Retribution - A Dish served Cold

Chapter Seventeen

***

David Little stared at the rain as rivulets formed, joined and ran over the paved driveway. Returning to his desk, he checked his to-do list for the third time. A knock on his office door interrupted his thoughts. "Come."

Two men entered and stood close together in front of his desk.

"Have you any news?"

The eldest described the previous night's events, neglecting to mention their fight with Angela and John. "Not bad looking, and he was all over her like a rash." He removed a page from a notebook and handed it to David. "This is her address."

David glanced at the note. "First-rate." He nodded, opened his desk's left-hand drawer, and dropped the address inside. From the drawer, he removed two plain white envelopes. "As agreed, plus a bonus for a job well done."

The older man took the envelopes and checked the contents of both. "You can always rely on our discretion, Mr Little. Any time you need us, you know where we are. Cheers."

"Where are your bags?"

"Outside in the hall."

"I'll have my driver take you to Ashford station. It's a direct line to St Pancras from there."

"Thank you, but there's no need, Mr Little," said the older man.

"My pleasure. I always look after my people." David stood, walked around his desk and guided both men out. He turned to his waiting driver. "Take my friends to Ashford train station. Oh, I almost forgot." From his jacket, he removed a beige envelope. "Can you drop this in at the farm? You know how it goes."

The driver nodded and picked up the men's bags. "Gentlemen, please follow me."

David grinned as if he had won the lottery and shut the main door the instant the two men left. He lifted his telephone and rang the farm on returning to his office. It was answered almost immediately. "The pig food you ordered is on its way. Two packages." The call ended.

***

Their first stop was a pig farm five miles outside of Bellstead. The Silver Mercedes cruised along the dual carriageway until it turned left and onto a rutted farm track. The rain pounded the vehicle as it bounced towards the farmhouse.

The driver grabbed an umbrella from the passenger seat and removed the keys when the engine stopped. He turned. "I won't be long." He glanced at his watch. The driver, with his raised umbrella, opened the rear door. "Why don't you come in and meet the owners? We can have a drink or two. They are good friends of Mr Little."

The two men jumped out. "This place smells like a shithouse." said the younger man.

"Pigs," said the driver.

The older man twisted where he stood and collapsed like a string puppet. Most of his head coated the nearby wall. The younger man heard the shot that killed his partner and ran. In a moment, another bullet entered his skull and exited the back of his head.

From the entrance to the barn, a tall, round-shouldered man with an unkempt appearance strolled towards the driver. In his right hand, he held a rifle.

The driver waited until the man was close. "Mr Little says one of those two has a bonus for you in his jacket. You know the rules, empty their pockets, take their watches and wallets and get rid of them." He returned to the car, started the engine and drove away.

Life had become profitable for the man known to the Little Brothers as The Farmer. With the bodies safe and out of sight, he went inside, poured himself a large whisky and turned on his television.

***

With a look of satisfaction, John finished assembling the Duchess of Hamilton. He gave her a final polish with the softest of polishing cloths and stepped back to admire his work. Tomorrow, a full-power trial, and pack you as snug as a bug in your box. Cash on delivery, and that's my bills paid for six months.

Happy, he locked his workshop and entered his home. Having shaved and showered, he stirred a meal he was making. From the fridge, he took a beer, removed the top and drank from the bottle. If nothing else, the stew smelt good.

As he ate, he listened to the news. The programme was interrupted by a report on several dams in southern England. Three had water falling over spillways due to the constant rain. John's ears pricked up when the list included Bellstead. Water company engineers stated that the spillways were coping as designed, but there was some cause for concern, and they had men on-site monitoring the water level.

With supper finished, he dumped the plate in the sink, went into the lounge and sat in his chair. For a while, he dozed but woke with a start. The photo of his wife had fallen onto the carpet.

John sighed. "I don't need this. Can't you accept you're dead? I've enough on my plate and want to go to bed. And don't start? You left me, and I have the right to do as I please. I'm sure you know I'm sleeping with Angela. When we were together, I never looked at another woman. Okay, I looked, but nothing else. Now I'm going to drink one more beer and go to bed."

He glanced at his watch. "Bloody hell, it's gone midnight. But, as I always say, tomorrow is another day, and when you wake from a deep sleep, say thank you."

He muttered as he climbed the stairs and set the intruder traps, "I must stop talking to myself."

His bed beckoned. John rubbed his eyes and felt he could sleep forever.