I hadn’t seen the boy before and then I saw him twice in one day. The second time was after he had been murdered.
The first time was in The Old Oak pub. He was sitting alone at a table. I was surprised the barman served him; he looked about fifteen. Put him in a school blazer and he’d get half-fare on the buses. He wore a white shirt with the name of a pop group I’d never heard of.
He had a bottle of Mackeson in front of him. I thought only old women drank Mackeson. He didn’t seem interested in the beer. He held a copy of the Chronicle in front of his face, like he was hiding behind it. He wasn’t drinking, he wasn’t reading; but he was waiting for somebody.
The second time I saw him was at midnight. I got the call at home. I was watching the midnight movie; I can ‘t sleep until at least three in the morning. It was Anderson at police HQ telling me a body had been found in a dumpster at The Old Oak. I put down my whisky bottle and got in the car.
It was the boy, or what was left of him. His face had been beaten to a pulp. I wouldn’t have known him except for the shirt, now soaked with blood.
‘A fruit,’ the medical officer sneered, ‘Been bothering customers.’ I groaned and returned to my car. He could wait until the morning.
Click here for more crime / mystery stories
Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 