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Blood and guts everywhere. Who would have thought one old woman could make so much mess?
Mick tippy-toed through the gore, planning each step to avoid getting any on his Docs. Christ, he’d just polished them a couple of hours ago.
What if he slipped and ended up back in hospital? Some people had no consideration for others, sure enough.
*
HALF AN HOUR EARLIER.
Irish Mick needed a distraction.
His target was right there in front of him. He could do this in the open. He wasn’t scared. But there would be consequences. And he didn’t need those right now.
No, what he needed was a distraction. Sleight of hand. Misdirection.
He reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket and adjusted the weight of the snub-nosed .38 Special he liked to use when it was going to be up close and personal. He’d been looking forward to this. Only two things had kept him going in hospital. Love and hate. An unholy alliance that drove his anger. His need.
He loved Dirk like a brother, so he did, but some things he had to handle himself. Accounts had to be settled. And there wasn’t much time to settle them.
He adjusted his shades. They were pulling up on one side, unable to find a grip on the bandages. He needed them, though. Not for the sun. It wasn’t that bright today. They provided anonymity. So they stayed.
The blonde waitress bounced over with a menu and a smile. He accepted the one. Had no use for the other. So he grinned at her with his blackened teeth until she left with her own smile only slightly dimmed.
Or had she been laughing at him? The sudden thought made him jerk his head in her direction. Sparks exploded behind the shades. Jaysus, that hurt. Take it easy, Mick. Get a grip. Ye’ll do yerself an injury.
Aye, even worse than his broken brain, his bandaged head and the Elastoplasts on his cheek.
The waitress stopped for a quick word with the manager. Big guy, impressive in his suit and tie, long black hair tied back in a ponytail. They both laughed.
Mick reached for the triple espresso. He needed a whiskey. By Christ, how he needed a whiskey. But this would have to do. He waited for his hand to steady itself before raising it to his lips. Not that anyone would notice if he spilled coffee on his shirt. It would blend right in with those god-awful palm trees and coconuts.
Sweet mother of god, was this the only clothes that bloody wop owned? His own T-shirts wouldn’t fit over his bandaged head, and he didn’t have time to go shopping. So he’d settled for borrowed rags. On the positive side – even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him.
Now why was he thinking about that old witch? He hadn’t seen her in years. Not since she’d enforced the restraining order and had him sent away the first time.
He took a deep breath. Focus, Mick. Focus. Let’s keep that particular can of worms locked in its padded cell.
The old woman a few tables away must have stirred up those memories. In her threadbare greatcoat, with her smart new hairdo, smiling at every shape that passed her table. She probably couldn’t even see their faces without her glasses.
There they sat on the table in front of her, next to the two handbags she wasn’t letting out of her sight. One gnarled fist held both handles in a death-grip.
The manager approached her table, hand on her shoulder, leaning down to share a friendly word. She managed a shaky smile and nodded her thanks.
Mick wondered if she was waiting for someone. That could throw a monkey wrench in his plans. She’d been alone when he’d come in. But something must have happened before that. Those eyes weren’t just red from wearing glasses. Her jutting chin and the handkerchief stuffed up her sleeve told him more than he wanted to know.
“What can I get you, sir?”
“Eh?”
The waitress was back, smile as dazzling as ever. He hadn’t seen her sneak up on him. That wasn’t good. He was losing his edge.
Focus. Dammit, Mick.
He reached a thumb and forefinger under his shades to rub his own tired eyes. He needed to crash. He wasn’t sure he could even make it back to his own wee flat before his broken brain came trickling out his ears onto the puke-coloured shirt. He’d have to get a room upstairs in the flea-pit attached to the restaurant.
But not yet. He had business to take care of first.
“Sir?”
She was still there. He’d forgotten about her. He could see her name badge out the corner of his eye. Tana. Unusual. He liked it.
“Ah’m fine, love. Maybe a glass of water, if ye can, yeah? That’ll be great.”
He popped two pills from the plastic bottle he’d brought from the hospital. Swallowed them dry. Then two different coloured pills from his own stash, reaching into the plastic bank-bag in his pocket.
That should help. Stop the shaking. He had to keep it together, just a little while longer. He’d been away too long. People were talking. He had to show them that he was back. That he was still in control. By reminding them that he was completely out of control.
“Aye, that’s just grand. Ta, love. And the bill, yeah?”
He thought for a moment.
“Oh, and, eh, tell ye what, love. Bring me the bill for that old duck over there, will ye?” He showed her his blackened teeth. “Call it me good deed for the day.”
Mick chuckled as he reached inside his jacket to peel notes from the fat wad he’d taken from his flat. It might be the old bird’s last latte. Call it a last meal, if ye will. He could afford to be generous. He was about to make a statement and remind everyone who ran these streets.
What was she hanging around for, anyway? He snorted, trying to keep the short burst of laughter to himself. They had something in common after all. She was waiting to die. That was it. To join her loved ones. What’s a girl to do when she’s outlived her family? Hell, she must have lived through the war. The big one. He wondered what else she’d been through in her life. What had turned her hair white, left those wrinkles lining her face? Was it laughter? Or pain? Was there still a young girl trapped inside, crying silent tears in the mirror for her stolen youth?
Ah, here comes the daughter. Friend, maybe? Not much of a friend if she dumped the old bird in a coffee shop and went off to do her business. She probably doesn’t want to be in the way, an inconvenience to anyone. That doesn’t mean she has to be happy about it, though.
Mick almost felt sorry for the old woman as her companion helped her to her feet.
Almost. But he had made up his mind.
Give her a few minutes. Don’t be too eager. Remember to leave some cash on the table. Don’t want to attract too much attention.
The old woman’s companion called the manager, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together. He had a quick word with Tana, who shook her head and pointed back towards Mick. The manager shook his head too, smiling at the two ladies. He held up both hands, palms out.
Then they were off. Making their slow way across the coffee shop, the old bird waving once at Mick before heading for the exit next to the corner room that served as an office.
Perfect.
Mick was up and moving to cut them off. They had no way of knowing that he was coming. Tana passed him with a wink and a nod, tray and cloth ready to clean his table. He ignored her. He had to get the timing right. This would be tricky, but he could pull it off, sure he could.
His hand slid into his jacket pocket. He was relieved that it was only shaking slightly. Safety off. Here it comes. The moment he’d been planning for weeks to stop his mind screaming hysterically at the darkness inside his own head.
The younger woman stepped around the last table and held out her free hand. The old woman had insisted on carrying a plastic grocery bag, so her companion carried both handbags.
Mick was close now, two steps away. He looked towards the office, saw the manager step inside.
Now. It had to be now.
He took one step closer, then spun and moved away as the old bird slipped on some spilt milk and went down between the tables with a shriek.
Her grocery bag exploded against the tiled floor. Blood and guts everywhere. Liver, tripe, cheap food. Old people’s food. Who would have thought one old woman could make so much mess?
Mick tippy-toed through the gore, planning each step to avoid getting any on his Docs. Christ, he’d just polished them a couple of hours ago.
What if he slipped and ended up back in hospital? Some people had no consideration for others, sure enough.
That didn’t apply to Tana. She was there in a flash, on her knees with the old duck’s companion, making soothing noises and being human.
Mick flashed his blackened teeth, relieved that he hadn’t had to trip the old bird after all. The luck of the Irish.
He stepped quickly into the tiny office, nearly colliding with the manager as he rushed out to see what had happened. Mick pushed him back against the pine desk. Brought up the .38 and leveled it right between his eyes, almost resting on his broken nose. Those eyes widened in shock. Fear. Then recognition, as Mick took off his shades.
Mick nodded. “That’s right. Ah told ye what would happen when Ah caught ye on the outside. Without yer tame prison guards. Who’s the bitch now, yeah?”
Mick was gone by the time they found the body.