Tuesday, 30 August 2011
05:33:38 PM (GMT)
The man looked around, puzzled. The other man opposite him was frantically pointing
at his forehead, making panicked cries.
“What is it? Pull yourself toge-“ The man’s words were cut off, his eyes wide
in surprise. He fell heavily to the floor, a thin, steady stream of crimson liquid
flowing from the bullet wound in the centre of his forehead. The other man fell to
the floor as well, an identical red hole in his head.
A young man stepped out of a doorway, and took a breath before running over to the
two corpses, “Oh my God… Someone call the police!” He cried, careful not to
touch the bodies, as this was clearly murder, and he didn’t want to be blamed.
Whether he should be blamed or not was a completely different matter. Before he
could shout again, he heard the sound of police sirens wailing towards the gruesome
scene. He glanced at the sun twice quickly, and blinked fast, his eyes watering,
and looked at his watch. 1304. Perfect. The police would arrive at 1305, as he’d
planned, and they would question him, no doubt, allowing him release sometime between
1330 and 1348. Then, he’d walk around London for about 53 minutes, leading them
astray if he was being watched or followed, and make his way back to the car park at
1545 where he’d be picked up.
He pushed the gun further into its holster, which was bound tightly to his ribs, just
under his left arm, where it would remain completely hidden unless he had to raise
his left arm, which he wasn’t planning on. He forced a look of shock and terror
onto his face, and looked up from where he was crouched next to the bodies towards
the three police cars that had just skidded to a halt. Right on time.
He stood up, his legs shaking a little from adrenaline, but he didn’t mind. It
made him look scared. He staggered a little as he walked towards the policemen who
were running towards him, “Son, get away from those men. We’re gonna have to use
you as a witness. Moore?! Both of you! Get over here!” The boy continued walking,
his forced expression one of shock as the policemen ran past him and crouched next to
the two men, inspecting them.
A man walked calmly towards the boy and tried to put a hand on his shoulder which the
boy dodged quickly. There was a strap under his jacket and shirt that held the gun
holster in place. "Sorry lad, I know it must be tough for you to have seen those
The boy nodded, his dirty blonde hair falling messily over his bright grey eyes,
"Aye... 'twas.... T' shots..." His Irish accent was strong, and the man, who he
assumed to be a detective of some kind, looked surprised to hear this. What? An
Irish person couldn't reside in London?
The detective nodded in understanding, and gestured for the boy to move forwards, "My
name's Detective Richard Moore, and this," He nodded towards a ginger haired girl,
not much younger than himself, "Is Rachel Moore, my daughter. Training to become a
detective." He explained.
"Thomas O'Connell." The boy introduced himself, slowly starting to look less
"Pleased to meet you, Mr O'Connell. Now, if you don't mind, we'll start the
Thomas nodded, smiling hesitantly at the man, "Sure. Go fer it."
Rachel, the girl, reached into her pocket and pulled out a small notebook and pencil,
a slight frown creasing her brow. "So, 'tis Thomas O'Connell, aye? How ol' are ye,
Thomas?" He smiled slightly as her accent shone though, equally as strong as his own,
only very clearly Scottish.
So the girl would be doing the asking. "Two 'l's in Connell." He corrected her,
reading upsidedown. Her frown deepened, and she adjusted her notebook so he couldn't
see. "An' I'm nineteen."
"Wha' were ye doin' on the docks?"
"Watchin' t' boats. A friend's on one an' I was tryin' ter find it."
Rachel hesitated a moment while she wrote this down, then looked up again, meeting
Thomas's eyes, "Which boat?"
"I dunno. Never found it."
She rolled her eyes and wrote something else.
Her eyes still on the paper, Rachel spoke up again, "Wha' exactly did ye see?"
This was the question he'd been waiting for. The one his story would finally feature
in, so he could dismiss it from his mind and focus on more important things.
"Like I said, I were watchin' t' boats, an' I heard someone, one o' t' men, shoutin'.
'Bout missed shipments, or somet'in'. I looked round, an' there was a red dot on
'is 'ead. Then 'e was shot, an' t'other man, too."
Rachel was scribbling down the words as Thomas said them, then looked up, "Do ye know
who did it?"
Thomas shook his head, "I never saw 'is face." Well, it was true. There weren't any
(To be finished later :D)
Last edited: 30 August 2011