordered a Jack on the rocks.
“What?” The young bar maid asked, as if I were speaking another language.
“Jack Daniels with ice,” I said, deliberately slowly.
“Oh.”
So, I sat, nursing my drink, half expecting the dumbwaiter to burst into the pub and demand his tip. The pub was dark, and most of the people looked miserable. What am I doing here? Haven’t got anywhere else to go. I finished my drink.
***********
I made it home and collapsed into bed. The room was swimming. I thought of what to do. Who could I frame? Could I frame anyone? I started to snooze, but was awoken by some noise outside. I’m never in a worse mood than when I’ve been woken up. I heard loud voices, talking in a foreign language. The Paki! God, I hate him. That’s it! I should make a list. I jumped off my bed too quickly and vomited on my bedroom floor. I didn’t even attempt to go to the bathroom. My head felt as if it might explode. I sat down on the edge of the bed, my bare feet resting in the puddle of vomit, and held my head in my hands.
When I could open my eyes, I looked at the clock. 2:30. That fucking Paki. I was still drunk and I stumbled over to my open window. He was sitting on his windowsill. I could see more of them inside. That motherfucker. I needed to sit down. I flopped back on the bed. The sheet was sodden with sweat and it stuck to my back. I closed my eyes to stop the room spinning. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but the nausea. I could hear those fucking Pakis shouting and laughing. Laughing at me. Right, you’re first on my list, Paki. Number one.
When I next woke up, it was light and the room stank of vomit. I squinted against the light flooding into my bedroom. I felt a little better and tried to sit up. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and my feet came down on the vomit. I had to get up to get some water. I staggered through to the kitchen and grabbed a glass off the side. There were none clean. In fact, there was nothing clean. When was the last time I had washed up? I rinsed the glass out and filled it from the tap. The water tasted hard and warm, but it was wet. I hoped I could keep it down. I splashed some water on my face and mopped up the pool of vomit with some dirty boxers. I realised that I needed something in my stomach, so, I got dressed and went to the café.
I ordered a Breakfast and some Coffee. While I was waiting, I got a receipt from my wallet and a pen from my pocket (I always carry a pen). The pen had leaked, but it still wrote. I wrote NUMBER ONE-THE PAKI. Number one? How many were there? Who else could be on the list? White! NUMBER TWO-WHITE. Anyone else? That dumbwaiter? I laughed out loud and attracted some strange looks from the people on the next table. My Breakfast was brought over, and I tucked in, hungrily. My stomach was settling. I stared down at my list. I couldn’t think of anyone else. I tried to remember what had happened last night. I all got a bit hazy once I had hit the Jack.
When I was done, I walked home and had a cigarette. I felt a lot better.
I got back to the flat and was surprised that the Paki was not at his window. In fact, there didn’t look like there was anyone in the flat at all. I went up to my flat, and straight to the fridge. It was another hot day and I lingered at the fridge door, savouring the cool air as I got a can of beer. I’ll get started on Monday. Weekends are for taking it easy. Taking it easy! A voice in my head laughed. That’s all you ever do! Oh, get fucked.
I opened the can and drank straight from it to save washing up (not the I had any clean glasses anyway. I slumped on the sofa and turned on the TV. I would go out again tonight.
So, once I had a few in me, I left the flat. The Paki still wasn’t there. I walked down my street, passing drunken idiot after drunken idiot. I went to O’Neill’s and it was already quite busy. I got a drink and lit a cigarette.
A woman sat down next to me at the bar. “Are you gonna slit your wrists?”
“Sorry?” I shouted over the noise.
“You look like you might.”
“Not while I’ve got a drink.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine.”
“I cut my wrists sometimes.”
This made me look at her.
“Look,” she held out her arms. Along with many cuts, I could make out track-marks. I didn’t know what to say, so I got her a drink, and me another, and she went on about how messed up she was, her speech becoming more and more slurred and incoherent. I listened, nodding occasionally, mainly staring at the bar, becoming drunk myself. And, before long, I was telling her about myself. And, I was honest! I should have lied. And, we went on like this, both of us becoming more drunk and less self-aware. Neither of us were interested in what the other was saying. We vented ourselves on each other, blew off a lot of steam. I couldn’t believe it when the barman called time. We must have been talking like this for hours. She finished her last drink. “Will you fuck me, please?” She said.
We made our way back, quickly to my flat where we went straight up to the bedroom, where we collapsed onto the bed, and the sheets, stinking of sweat. The odour of vomit still hung in the air.
I woke up the next morning alone. It took me a while to remember what had happened last night. I remembered us coming back here. We fell onto the bed. After that? And, where was she? I got out of bed. She wasn’t in any of the other rooms. She had gone.
I didn’t feel so bad. I wasn’t even sick. It was Sunday and I promised myself I would get started tomorrow. Started on what? Framing someone? Yes.
It wasn’t until that evening when I realised that I couldn’t find my wallet. My mobile and keys were in my jeans. She took it. She was probably used to getting paid for it as well. So, I couldn’t go out tonight. I’ll have to go to the bank tomorrow. Good thing I don’t have a credit card. Hope I wore a rubber. Don’t know where she’s been.
I was watching TV, having a beer, when I heard a phone ringing. It wasn’t mine. I followed the sound to the wet patch next to my bed. I picked it up. It was vibrating. It said JIM CALLING. It’s hers! I answered it.
“Hello?” It wasn’t Jim. It was her voice.
“Hello?”
“Who’s this?”
“Who do you think? And, who‘s this?”
“I’m Patti. This is my phone.”
“Remember last night, do you? I believe you have something of mine as well?” I heard her scramble to hang up the phone. The line went dead. So, Patti. I looked through her phonebook. Christ! How many numbers does she need? I wonder if she has any credit? I scrolled downward until I found a number that caught my eye. Mum! Excellent! I selected the name and pressed the call button.
“Hello?” A voice answered.
“Hello, mum,” I said in falsetto.
“Who is this?”
“Patti, silly. Don’t you recognise my voice?” I couldn’t hold my laughter in.
“You’re not my daughter. Who is this?!”
“Patti!”
“Patti who?”
“Patti….Smith?”
She hung up and I burst out laughing so hard I could not breathe.
It was later that evening when the phone began ringing, but it was a different tone.
A message.
I’VE GOT YOUR STUFF. O’NEILL’S AT TEN.
The message was from MARK. I BET THAT’S HER DEALER! HER HEROIN DEALER!
I arrived at O’Neill’s a little before ten. As I didn’t have any money, I sat at a table in the corner and hoped they wouldn’t notice I wasn’t buying drinks. I was smoking a cigarette and wondering if I had enough change in my pocket to buy one drink, when a shifty-looking man entered the pub. He was looking around and at his watch. That’s him! It has to be! Look at him, for god’s sake! He couldn’t look any more conspicuous if he tried. I got up and approached him. “Are you Mark?” I said, leaning up against the bar.
“Who wants to know?”
“Patti.”
“You know Patti?”
“No shit.”
“So, where is she?”
“She couldn’t make it. She sent me.”
“Have you got the money, then?”
“Have you got the stuff?”
He flashed me a bag, concealed in his pocket.
“Excellent.”
“Well, give me the money, then.”
“I don’t have any.”
“But, you said…”
“Listen to me. If you want to stay out of prison, you’ll join me for a drink.”
“Who are you?”
“Come on. You haven’t got a choice.”
“He followed me back to the table.
“Sit.”
He did. “Are you a copper?”
“Not exactly.”
“Well, what are you then?”
“I’m your saviour.”
“What do you want from me?”
“A favour. You do something for me, I do something for you.”
“I don’t know.”
“Listen here, you junky piece of shit! I own you now, and you’ll do as I fucking well say!”
“But, how do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?”
“You don’t. You’ve got two choices. The other’s prison. Now, are you in?”
He nodded his pathetic head.
“Your first assignment is to get my wallet back from Patti.”
He nodded still.
“Good. I’ll see you here same time tomorrow. And, it has to be tomorrow. Understand?”
He still nodded and looked as if he didn’t know where he was.
“There’s a good boy. You might as well make a start, then.”
He got up and walked out of the pub with a look of utter confusion on his weathered face. I left shortly after.
I was awoken the next day by Patti’s phone ringing.
“Hello?” I answered, sleepily, without looking at the number.
“Who is this?”
“Who is this?”
“This is my phone and I want it back!”
“I want my wallet back.”
“I haven’t got it.”
“What?”
“I don’t know where it’s gone.”
“Why should I give you back your phone then?”
There was a long pause before I heard a male’s voice speaking to me.
“Look,” he said. “I don’t know who this is, but Patti knows where you live.”
“No, she doesn’t,” I was suddenly very unsure of myself. And, I sounded it.
“Yes. She does.”
I hung up the phone in a panic. I noticed it was low on battery. Maybe I could find a charger for it?
*****************
I was back at O’Neill’s that night a little earlier and I got a drink and sat down at the same table. The place was practically empty. For once, that probably wasn’t a good thing. I just had time to light a cigarette before Mark came into the pub. He saw me and looked around the pub, suspiciously.
“For fuck’s sake!” I said to myself.
He sat down and stared at me. Actually, he stared through me. He held a faint and far away smile on his scabby lips.
“You got it, then?”
“Huh?”
“The wallet!”
“Oh, yeah,” he pulled my wallet out of his pocket. I picked it up and opened it. Everything was there, apart from all of my fucking cash. Was there any cash there in the first place?
“Can I go?” Mark’s eyes pleaded.
“Not yet.”
He looked devastated.
“Under the table,” I said.
“What?”
“Under the table, you fucking idiot!”
Mark looked.
“Don’t look! Just take it!”
“It’s a GUN!”
“Ssssssssshhhhhhhhh!” Nobody seemed to hear. “I know it’s a fucking gun! I want you to have it.
“Why?”
“Put it away!”
He put it in his jeans pocket carefully and stared, open-mouthed at the bulge it created.
“Protection,” I said, lighting a cigarette.
“From who?”
I had given up asking him to be quiet. After all, he was the smack head with the gun in his pocket.
“Is it loaded?”
“Of course it is!” I hoped that he would not notice the missing bullet. “Have you ever used a gun before?”
“Only an air-rifle.”
I breathed a small sigh of relief inside my head. “Excellent.” I smiled and nodded my head. “You keep hold of that, my friend. Do that, and you’ll be fine.”
He looked at me, uncertainly.
*******************
After that, I couldn’t sleep. Well, not properly anyway. I would sometimes. Wake up after an hour and think I’d been asleep for ten. Don’t know if it was my conscience or what. So, I drank more, you know. I had nothing else to do, for fuck’s sake!
I got a charger for the phone.
I had more time to think, and I had another of my brainwaves. The plan was slowly coming together. It seemed to be going perfectly. There was still some credit on the phone, so I thought I might as well use it.
“Hello?” Patti answered.
“You want your phone back, then?”
“Who is this? Is it you?”
I sighed. “Yes. It’s me. Do you want it back or not?”
“Yes. Of course I do. It’s got all my…” she seemed to stop at this point, perhaps remembering herself.
“You can have it back.”
“Really? Why?”
“Well, why not? Fucking thing’s always ringing. I can’t sleep!”
“OK. Shall I meet you somewhere?”
“Yes, I’ll get back to you with a place.”
“But…”
“Look, if you want your phone back, I won’t go to the Police.”
“Thank you.”
I hung up, disgusted with her. And, I rang Jim.
**************
We met at the usual place, at the usual time.
“What’s up?” Jim said. He looked worse every time we met. That’s what smack does to a man, I suppose.
“I needed to speak to you. It’s Patti.”
“What about her?”
“I hear she’s going to the Police.”
“About what? About me?”
“That’s what I’ve heard. If you‘re convicted, you‘ll be looking at ten years minimum.”
“Shit! What am I going to do?!”
“That’s why I’m here, Jim. I’m here to help, remember? We help each other out. And, now, I’m helping you out. Just do as I say, and everything will go perfectly.”
**********
That night, once I had finally managed to get to sleep, I was woken by Patti’s phone ringing. It was Jim. “What is it, Jim? Do you know what the time is?”
“I killed her. For fuck’s sake, I fucking killed her!” He screamed down the phone.
“Calm down, Jim. Where are you?”
“Leaving her flat. I don’t know where I’m going! What am I going to do?”
I hoped this would happen, but I hadn’t expected it so soon. I was unprepared. “Right. Stay calm. You don’t know who might be watching.”
“What do you mean?” Jim was sobbing.
“You’ve fucked up, Jim. You really have. And, now, god knows what they’re going to do?”
“Who’s they?”
“I’m sorry, Jim. I can’t help you now. This has gone too far.”
“Please.”
“Where are you going, Jim?”
“I’m here.”
“Where?”
“What the fuck do you care? No one cares. No one ever has and now, no one ever will.”
“Jim, what are you talking about?”
“Sorry, can’t talk now. I’ve got a train to catch.” Then, he hung up.
What does he mean a train to catch? Is he going away? Where would he go? And, then it occurred to me. He isn’t catching a train. He’s going to jump in front of one.
I hadn’t anticipated this. Why hadn’t I? What did I expect him to do? Carry on as if he hadn’t just killed a young woman? I should have thought this through! Christ! What do I do?
I left for the train station. When I arrived, there was nobody around. I parked the car and made my way quickly, but cautiously toward the platform. It’s a tiny train station. Well, it’s only a platform really. I stood at the edge of the platform and looked down. It was too dark to see. I climbed down onto the tracks, hoping that they weren’t somehow electrified. I landed safely and began a closer examination of the tracks. I got my lighter out and held it down toward the gritty tracks. It wasn’t much help. I walked up the tracks, slowly, never taking my eyes off the floor.
I carried on like this for however long I do not know until I came across something lying by the tracks. I moved closer to it, bending down gradually as I went. What is that? On closer inspection, I identified it as a gun, and as I picked it up I realised it was my gun.
There was then the sound of thunder, or perhaps an earthquake, taking into account how the ground around me was shaking. It was coming from behind me. I turned round and was briefly blinded by a light and deafened by the sound of the train’s horn until the light and the noise and the shaking ground were gone.
******************
Jim sat on the train. He had tried to sleep, but he kept seeing her face, or what was left of her face. He wondered if they would be able to identify her body. Maybe dental records. His stomach turned violently at the thought. He felt a lot better after he threw the gun out of the window.
He felt around in his pockets and pulled out the piece of paper with his father’s address on it. He wasn’t sure if he still lived there. He hoped he did.
*************
“Why am I even here?” White said to one of his officers. “I thought you said it was a suicide.”
“That’s what we thought at first, Sarge. But, look at what we found.” The officer presented a transparent bag to his sergeant. Inside the bag was a gun. “The Jack Wiley case! Looks like we found our man. Well, most of him, anyway.” The officer sniggered at this display of wit. His sergeant was not amused. “We know who he was. And, you‘re not going to believe this.”
The officer paused for a moment and took a deep breath.
“What about the body?” White said, impatiently. “Who was it?”