Water's Edge

Chapter XV

River of Fuel

"Why are you rushing?" She pouted, bouncing on the bed once in adorable frustration. I'd keep her annoyed if it meant I could see her do that again.

"You saying Thursdays, no one is on site?"

"Yeah?"

I fumbled with buttons, and hopped in one shoe, "No one's checking what's going on then." I grumbled.

Becky just sighed, fed up for reasons I couldn't discern. Some detective, "Just drop me off in town, yeah?"

I hopped into the Zodiac, dropping Becky off in town. Sally, a blonde I'd have to borrow sometime, met her and they tittered away back to that god awful Wetherspoons. I'd need to get a real drink after this.

The Zodiac growled, and the feeling of dirtiness quickly dissipated into a challenge accepted. Dobson had been up to something on the day I had met him the day before: the papers on the desk, the absence of any traffic even that late before a shift—it all smelt wrong. I flicked on the stereo to drown out the rest of my perversity, cig hanging from my mouth, well-deserved, well-earnt. Maybe this wouldn't be as hard as I thought.

I was fired from her crotch

Now I sit around and watch

The mermaids sun themselves

Out on the rocks

I practically screeched at the front gates, and the security guard waved me through. The silver badge came in useful sometimes, never knew if it were a skeleton key or adding an extra padlock. Today it seemed to be getting me just where I needed to go.

I slid to a stop in the Zee, clunking off the tape to focus on the building before me. It loomed like a tooth, the wisdom to the dam's canine. Nothing in sight, just a collection of buggies at their electrical charging ports waiting for the late shift drivers. Everyone else would be down by the dam, I assumed. But the complex itself, deserted. It wasn't right.

I got out and clicked open the glove compartment. The police-issue Glock 17M felt weighty in my hand, a kind of protection only a man like me can afford. Wouldn't trust another hand on this trigger. Barely trusted a coppers finger and I used to be one.

Huddling to the chain-link I made my way towards the back exit, keeping my eyes peeled for CCTV and other security. Nothing as of yet, which made me even more nervous. The CCTV were easy to dodge around, their beady red eyes less HAL 9000 and more the exhausted lids of a 24-hour shift—

I peered around the back corner of the building to find the fire exit open. Whatever I had hoped to find would have to wait. A trail of petroleum – the scent easy to spot – trailed through inside. I tentatively followed the river of fuel into a storage room of sorts with other doors flung wide. I could hear crying. Keeping the gun aloft I followed the sound of tears.

Huddled in the corner of the storage room sat Joseph, a box of matches in his lap. His tears were too loud, someone was bound to spot him. He had given up on whatever terrorism had inspired him, caught himself about to commit an atrocity, and begun the waterworks.

"Josep?" I bent down, keeping the gun at my side, occasionally looking up and down the corridor for any sign of a security guard. Why had no one spotted him? "Josep?"

"They killed Harrison."

"What?"

"Harrison... they killed him!"