Retribution - A Dish served Cold

Chapter Thirteen

Angela nudged John at ten in the morning. "Do you know you snore?"

He rolled over, put his right arm over her, and pulled her close. "Yes, but only when I sleep well, and that's your fault." His eyes glanced at the alarm. "Bloody hell, I need to make a move. Lots to do today."

"Do you want breakfast?"

"I'm going for a shower, and I'd rather be on my own."

She giggled like a little girl. "Why?"

John kissed her. "If you don't know the answer to that, I give up."

Angela was in two minds but watched as he slid out of bed. "I'll miss you."

He did not answer, and seconds later, she heard the shower spring to life.

***

In the kitchen, Angela poured two cups of coffee. For a while, they sat in silence. Finally, she left the room, returning ten minutes later dressed in her running gear. "Please don't take this the wrong way. I'm going for a long run, and when I return, I'd prefer you to be somewhere else. The next time I see you, I want the Little brothers out of our lives. One thing more, don't do anything stupid."

John leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows. "What I'm intending is stupid, but I understand." He went to kiss her, but she was already leaving the house. He listened as the front door slammed shut, finished his coffee, looked around, and left.

***

Angela's feet pounded the pavement hard as she ran at a ridiculous pace. After a mile, she slowed, her anger subdued to a manageable level. She was more attracted to John than any other man in a long time. He had got under her skin, but he was determined to avenge his sister. When it was over, could they return to everyday existence? She decided what would be, would be.

***

John felt satisfied with his life as he walked into town. He stopped at a small engineering workshop where he knew Nick Carter, the owner.

When John entered, Nick was sitting at a desk in his office. "Hi. What do you need for those trains of yours?"

He handed over a list. "Can I have these now? I'm working full time on a new engine, and the guy paying for it wants it like yesterday."

Nick studied the list. "Give me ten minutes. Make yourself a coffee."

"Cheers. Can I make one for you?"

"Why not." Nick exited his office and strolled across the machine room into his store.

John made the coffee and seated his frame in the chair.

Nick returned, carrying a small sack. "You're doing a ton of welding. I doubled the number of rods on your list to ensure you have enough. I've also included the best-hardened steel cutting blades I have. When does this customer want his engine?"

John stroked his chin. "The end of the month." He took the sack from Nick."

"Can you put this on my bill?"

"Of course."

John stood, gulped the dregs of his coffee and shook Nick's hand. "Must go and make a train."

"Fancy coming around sometime for Sunday dinner? Ruth and the kids would love to see you."

"Can I get back to you? As I mentioned, I have a customer waiting for a train."

"Well, don't forget, you're welcome any time."

John waved as he left.

***

On his return home, he made a coffee and removed a tin of corned beef, plus some tomatoes past their use-by date from the fridge. Using these, he made two doorstop sandwiches. While he ate, he stared through the window at a darkening sky. Finally, he lit a cigarette, leaned back, shut his eyes and gave thought to his next move.

He stubbed his cigarette out and went to his workshop with his thoughts lined up like ducks in a row. Twenty minutes later, with both rear-wheel panniers full, he cycled to St Mary's.

With his cycle inside the mausoleum, he secured the entrance with both padlocks. From the paniers, he removed his equipment, glanced at his watch and entered the undercroft.

Hours later, he emerged covered in dirt, his face a mask of pain. Blood flowed over his right hand. Using his left hand, he hoisted his tools from below.

"I'm getting too old for this." He checked the time. "Bloody hell, it's taken me five hours. Still, that's the first and last time."

With gloved hands, he loaded the panniers. He replaced the metal floor plate and opened the entrance padlocks. Blood on the floor caught his attention. Standing his cycle outside, he grabbed a handful of grass and cleaned the concrete floor. The grass he dumped in a hole as he pushed his bicycle to the road. At a steady pace, he made his way home.

***

Back home and in his kitchen, John removed his first aid kit from a cupboard and bandaged his arm. Tired, he dozed, content to give his body and mind a breather. When he awoke, he cleaned the deep cut in his forearm and soaked it with TCP before wrapping it in a fresh bandage. The pain remained but had reduced to a dull throb. He took a couple of beers from the fridge and sat at the kitchen table for as long as it took to drink the beer and smoke two cigarettes. The empty bottles with his fag end inside remained in the centre of the table.

He sat there, wondering how long he had slept. His mind focused as the already forgotten dream vanished. Everything from his arms to his toes ached. He felt his battery was flat, and raising himself, he held onto the table. Half asleep, he forced his aching body up the stairs. His bedroom was tidy, and although tired as he undressed, he hung his trouser on the back of a chair and dumped the remainder entered the wash bin. Naked and exhausted, he slid between the cold cotton sheets and closed his eyes. 

*