The Takeaway Man

10

Malcolm Kane sat against the desk, his finger absentmindedly stroking the silver scar across the bridge of his nose.

They were in the Candy Cottage, his sweet shop, and the first business he ever owned. He'd obtained it from a rival when he was barely eighteen years old, and he won it in a fight. It was the only one of his businesses that wasn't a front for anything and it remained totally legitimate, which made it the perfect place to interrogate someone.

Andre, Malcolm's right hand man, stood at the door eating sorbet from a tub. His real name was Keith, but he was given the name Andre because of his size, a homage to the French wrestler.

There was another man between them both, sitting in a chair, folded in on himself, nursing his broken fingers. His ragged breath, his hair matted with blood. Some of his teeth had been knocked out. A whimper escaped from between his bloodied lips. His name was Stewart Wilson, and he worked for David Nelson.

Malcolm picked a rag off the desk and started to clean dry blood from his fingers. He had a headache.

'I'm getting too old for this,' he muttered.

Andre snorted. 'You and me both.'

Malcolm had been up at the hospital last night visiting Charlotte. She was in a bad way. She needed skin grafts on her hands. She was drugged up to ease the pain and slept most of the day. Malcolm sat by her side, furious. Her hands were bandaged. Charlotte had managed a couple of words before passing out again. A name. David Nelson.

'How long's it been, Andre?' Malcolm asked.

'Nineteen years. Nearly twenty.'

Malcolm laughed. Clapped his hands together.

'Twenty years,' he said. 'Hear that, Stu? Twenty-fucking-years. That's a long time. We agreed to stay out of each other's way. Too much blood last time around.'

'And?' Stewart sneered.

Malcolm jumped forward and punched him in the face. Stewart's head snapped back. Another tooth flew out.

'And?' Malcolm growled. 'Don't be so fucking stupid. Why did he attack my daughter? Why now? And why her?'

'Fuck knows,' Stewart groaned, his head flopping to one side.

Andre stepped forward. He lifted Stewart's head, gave him a few light slaps.

'Don't fall asleep,' said Andre. 'We're not even at the good part yet.'

'You work for him,' Malcolm continued. 'What the fuck does he want? Another war?'

Stewart gave a weak shrug. Malcolm ran his fingers through his hair. He pulled a gun from his belt and pressed the muzzle into Stewart's knee.

'You have kids, don't you?' Malcolm said dangerously.

Stewart froze. He looked up at Malcolm, his eyes ablaze. He made to spring forward, but Andre slammed his huge hands down on Stewart's shoulders and crushed him back into the chair.

'Sit down,' Andre growled.

Malcolm smiled maliciously. He took a seat behind the desk. He tapped the gun on the side of his head.

'Two boys, right?' Malcolm said. 'Eric and Paul?'

'Fuck you,' Stewart spat.

'Is Jared out yet?' Malcolm asked Andre.

'The pedophile?'

Malcolm nodded.

'Fuck you,' Stewart screamed. 'Fuck you! I'll fucking kill you!'

Andre squeezed Stewart's neck. He fell silent, but his body shook.

'It's simple,' Malcolm said. 'Help us out, and nothing will happen to your lads.'

'He'll kill me,' Stewart said.

'I don't care,' Malcolm snapped. 'Dave has a daughter, doesn't he?'

Stewart nodded.

'And you know where she lives?'

Stewart didn't answer.

'Show me where,' Malcolm growled.