Matt Hilton: Blood and Ashes

This took me right back to Millie, and to Brook’s children. My friend, Rink, who runs a successful PI outfit down in Tampa, had brought me up to speed on Brook’s death and the family she’d left behind: her husband, Adrian Reynolds, and nine and six year olds, Beth and Ryan. Don was an ex-cop, and, judging by the photograph I’d seen of his son-in-law, Adrian was no stranger to a gymnasium, so they could look after themselves. It was only Millie and the two kids I was worried about.

I was uncomfortable about walking away from them. But I couldn’t believe that there was any truth in Don’s concern. How could a dead man be a threat to him or his family?

Don was hurting; he was stricken with grief and grasping at anything that would make sense of Brook’s seemingly pointless death. In the same circumstances, some people raged at the world, or at their cruel god, while others looked for excuses. Don was clutching at old hatreds in order to add reason to his pain.

But then he wasn’t the only one allowing hatred to shadow his judgement, was he?

Someone must have sent that bloody email.

I stopped walking and looked across at the cat. The old tom mirrored my movement. We stared into each other’s eyes. I was the first to blink. The cat sat down and began licking its old wounds. In my pocket, I again flexed my fist.

The cat stood up and slunk forward, and now I was the one who matched it step for step.

I got the message. The time for licking wounds was done, and I should get back to doing what I did best.

I was near to the Seven-Eleven where I’d left my car. On my right was an open lot full of weeds. Beyond it the forest that encircled Bedford Well swayed under the bitter wind, undulating like a pitch-black sea. Across the way, the cat was all that stood between me and the forest on that side. The cat had come to another standstill, but this time it was staring past the convenience store to where I’d parked the Audi. Its shoulders hunched and its ears flattened on its head; its mouth opened in silent challenge, baring teeth that glinted red under the moon.

Suddenly the cat bolted, heading away into the cover promised by the forest. But I wasn’t going to run.

I continued forward, to meet the two men who were resting their weight on my car. Once again, I flexed my hand, pleased to find that the bubbling warmth flooding my body had anaesthetised the pain.

It was near to four in the morning: too late for revellers and too early even for dayshift workers to show up at the convenience store. Their black SUV was parked a dozen yards away, and yet they chose to sit on the bonnet of my car. They were waiting for me and there was no good reason for it. I didn’t need the cat’s reactions to tell me that these men were dangerous.

‘You mind, guys? The car’s a rental and I have to pay for any damages.’

Both men pushed off the Audi, one of them, stocky with a shaved head, leaning back as though inspecting the paintwork for scratches. The other, a tall man, who looked like he’d been constructed from too many bones and sun-dried leather, lifted his chin, his nostrils flaring.

‘Fee-fi-fo-fum…’ he said in a surprisingly melodious voice.

I smell the blood of an Englishman, I finished the thought. I’d heard plenty like it since my move to the States.

The second man finished his inspection of the paintwork, then used his sleeve to buff out an imaginary scratch. Then he turned his attention to me, holding an empty palm towards the car. His smile was wide but colder than the wind gusting round the parking lot. ‘No harm done, buddy.’

‘No harm, no foul,’ the tall one echoed as he picked at a patch of dry skin on his bald head.

Taking the car keys from my pocket, I aimed them at the Audi and disengaged the locks. Nodded amiably at both men, then moved to go round them.

‘A moment if you please.’ The second man was shorter than me, but he was heavier built, and I noticed he had self-inflicted prison tats on his fingers. He stepped in the way, barring me from the car. He raised his ink-mottled hand and touched it to my chest. The contact was little firmer than a caress, but it sent a jolt through my body. Not because he held an electrical device — or any weapon — but because I’d allowed him to do it. The rule I’d always followed was that if an enemy could touch you, then they could kill you. This man was without a shadow of a doubt an enemy.

Subtly I stepped back, knowing that the next time he tried to lay hands on me would be the decisive moment. I watched the man’s eyes and saw the same thought flashing through his mind.

‘Ease up, buddy,’ the man said. ‘I’m only being friendly. You’re not from around here, right? England is it? Just wanted to say hi and ask you a question or two.’

He was obviously lying, but I wasn’t averse to playing that game. ‘Look, fellas, I’d love to stay and chat but I’ve got to get on my way.’

‘On your way already?’ The stocky man shook his head. ‘Why, you just got here. Surely you’ve a minute or two to spare? Especially when we’ve gone to the trouble of turnin’ out to say hello.’

‘Wasn’t expecting a welcoming committee, I bet?’ The tall man leaned close, and his breath, stinking of garlic and something sour, washed over me. ‘Not at this time of night, huh? You shouldn’t be surprised: I never sleep. I’m up before the roosters. Cock-a-doodle-doo!’

I didn’t reply to either. One was a liar and the other was crazy. But both were very dangerous. Instead I held the stocky one’s gaze as I manoeuvred the keys round in my grip.

The stocky man nodded in the direction I’d just come from. ‘Who did you visit with in town?’

‘Who says I visited anyone?’

‘Can’t see any other reason for you being in Bedford Well. Not like there’s much to see in the dark.’

‘There’s a nice wishing well on the green.’

‘Yeah, we noticed you at the well. We were going to say hi then, but we didn’t want to spook you.’

‘I saw you too,’ I said. ‘But then you left and I walked back here. Slowly.’

The man smiled at the tit-for-tat lies.

So did I.

Finally I said, ‘Let’s just get this over with, shall we? You’re here to give me some sort of warning. Well, I’ll save you the trouble. I’m leaving and I won’t be back.’

I went to move past the man, and his tattooed hand came up. It wavered inches from my shoulder like he’d read my earlier thoughts. With his other hand he held open his jacket, showing the gun tucked into his belt. ‘Not very satisfying if we just let you drive away, buddy.’

‘No, but it’ll be a lot less painful.’

‘We don’t have to hurt you,’ the stocky man said. ‘Just make sure you head outa here and know what it means if you come back.’

‘Of course, I don’t mind causing a little pain.’ The tall one grinned, showing rotting teeth. ‘If it comes to that.’

I dipped my head. ‘I must have lost you in the translation there, guys. I didn’t mean it was going to be painful for me.’

Both men exchanged glances just as the stocky man dropped his hand to pull the gun from his waistband.

It was what I’d been hoping for. When they both looked back at me with incredulous grins on their faces I was already moving.

I’d been twiddling the car keys for more than the exercise: I’d lined up one of them so that it was protruding from my clenched fist.

The sharp point rammed directly into the side of the stocky man’s neck an inch below the lobe of his ear. On its own it wouldn’t stop him immediately, but the force of my fist behind it also rocked his skull and the man went down in a heap on the ground.

Turning, I lifted my fist and a scattering of blood arched away from the key on the night breeze.