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|A Bullet to the Head (standard:action, 2652 words)|
|Author: Ian Hobson||Added: May 09 2004||Views/Reads: 2962/1525||Story 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?' Click here to read the rest of this story (264 more lines)
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