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A Bullet to the Head (standard:action, 2652 words)
Author: Ian HobsonAdded: May 09 2004Views/Reads: 2924/1498Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A revenge story, inspired by a UK TV documentary. (I've no military experience, so I'm wondering what an old soldier might think of this)
 



A Bullet to the Head 

©2003 Ian Hobson 

Private John Scargill – Scag, to his mates - waited patiently in the
front passenger seat of the dark-blue Ford Focus.  The car belonged to 
David Butler - ex-British Army and a veteran of the Falklands War.  As 
Scag's cell-phone vibrated against his chest, he pulled it from his 
shirt pocket and looked at the display as he pressed the receive 
button.  ‘Go ahead, Dave.' 

‘Our friend's gone to the bar for last orders, but the old guy's
leaving.  You should see him coming out now... side door.' 

‘Yeah, I see him...  grey hair... bit of a beer gut.' 

‘That's him...  Tell the other's ten, fifteen minutes, twenty at the
most.  I think they're fairly strict about closing time here.  Watch 
the doors though...  I'm gonna take a leak.' 

‘Okay, Dave, out.'  Scag took the phone from his ear, pressed the down
arrow until the right name was highlighted, and then ‘dialled'. 

Inside the pub – The Old Boar Inn – Dave took another sip at what was
left of his second pint of bitter before standing and heading towards 
the Gent's.  He looked straight ahead, but out of the corner of his eye 
he watched his quarry, Sergeant Graham Myers, as he carried two full 
pint glasses back to where his remaining drinking partner was sitting.  
Dave made that five rounds during the ninety or so minutes that he'd 
been watching.  There were still about a dozen customers gathered 
around the bar and as many still sitting, but the pub was growing 
quieter. 

Dave stepped to one side as an old man came out of the toilets, but
caught the door before it closed fully.  It was quieter in the toilets 
but the place stank of urine - The Old Boar was a drinker's pub.  Dave 
used the urinal then quickly washed his hands, but as he rubbed them 
together under the electric dryer, the door swung open again.  Dave 
kept his face to the wall, still drying his hands. 

‘Alright, Mate?'  It was Myers; his voice just a little slurred, as he
walked in and stepped up to the urinal. 

‘Not too bad,' replied Dave, his throat suddenly very dry.  Though he
had nothing to worry about.  Myers had never met him, and probably 
wouldn't know him from Adam.  Dave quickly walked towards the door, 
pulled it open and walked through.  His beer glass had been cleared 
away, and there were even fewer customers.  Deciding that to stay 
longer might look suspicious, he left the pub and returned to his car. 

‘They're only half way through their pints, but the pub's emptying out
now,' he told Scag, as he slid into the driver's seat. 

‘Are they pissed... drunk, I mean?' asked Scag. 

‘They should be, but they don't look it...  The bastard actually
followed me into the toilets and spoke to me.' 

‘Shit!  What did he say?' 

‘Nothing, just “Alright, Mate.”  I got out before he could say anything
else.' 

‘Are you sure he doesn't know you?' 

‘Yeah... I kept well clear of him at the inquest.'  Dave tapped his
chin.  'And I didn't have this beard then...  Are Ryan and Sam ready?' 

‘Yeah, they're in place...  What do we do if Myers and his mate don't
split up?' 

‘Abort, as planned.  But you say they met here, so my guess is they'll
go their separate ways... You sure you don't know either of his palls?' 




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