ready.
Bus came. Destination Baillieston. Little Man got on. So did three old women, two old men, two kids. And me.
I sat and watched the back of his head. His scratchy, weaselly head. His cocky, smart-arse head. His bullying, strangely confident, ugly head.
Out of the city centre. Some people got on that he knew. Some got on that knew him. I could see that.
He nodded at some, waved at others, sneered at some more.
Give me one chance. It had to be a safe chance. I wouldn’t take unnecessary risks but I would take a chance. Oh I would.
It was dark now. Not very dark but dark enough and getting darker.
Edge of Baillieston. Little Man got out of his seat and stood. He shouted.
‘Next stop, big man.’ Little Man wanted off the bus.
The bus slowed, three others got off and at the last minute I got up too and jumped off. It wasn’t the way I wanted it but who would notice or care?
He walked one way, I walked the other. Not far obviously. First chance I got, I turned and headed back. There was Little Man, cock of the walk, arrogant little bastard, maybe a hundred yards ahead but clear in view.
Some kids ran to him. Slowed him. From where I was, the boys looked no more than fourteen or fifteen. Little Man stuck his hands in his pockets, he brought something out and acted the Big Man. They disappeared.
So did Little Man shortly. Into a pub. The Brig Tavern. I didn’t go in. There was no way I could go into somewhere like that and not be noticed. Alarm bells would go off as soon as I entered and I couldn’t have that. I walked in large circles, hunched and hopefully unseen.
On turn three I saw him emerge from the pub. He was staggering and that pleased me.
He turned a sharp right from the pub onto a bit of scrub ground behind it. A short cut. There was rough ash, broken glass, rogue shopping trolleys, dog shit and trees. Fifty yards of darker darkness before the near light.
Chance.
I shouted. The voice came out of me before I knew it.
‘Hey, wee man.’
He slowed then stopped. He looked over his shoulder, wondering who had the cheek to call him wee, obvious as it was. He looked me up and down and saw no threat. He also looked curious. I guess I wasn’t what he expected.
I took money out of my pocket. A hunch. Little Man looked around and came closer. He wanted to be much closer.
I held it nearer to me as if hiding it. He liked that. He came on. He came to me.
I walked to the edge of the scrub, seeking the shadows. Little Man liked that too. He was within five feet of me. I could see his eyes and he could see mine. He grinned. That mouse-eating grin.
I looked around. He thought it was me being safe and it was. He was warmed by that but he was wrong.
He reached for the money. I smiled and shook my head. I beckoned him closer. I put the cash in my inside pocket. He came closer. So close.
He grinned. I smiled.
I reached inside and pulled out the knife. I reached in and drove it into him. Again. Again. Again. I pulled him right onto me and plunged it in deep. Little Man wasn’t so big now. He did look at me though. Surprised.
Dead.
I pushed him off me and watched him fall back flat.
I slashed at his neck twice and then wiped the bloody blade across his face. His eyes were open and so was his mouth. That was strange. Well, unexpected anyway.
I reached into my pocket and took out the secateurs. I cut off his finger and pocketed it.
Job done.
I was cold and breathing hard but not sweaty. I didn’t like that.
I cleaned the blade of the knife on Little Man’s jacket, then did the same with the secateurs. I took a plastic bag from my inside pocket and slipped them both in there before putting it back in my jacket.
My shirt was splattered in his blood. It would be incinerated later but for now zipping my jacket to the neck would cover it.
I took off the clear surgical gloves from my hands and slipped them away. They too would be burned. So would the jacket.
It was time to go home.
CHAPTER 13
Daily
Bus came. Destination Baillieston. Little Man got on. So did three old women, two old men, two kids. And me.
I sat and watched the back of his head. His scratchy, weaselly head. His cocky, smart-arse head. His bullying, strangely confident, ugly head.
Out of the city centre. Some people got on that he knew. Some got on that knew him. I could see that.
He nodded at some, waved at others, sneered at some more.
Give me one chance. It had to be a safe chance. I wouldn’t take unnecessary risks but I would take a chance. Oh I would.
It was dark now. Not very dark but dark enough and getting darker.
Edge of Baillieston. Little Man got out of his seat and stood. He shouted.
‘Next stop, big man.’ Little Man wanted off the bus.
The bus slowed, three others got off and at the last minute I got up too and jumped off. It wasn’t the way I wanted it but who would notice or care?
He walked one way, I walked the other. Not far obviously. First chance I got, I turned and headed back. There was Little Man, cock of the walk, arrogant little bastard, maybe a hundred yards ahead but clear in view.
Some kids ran to him. Slowed him. From where I was, the boys looked no more than fourteen or fifteen. Little Man stuck his hands in his pockets, he brought something out and acted the Big Man. They disappeared.
So did Little Man shortly. Into a pub. The Brig Tavern. I didn’t go in. There was no way I could go into somewhere like that and not be noticed. Alarm bells would go off as soon as I entered and I couldn’t have that. I walked in large circles, hunched and hopefully unseen.
On turn three I saw him emerge from the pub. He was staggering and that pleased me.
He turned a sharp right from the pub onto a bit of scrub ground behind it. A short cut. There was rough ash, broken glass, rogue shopping trolleys, dog shit and trees. Fifty yards of darker darkness before the near light.
Chance.
I shouted. The voice came out of me before I knew it.
‘Hey, wee man.’
He slowed then stopped. He looked over his shoulder, wondering who had the cheek to call him wee, obvious as it was. He looked me up and down and saw no threat. He also looked curious. I guess I wasn’t what he expected.
I took money out of my pocket. A hunch. Little Man looked around and came closer. He wanted to be much closer.
I held it nearer to me as if hiding it. He liked that. He came on. He came to me.
I walked to the edge of the scrub, seeking the shadows. Little Man liked that too. He was within five feet of me. I could see his eyes and he could see mine. He grinned. That mouse-eating grin.
I looked around. He thought it was me being safe and it was. He was warmed by that but he was wrong.
He reached for the money. I smiled and shook my head. I beckoned him closer. I put the cash in my inside pocket. He came closer. So close.
He grinned. I smiled.
I reached inside and pulled out the knife. I reached in and drove it into him. Again. Again. Again. I pulled him right onto me and plunged it in deep. Little Man wasn’t so big now. He did look at me though. Surprised.
Dead.
I pushed him off me and watched him fall back flat.
I slashed at his neck twice and then wiped the bloody blade across his face. His eyes were open and so was his mouth. That was strange. Well, unexpected anyway.
I reached into my pocket and took out the secateurs. I cut off his finger and pocketed it.
Job done.
I was cold and breathing hard but not sweaty. I didn’t like that.
I cleaned the blade of the knife on Little Man’s jacket, then did the same with the secateurs. I took a plastic bag from my inside pocket and slipped them both in there before putting it back in my jacket.
My shirt was splattered in his blood. It would be incinerated later but for now zipping my jacket to the neck would cover it.
I took off the clear surgical gloves from my hands and slipped them away. They too would be burned. So would the jacket.
It was time to go home.
CHAPTER 13
Daily
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