Day three. Only 346 words I'm afraid. That puts me officially well behind. Still enough time to catch up though. I need a couple of really good days.
Bill had finished loading Jimmy back into the boot and got in the car. He looked at Rich, his mouth open wide enough to fit a tennis ball in.
“Boss says you’ve got a lie in tomorrow.”
Bill nodded, his mouth still open as his head rocked up and down. Rich decided not to mention he was visiting him alone. Whatever the boss wanted, he didn’t want Bill the Beast involved.
As Rich headed for the lay-by, he wondered again what the hell the boss would want. And would it be good or bad news.
Ron Henderson yawned as he turned off the power packs. Another late night on the tracks. Passing the boards running the length of the converted stables, he looked at the earlier scene of destruction. Temper. That has always been his problem. He knew it too. Anger management issues, that’s what some jumped up university bod would call it.
He leant down over the tracks, his scarred face and receding hairline dipping as it inspected the damage. It could be fixed. It would be fixed. The retaining wall would need rebuilding from scratch, as would the thirties style cottage. He’d hand built the cottage two years ago. Took him more hours than he cared to remember.
Shaking his head, he made for the door. Turning the heating and light off before locking it. Walking across the yard to the house, the two Rottweilers joined his side.
“Good boys, who’s a good boy then.”
He saw the doting look in their eyes. They’d die for him. Their mother had. Two years ago now. Grubby Collins’s men fancied their chances of paying him a home visit. Didn’t count on the dogs or the shotguns.
He sighed as he left the dogs outside and went into the converted barn. Of all the people he’d shot, why was the dog that’d got in the way the thing he remembered the most? Remorse was a funny old thing. Setting the alarm, he walked upstairs. Suki was asleep, already snoring. Maybe he’d sleep in the spare bedroom tonight?