Burning Bridges by Matthew Ross

Author:Matthew Ross [Ross, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Burning Chair Limited
Published: 2022-05-31T16:00:00+00:00

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Six minutes later, the Hunter laughed a delirious whooping chortle. The silver car shot off at speed in one direction. A dozen malnourished men in tatty clothes too thin for the weather stampeded in the opposite, they moved with the enthusiasm and general sense of direction of an avalanche; they didn’t know where they were going but they were pleased to be on the way. The Hunter couldn’t help his delight: magnificent, like watching a movie, worth coming just for that. He couldn’t help finding himself a little aroused at how swiftly and brutally the big man had dealt with five attackers. I was right about him; he’s not the lumbering fool he looks.

The Hunter rolled up for a closer look. If anyone appeared, he’d just say he wanted a carwash and act dumb. The Golf blocked the access gate, its doors wide open, ramraid-style. As he walked the length of the carwash middle lane, one or two of the fallen groaned, but the sight of another stranger made them stay down. Then he saw it, lying in front of the small garden shed was the man he’d killed earlier that day, the huge tank of a man. The Hunter began to get an idea of the tableau laid out before him. Sure enough, inside the shed he saw his commando knife gripped in the fist of a man on the floor. Part of him wanted to retrieve his knife, it seemed a shame to leave it there, but he understood the plan and left it where it was. As he assessed the battlefield he noticed a baseball bat on the ground. He picked it up and returned inside the shed.

‘Wake up. Hear me? Wake up.’ the fat blunt end of the bat nudged against the man’s cheek. After the third or fourth attempt he roused from his slumbers, his blinking signifying confusion.

‘What happened here? Can you tell me? What happened?’

‘Flint,’ murmured the man in a low groan. ‘Flint family want this site.’ He dropped his chin to the floor with another groan.

‘I see,’ replied the Hunter and connected a home-run swing against his head, and then a couple of more as a bit of a flourish for the video.

Before he left to return to the chalet, certain that was where they would have gone, he wiped the bat clean of his prints. He pressed it into the tank’s grip, knowing it now made a better narrative for the territorial dispute the big man was aiming for.

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