Vintage Crime: from the Crime Writers' Association by Martin Edwards

Author:Martin Edwards
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: crime, mystery, cosy crime, suspense, supernatural, thriller, horror; gothic fantasy, dark fantasy, creepy stories
Publisher: Flame Tree Publishing
Published: 2020-07-13T12:53:47+00:00

The Hand That Feeds Me

Michael Z. Lewin

It was one of those sultry summer evenings, warm and humid and hardly any wind. The sun was just going down and I was grazing the alleys downtown, not doing badly. It never ceases to amaze me the quantity of food that human beings throw away. Especially in warm weather. The only real problem about getting a decent meal is the competition.

When I saw the old man poking in a barrel I said to myself, ‘Here’s trouble.’ I was wrong, but I was right.

The old guy was grazing too and at first he didn’t notice me. But when he did, though I couldn’t make out the words, he was obviously friendly. And then he threw me a piece of meat.

It’s not always smart to take meat from strange men, but this guy seemed genuine enough. I checked the meat out carefully, and then I ate it. It was good. Topped me up nicely.

I stayed with the old guy for a while, and we got along. I’d root a bit, he’d root a bit. And we’d move elsewhere.

Then he settled down to go to sleep. He patted the sacking, inviting me to sleep too, but it was early so I moved on.

* * *

A couple of hours later it was semi-dark, like it gets in the town. I didn’t go back down the old guy’s alley on purpose. Things just worked out that way. There are forces in a town at night. They push you this way, they push you that.

I could tell immediately that something was wrong. I approached cautiously, but nothing happened. Nothing could happen. The old guy was dead.

There was blood on his face. There was blood on his clothes. Someone had given him a terrible beating. Beatings are something I know about.

I licked one of the wounds. The blood was dry on top, but still runny under the crust. The old guy’s body was pretty warm. Whatever had happened wasn’t long over.

Nosing around, I picked up the scents of three different men. They were all fresh, hanging in the tepid air. Three men together, three against one. One old man. That could not be right.

I set out after them.

They had headed away from downtown. Curiously, they had stuck to the alleys, these three men, though they hadn’t stopped at any of the places I would have. The places my dead acquaintance would have.

The only time I had trouble finding the spoor was where the alley crossed a street near a couple of stores. Seems they went into one of the stores, then headed back for the alley.

After another block I began to find beer cans they had handled.

At first I picked each can up, carefully, and I put it where I could find it again. But once I had one can from each of the men, I ignored the rest. I followed the trail with increasing confidence. I figured I knew where they were going.

The long, narrow park by the river is popular on a summer’s night.

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