Chapter 48
329 Words
48
John Lucas handed a twenty-pound note over to the cab driver and climbed out onto the pavement.
He didn’t know why, but he’d had the good sense to bring his wallet out with him earlier. Maybe it was a subconscious bit of assistance for whoever would have had the grisly job of identifying his body. A little helping hand for the police. Well, that was totally out of the question now.
The police were getting no favours from him. He’d spent his whole life being f****d over by the police. If that stupid officer hadn’t turned up while he was leaving Trenton-Lowe, if that i***t hadn’t pulled Peter over, if the t***s in CID had worked out that he was obviously being fitted up...
Life was all ifs and buts. And now he couldn’t even end it all himself. He was doomed, destined to stay on this bloody planet, in this pitiful existence. And there was nothing he could do about it.
Except he knew exactly what he was going to do.
He was going to show them what was what. He was going to let them know exactly what they’d done to him.
He knew he wouldn’t have long before they’d start crawling round here. He’d chucked his phone onto the tracks so they wouldn’t be able to trace his movements, but he knew they would have identified it as his phone before too long. Then they’d be swarming round here like mosquitoes, baying for blood, ready to suck out even more of his soul.
He opened the front door, marched through to the kitchen and twisted open the cap on the bottle of whisky. He threw his head back and took five or six big glugs. It was enough to make him feel instantly sick, but he swallowed that feeling back down with the realisation of what was to come.
He walked over to the other side of the room, picked the carving knife out of the knife block and ran his finger over the blade.
Good. It was sharp.
- Writer
