pool gasping, blinking chlorinated water from his eyes. Frantically he checked for blood frothing around him.
‘Relax,’ I told him. ‘I didn’t shoot you.’
Trying to live up to the size of his ego, Dorsey laughed. It was forced and everyone there knew it. ‘I fucking told you he wouldn’t.’
‘Want to try me again?’ I stalked forward; in his haste to get away the dreadlocked guy bumped the barbecue, knocking hot coals on the floor. He danced as the cinders invaded his sandals, then launched himself into the water with a howl.
Now the only ones on dry ground were Dorsey and his two lieutenants – the ones I’d already slapped around. ‘One of you owns the SUV. Which is it?’
The three of them shared glances, and I could tell from the youth on my left that the vehicle was his. Without taking my eyes off Dorsey, I lifted my SIG and aimed it at the guilty youth. ‘So it’s his? But who was driving?’
‘Not me, man!’ Suddenly Dorsey had lost all pretence at being a tough guy. Now he was just an overgrown, spoiled baby with tears on his face.
I looked at the youth I held under my gun. ‘You knocked that boy off his skateboard.’
The youth’s face folded in on itself. ‘I didn’t mean to run him down, man! We were just trying to frighten him . . . we didn’t mean to put him in hospital!’
‘The thing is, you did. And someone should pay for that.’
‘Not me, man! It was Dorsey who told me to do it!’
‘I know.’ I turned the gun on their leader.
Dorsey hands were still up, but they were no longer threatening. ‘Jesus, dude! C’mon . . .’
‘Only one way I can see to put this right.’
Urine splattered down Dorsey’s legs. ‘Don’t do this, please. Don’t shoot me!? ’
‘OK,’ I said, and lowered the gun. ‘But there’s still a price to pay. Are you familiar with the concept of an eye for an eye?’
Before he could register my meaning I swivelled and snapped a kick into his knee. The joint went sideways and I heard the click of rupturing tendons. Dorsey hit the deck squealing.
‘Get up tough guy,’ I said.
‘You broke my leg!’
‘At least I didn’t shoot you. Don’t worry arsehole, you’ll heal, but riding your board will never be the same again.’ I indicated his friends with the barrel of my gun. ‘Help him up.’
The two punks dragged their moaning leader off the floor, but as soon as he could support himself on his good leg they quickly retreated. Dorsey stood trembling, his good leg partly buckling, the piss pooling around his feet. ‘You still owe that kid another leg, and a spleen.’
‘Jesus,’ Dorsey wailed. ‘You’re not gonna . . .’
‘No, so you can stop crying like a baby. But you are going to pay. You’ll go to the police and tell them what happened.’
‘I can’t do that!’
‘OK. The alternative is I leave you the same way as that boy in hospital.’ I lined my boot up so that it was trained on his one good knee. He moaned as another trickle of urine darkened his shorts.
After that he was receptive to my deal, and agreed to hand himself and his buddies in to the police.
‘I’ll be listening out,’ I warned. ‘You don’t do as we’ve agreed, I’m going to come back and next time I won’t be shooting inflatable beds.’
I returned to my car while Dorsey searched for a towel. No way was he going to hospital in soiled shorts.
Back in my Audi, I made for the airport. I wasn’t proud of terrifying Dorsey and his friends. They were just young punks. On reflection, the hit-and-run accident was just a stupid idea that went wrong, but at least this way Dorsey and his crew had learned that they were heading in the wrong direction, and they wouldn’t be trailing anyone else along with them. Brian Purefoy would be safe from them now, his friend’s medical bills would be covered by the culprits’ insurance, and there’d be less cocaine on the streets of Callaway. Weighed and bagged, not a bad couple hours of work. Plus I was
‘Relax,’ I told him. ‘I didn’t shoot you.’
Trying to live up to the size of his ego, Dorsey laughed. It was forced and everyone there knew it. ‘I fucking told you he wouldn’t.’
‘Want to try me again?’ I stalked forward; in his haste to get away the dreadlocked guy bumped the barbecue, knocking hot coals on the floor. He danced as the cinders invaded his sandals, then launched himself into the water with a howl.
Now the only ones on dry ground were Dorsey and his two lieutenants – the ones I’d already slapped around. ‘One of you owns the SUV. Which is it?’
The three of them shared glances, and I could tell from the youth on my left that the vehicle was his. Without taking my eyes off Dorsey, I lifted my SIG and aimed it at the guilty youth. ‘So it’s his? But who was driving?’
‘Not me, man!’ Suddenly Dorsey had lost all pretence at being a tough guy. Now he was just an overgrown, spoiled baby with tears on his face.
I looked at the youth I held under my gun. ‘You knocked that boy off his skateboard.’
The youth’s face folded in on itself. ‘I didn’t mean to run him down, man! We were just trying to frighten him . . . we didn’t mean to put him in hospital!’
‘The thing is, you did. And someone should pay for that.’
‘Not me, man! It was Dorsey who told me to do it!’
‘I know.’ I turned the gun on their leader.
Dorsey hands were still up, but they were no longer threatening. ‘Jesus, dude! C’mon . . .’
‘Only one way I can see to put this right.’
Urine splattered down Dorsey’s legs. ‘Don’t do this, please. Don’t shoot me!? ’
‘OK,’ I said, and lowered the gun. ‘But there’s still a price to pay. Are you familiar with the concept of an eye for an eye?’
Before he could register my meaning I swivelled and snapped a kick into his knee. The joint went sideways and I heard the click of rupturing tendons. Dorsey hit the deck squealing.
‘Get up tough guy,’ I said.
‘You broke my leg!’
‘At least I didn’t shoot you. Don’t worry arsehole, you’ll heal, but riding your board will never be the same again.’ I indicated his friends with the barrel of my gun. ‘Help him up.’
The two punks dragged their moaning leader off the floor, but as soon as he could support himself on his good leg they quickly retreated. Dorsey stood trembling, his good leg partly buckling, the piss pooling around his feet. ‘You still owe that kid another leg, and a spleen.’
‘Jesus,’ Dorsey wailed. ‘You’re not gonna . . .’
‘No, so you can stop crying like a baby. But you are going to pay. You’ll go to the police and tell them what happened.’
‘I can’t do that!’
‘OK. The alternative is I leave you the same way as that boy in hospital.’ I lined my boot up so that it was trained on his one good knee. He moaned as another trickle of urine darkened his shorts.
After that he was receptive to my deal, and agreed to hand himself and his buddies in to the police.
‘I’ll be listening out,’ I warned. ‘You don’t do as we’ve agreed, I’m going to come back and next time I won’t be shooting inflatable beds.’
I returned to my car while Dorsey searched for a towel. No way was he going to hospital in soiled shorts.
Back in my Audi, I made for the airport. I wasn’t proud of terrifying Dorsey and his friends. They were just young punks. On reflection, the hit-and-run accident was just a stupid idea that went wrong, but at least this way Dorsey and his crew had learned that they were heading in the wrong direction, and they wouldn’t be trailing anyone else along with them. Brian Purefoy would be safe from them now, his friend’s medical bills would be covered by the culprits’ insurance, and there’d be less cocaine on the streets of Callaway. Weighed and bagged, not a bad couple hours of work. Plus I was
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