Retribution - A Dish served Cold

Chapter Nine

John glanced at his watch, nine o'clock. Two high-security steel combination padlocks secured the mausoleum door. He checked them one more time before leaving and doubted anyone attempting to access the Mausoleum would bring a pair of bolt cutters with them. The evening air smelled sweet as he found his cycle and carried it across the long tufted grass to the entrance.

Since his wife's passing, he did not look forward to going to bed alone. His thoughts turned to Angela and dwelled on her for a long time. The last thing he wanted was for her to think badly of him. If she contacted him, okay, but she hadn't. He stared at the stars and wondered if she would but thought it best to cycle home.

It was late when John returned home. With his mind still thinking about the undercroft, he went straight to the kitchen and removed a beer bottle from the fridge. In an attempt to clear his mind, and with eyes closed, he shook his head. In one large gulp, he finished the beer and went for a shower. Later, seated in his favourite armchair, he opened another beer and watched the late news.

Four troopers from the Special Air Service and Special Boat Service parachuted onto the RMS Queen Elizabeth 2 in the Atlantic. The report ended with the threat turning out to be a hoax.

When the miner's strike scenes filled the screen, he went to the fridge for another beer.

Something woke him. The clock on the mantlepiece showed two in the morning. Half asleep, he turned out the lights and staggered up the stairs, fell fully clothed onto his unmade bed, and slept.

***

When the dawn light hit his eyes, John rose from his bed, undressed and washed his face. The sun shining through the bathroom window felt warm, and he decided to go for a run. Ten kilometres later and a sweat-soaked tracksuit clinging to his skin, his mind was in a good place. He showered, towel-dried himself and put on his paint-covered overalls.

Breakfast consisted of black coffee and buttered toast. Ready for work, he entered his garage come workshop and commenced testing the boiler for his under-construction locomotive. To ensure it maintained full working pressure, he connected it to a small steam pump and let it work continuously for a couple of hours.

When completed, John dismantled the test rig and replaced each of his tools into their specific location. As he shaped thin metal sheets for the engine's outer casing, he contemplated how he might convince the brothers to work with him. Calm, he reached for his cigarettes, lit one and took a deep breath. Although his thinking was lucid, how to lure the brothers into his trap remained distant.

He looked at his watch, twelve-thirty—time for a pint. Washed and dressed in warmer clothes, he walked to the pub. The sun's warmth dispursed the low clouds making it a bright clear day.

On nearing the pub, he saw a silver Mercedes with its driver parked on the road outside. Why is Bobby Little using my watering hole? John stopped and waited. Tall and lean with shoulder-length ginger hair, Bobby came out of the pub, jumped into his car, and drove away. He continued his stroll, noting the vehicle had stopped further along the road. Intrigued, John walked past the pub but maintained his distance. When Bobby exited the shop, he followed, sure Bobby had not seen him. They went past Morrisons supermarket, but Bobby disappeared when he turned a corner.

Hunger pangs reminded him of lunch as he strolled back to the pub. At the bar, he waited. "Pint of Guinness, Chicken pie with vegetables. What are the veg today, Tony?"

"Roasted carrots, parsnips, peppers and beans."

"Wonderful. Was that Bobby Little I saw leaving. Didn't know he drank here."

"He doesn't," snapped Tony.

"I must have been mistaken."

Tony shrugged and moved to serve another customer.