Ragged strips of cloud fish-tailed across the sky as the breeze freshened. A scruffy unkempt dog with an irrational hint of exotic parentage about the way he held his head high as people passed by, tugged gently on the length of frayed rope that linked him and his master. The dog’s owner slumbered against the wall of the video shop that was his chosen pitch, the small pile of coins at his feet evidently not yet sufficient for another can of Special Brew. Further along, a young man unfurled a dirty sleeping bag and shook out the detritus of a night spent in the partial shelter of a shop doorway. His etoliated complexion resembled sun-bleached putty while the clothes he was wearing had clearly been originally purchased for a much larger person. The homeless man stirred and favoured the youth with a volley of curses before sinking back against the wall, dislodging a plastic cider bottle which rolled across the pavement and lodged against a child’s bootee in the rain-filled gutter. The scent of diesel fumes mingling with the aroma of decaying food spilling over from the neck of a black bin liner was heavy in the damp air, but neither the dog nor his owner appeared concerned by such trifles.
The young man had gathered together his meagre possessions and moved away leaving the street momentarily empty when the dog growled deep in his throat. Hackles raised, he scented the air, head perfectly still and eyes fixed on the narrow alley running between the twin rows of shops. A figure moved slowly from the shadows and the dog settled down on the pavement, ears flat against his skull, growling softly. A young girl, slim and with a distinct lightness about her step, slipped from the shadows. Her legs were thinner than the excuses of a serial adulterer and a bruise stood out like the damaged skin of a windfall apple on the pale surface of her left cheek. The dog whimpered softly as the girl glanced in his direction, but she gave the animal and its owner no more than a cursory glance. The girl wiped her hands on a square of white material, a man’s handkerchief perhaps, and dropped the cloth at her feet. After she had moved out of sight, the dog slipped away from his dozing companion and moved cautiously towards the mouth of the alley. Tail held low and belly snaking close to the ground; he paused at the discarded strip of cloth, whimpering as the smell of fresh blood overpowered the last vestiges of his courage and fled back to the safety of the video shop doorway.
A faint glimmer of light entered the room with all the stealth of a trespasser as the first hint of dawn touched the window and the man lying on the single mattress sighed. It had been a long night and he’d not slept at all. Some nights he slept like a baby, but others were just like last night. He’d thought the fear and insecurity would fade with time, but it hadn’t happened. The only part of his life he didn’t control, couldn’t control, was when he lay awake in the darkness. Re-living the past and fearful of the future.
He suspected, no he knew, that somewhere out there, in the darkness of the night, dangerous men were looking for him. He’d made their task as difficult as possible, but the men who looked for him were very persistent. The light was stronger now and the shadows began to recede. In daylight, he felt secure. In control. A wealthy man. A successful businessman. In any other line of work he’d have been a local celebrity. Giving generously to worthy causes and lunching in private clubs where generations of wealthy successful men had met to discuss mutually profitable schemes for the expansion of their businesses. That was never going to happen. His personal wealth and the profitability of his business were far beyond the imagination of any conventional business, but he remained an outcast from the rest of society. That didn’t bother him.
Spider stirred at the sound of car engines in the distance. Thoughts which had dominated his mind throughout the long night began to fade. The imaginary conversations died away. He’d done something a few years back that had upset a lot of people.
The wrong sort of people.
He’d crossed the line and his name would still be cropping up in any number of conversations. In the darkness he could hear those voices very clearly. He knew what they were saying and he knew exactly what their plans for him would be. Before he’d crossed the line, he’d been part of many similar conversations and the decision had always been the same. Why should he be any different?
The name those dangerous men were using was not his name.
Not any more.
He’d removed any connection to his former self. Everything about him was different. Surgery had made him into a different man. His face was leaner, his features changed beyond any possibility of recognition, even his body shape had altered radically. He’d lost forty pounds and gained a body as far removed from the one he used to inhabit as it was possible to achieve.
When he was alone in the darkness all these efforts amounted to very little. His mind raced and his senses remained on full alert. Listening for the creak on the stairs, the faint rustle of clothing, the tinkle of breaking glass. Any of these could mean that the time of his death had been decided. The method would still be unknown to him, but he already knew that whatever the means chosen, the results would be very far from pleasant. He didn’t fear death. Death came to everyone. There was no good way to die, but there were any number of very bad ways.
And? Where’s the rest?
This is wonderful. Maybe one or two too big words, fleetingly distracting from the movie in my head as I read and giving it a ‘written’ feel, but hey. Most importatnly, you’ve got me curious about what happens next and who are these people? Like the dog, too. Writers who can’t ‘do’ animals are like people who don’t like to eat–untrustworthy.
Very accomplished, although I feel awfully self-conscious and presumptuous commenting on other writers’ work.