Retribution - A Dish served Cold

Chapter Nineteen

In a better mood, John strolled home. At least Angela agreed to take time out, albeit with a proviso. He enjoyed his walks in the fresh air, preferably when the weather was dry, but the cold never bothered him. He needed space and to be alone.

His plan was progressing, and there was no reason he could think of why the brothers would either be caught red-handed or suffer the fate they deserved.

He stopped at the newsagents, purchased the daily mail, two packs of cigarettes and chatted to the shop's owner.

At home, John sat in the kitchen. Out of habit, he had left his answer machine on record. There was one message from David Little. He wanted to meet John at the mausoleum at ten. He chuckled as he glanced at the kitchen clock and muttered. "Two hours ago. He can wait. I'll read my paper first."

Over an hour later, John telephoned David Little.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Out."

"Heavy night?"

"No. What do you want?"

"I need to show some associates the wall under discussion. You have the keys."

"I'm busy but can meet you at eleven tomorrow."

"You're retired. What's more important than our agreement?"

"The Duchess of Hamilton."

"Who the fuck's she?"

"Someone rather special. See you tomorrow." The call ended as he slammed the receiver into its cradle.

"That should increase the bastard's blood pressure." John made himself unavailable to annoy and show David Little he did not drop everything and run when he called.

John made himself an egg and bacon roll for his lunch. Then, deep in thought, he went over his plan for the umpteenth time. "Shit," he muttered as the egg yolk dribbled onto the carpet.

Outside, the rain started. John grimaced and decided to go for a run. As his feet pounded the pavement, water streamed across his face, but he needed space and time to think, and the harder he ran, the clearer his mind became. David Little was a scheming bastard, and if somehow any of the brothers crawled from the drain, he must plan their alternative future.

In his workshop, John gathered his resources together. First, he cut a steel tube into eighteen-inch sections before threading one end. The lathe work took longer than expected. It was painstaking work accomplished with patience and accuracy. Late into the night, he sat at his workbench and assembled one unit. The firing mechanism operated with a smooth action. Removing one shotgun cartridge from a steel cabinet, he carefully sliced the case in half and dropped the shot into a bin. The primer and powder half he inserted into the body. Into the barrel slid a dart.

Tired, he cleaned the workshop and locked everything away. Satisfied, he returned to the kitchen, lit a cigarette, removed a beer from the fridge and seated himself at the table. He lifted his head towards the ceiling. "Jackie, don't you dare say a word. I know what I'm doing and the consequences. Some might think they know but will be quiet, while those who matter will not want to stir the pot."

With a final gulp, he downed his beer, stubbed his cigarette out, set his intruder traps and went to bed. "Goodnight, Jackie."

***

The following morning John rolled out of bed and showered. Instinctively he dressed in his overalls from the previous day. Five minutes later, he entered the kitchen. When the kettle boiled, he made a coffee and dropped two pieces of white bread into the toaster.