by Luis Samways
“Self-defense?” asks Frank
“From what I saw when I stopped you guys before this shit went down, it seems like you already knew about the weapon. That alone is a felony crime. But from how you described it, Toby, the prosecution could lean towards self-defense for the knife wounds Seth received, but as for the gunshot wound to the head, that was cold-blooded murder. I’m sorry, kid — you made a bad decision. That one bullet has cost you the rest of your life, no matter how many people Seth took with him before you fired that gun. It won’t bring your friends back, nor will it give you and Elle the life that you want. I’m afraid I’ll have to charge you with murder.”
Frank gets up and grabs the paperwork on the desk. He sees the tears in Toby’s eyes as he realizes the consequences of his actions. Mullins and McKenzie make their way out of the interrogation room and shut the door behind them.
“Poor kid,” says Frank sympathetically.
“Be that as it may, sir, he still killed someone. He stuck the dude with a knife. If he’d just let him be, the paramedics said he would have bled out. Either way, though, he shot Seth in the head. End of story.”
“Still, the guy was trying to get it on with his girlfriend.”
“She isn’t the dead one, though.”
“It’s just sad, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“Because I would’ve done the exact same thing,” says Frank.
“Yeah…I know. But you’re a whole different kettle of fish, my friend.”
“How?” asks Frank.
“You don’t get caught.”
Bonus Christmas shorts
The Man in the Shadows
A short
There was a man in the shadows on the Eve of Christmas 2013. He was waiting for somebody, somebody he once loved dearly. He was patiently sat on a bench overlooking the crowded car park of a mall. The mall in question was a rundown piece of crap that he didn’t feel too kindly towards. Maybe it was the aesthetics of the building, or maybe it was the smell of joy that stank the place out. What he was sure about however was the distain he had for the damn place. He couldn’t stand being next to it, let alone sitting within its joyous boundaries.
He had been sat on the bench overlooking the mall for a few hours. He knew the person he was waiting for would be at the mall. He knew all too well the person that had betrayed him would be blissfully unaware of their fate. He knew they didn’t suspect a thing, for if they did, they would be quaking in their boots with the pain that was surly going to grip at their lifeless corpse come the end of the night.
Alistair sat on the bench clenching his 40oz bottle. He decided that it would be amusing to him to be a stereotype on such a stereotypical night that was the Eve of Christmas. He decided to wrap his bottle of alcohol up in a paper bag. He wanted to look like the down and out homeless man that frequently appeared in so many Hollywood Christmas tales. The sort of man that raved and ranted at passerby’s.
The sort of man that clenched his fist at the skateboarding kids that rode past at a blistering speed. Alistair was surly the sort of man that fitted that bill. He fitted it well, and embellished his new found role.
“Go fuck yourselves,” he said as a couple holding hands walked on by, giving them the stink eye. “Go fuck yourselves you worthless pieces of shits,” he said.
The couple pretended to not hear the obscenities that were being hurled towards them. They just walked on and ignored the seemingly incoherent man on the bench.
Alistair was wrapped up warm in a grey fleece. He had a beanie hat on that tilted to the right side a little. His five o’clock shadow had turned into what could only be described as a “can’t be bothered beard”.
He sat himself up straight and tipped the bottle into his mouth. The brown liquid drenched his face and clung onto the sides of his lips as he downed the whole bottle. He then threw the paper bag containing the empty bottle into the bushes that lay in front of him. He heard the bottle crack and he himself cracked a smile.
“Fuckers,” he spewed in a drunken tone.
The beam of a car’s headlights hit the bush in which he had thrown the bottle in and then disappeared. He had managed to see the shattered glass that now plastered the pavement. He nodded his head in delight.
“That’s right. I own this fucking bench,” he said in amusement.
Some time passed and he had fallen asleep. It was the sort of sleep that was inconsistent. He had opened his eyes many times and saw the world move in slow-motion as he tried to keep his eyes open. For some reason he was feeling rather faint. It must have been the alcohol, or maybe that artery in his head had finally exploded. He was certain he had something wrong with him, but all the tests in the world versus all the second opinions had told him differently.
“They don’t know what they are talking about…Fucking quacks,” he muttered.
He had closed his eyes once again, this time succumbing to his need for sleep. Possible brain aneurism or not, he needed some shut eye. Suddenly he heard a voice beside him. He then felt the bench he was sitting on flex a little, as if someone had sat down next to him. He opened his eyes and craned his head to his left. He didn’t see anyone, but then he heard the voice again. The voice was near silent and possessed a certain magical tone. He narrowed his eyes down and saw a small boy sitting next to him. The magical voice belonged to him. He was staring at Alistair with an intent look of curiosity on his face.
“Mister, are you okay?” he asked.
Alistair didn’t quite believe what he was seeing. He was sure his drunkenness was impairing his ability to tell the difference between reality and the haziness of his drunken predicament.
“Excuse me?” he finally said. The little boy looked at him with a blank expression. His hazelnut eyes penetrated deep into Alistair’s soul. He could not help but think the boy reminded him of his son. His estranged son, his once precious boy.
“You seem awfully sad Mister,” the boy exclaimed.
Alistair nodded.
“I am,” he said. He felt a strong bond with the boy sitting next to him. So much so, he felt the need to brush his shoulder against him to check if he was real. He did it in a way that wouldn’t freak the boy out. He knew what times he lived in, and wouldn’t want the boy to think he was a weirdo.
Sick, sick world, he thought to himself.
“Why are you so glum?” the boy asked.
Alistair gulped as he tried to sit himself up a little from his slouched position. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself, and he certainly didn’t want anyone interrupting his conversation with his new friend. There was just something about the boy that Alistair liked. Was it his kindness? He sure didn’t know, but he liked talking to him. Even if it was strange and out of the ordinary. He felt lonely. He felt as if the world had done him wrong. Maybe the boy could see that. Maybe he wasn’t alone in all of this.
“My wife. She left me kid. My son doesn’t love me anymore. My family has been torn apart, and all that is left is this sorry heap of failure you see sitting next to you,” Alistair said, nearly welling up in the process.
The boy smiled a smile only a boy could smile. He had a full set of white teeth, not counting the gap he had on the top front of his gum line. He was a classic looking kid. He was maybe seven years old. He had his whole life ahead of him, and sitting next to him, Alistair thought about how polar opposite they were. How much different that they were. It was as if the boy hadn’t experienced pain. For that reason, Alistair didn’t want to frighten the kid with his tale of woe. He decided that maybe it was best if the boy left.
“Look kid. You don’t want to be chatting to me. I’m a sad man on one of the most magical nights of the year. This is the time of the year where you should be bugging your parents for a new toy, maybe window-shopping and staring at all the nice things you got coming your way. It isn’t any time to be talking to a middle aged man sitting on a bench outside of Wal-Mart. Go have fun kid. Leave the sorrow and pain to me, yeah?” Al
istair said as he tried to sit up even straighter. He could feel the bench support his weight as he leant back into it and exhaled a cold burst of air from his lungs.
He turned his head and smiled at the little boy who just sat there and smiled back.
“You still here?” he asked.
The boy nodded.
“Yes Mister,” he replied.
Alistair laughed for the first time in what seemed like forever. He ruffled the kid’s hair with his hand and nodded in defeat. It looked like his new friend was dead set on sticking around.
“Why are you all by yourself?” he asked.
The little boy shrugged his shoulders and dipped his head towards the floor. He didn’t make eye contact with Alistair.
“Your parents know you are out alone talking to a stranger on a bench?” he said.
The boy shook his head. “Mommy and daddy don’t know where I am. I left the house when daddy started to hurt mommy. I couldn’t help myself. I needed to get out, you see Mister?”
The boy sniffled as the cold wind blew in their direction. At that moment, a few car horns sounded off outside the mall. A commotion was breaking out between two men who were fighting over parking spaces. Alistair decided to ignore the ruckus that was going on a few meters away from the bench.
“What’s your name?” he asked as he clasped his hands together in the cold. “My friends call me tiny,” the boy said. “Tiny? You got a first name?” Alistair asked. “My mommy said not to tell strangers my name,” the boy said as he finally looked back up at Alistair.
“Well at least you know that,” Alistair laughed. “Doesn’t make a difference Tiny. I’m sure if you thought I was dangerous, you’d have left a long time ago,” Alistair said as he got out a cigarette and lit it up. He was feeling a lot better. He felt a lot more sober now. He was craving more liquor but decided that he would wait on the bench. The person he was waiting for was still in the mall. He had watched her go in, all happy and gleeful. Oh how it made him angry. He couldn’t wait to confront her. Her and that bastard she was with.
“Are you a dangerous man?” Tiny asked. “No, no, no. Of course I’m not. Trust me kid. There are a whole lot more dangerous people out there. The world is full of them. Scum bags. Drug addicts, paedophiles…,” Alistair stopped talking when he saw the boy’s eyes moisten up a little. He didn’t want to upset the boy. He immediately regretted opening his mouth. “But that doesn’t matter, Tiny. Bad people exist, but there are plenty of good people. You seem like a good person,” Alistair smiled.
Tiny nodded his head. His little puffer jacket creased up as he sat up straight, mimicking Alistair. It made him laugh. The little boy was a riot. A really nice kid. He felt such a happiness come over him. Even though his thoughts were hampered by the nagging image of his wife with another man, he still felt happy, if only for that very short moment in time.
Alistair and the boy talked for what seemed like a very long time. The car park around the mall emptied gradually until Alistair realised it was nearly deserted. He felt a panic rise in him. Did he miss his chance? Was it gone for good? But then he saw what he was looking for. A black SUV still remained idle in its parking space. It was the car he had been staring at since he sat down on the bench a few hours ago. He knew the waiting game he was playing could take a while. Christmas Eve shopping is one of the busiest times of the year. The person he was waiting for could be in the mall for a very long time.
He looked down at his watch. It was only 10pm. He was in luck; the near vacated parking lot was a godsend. Now he would be able to spot the entrance to the mall better. Maybe he’d be able to see her exit. Maybe he’d get lucky and spot them before they spotted him.
“Mister?” the boy asked.
Maybe he could talk some sense into her.
“Mister? Can you hear me?”
But there was one problem.
The damn boy.
He was still sitting on the bench, asking questions, making conversation, getting in the way.
He liked the boy, but he needed his space. He just didn’t know how to turn away such a nice little boy.
“Mister?” Tiny said once again.
This time Alistair looked at the attention seeking boy as he watched the boy’s eyes fill up with joy. It was obvious Tiny needed a friend. It was fitting really, seeing Alistair needed a friend, too. Maybe it was a sign. Whatever was going on, Alistair felt as if he needed to get his head screwed on tighter, or he’d risk it falling off and fucking up everything he had envisioned.
“You’re a good listener kid, anyone ever tell you that?” he asked.
The little boy shrugged his shoulders once again, scrunching his puffer jacket up as he did so.
“I don’t know. Maybe, can’t remember,” he said.
“Well you are. The thing is Tiny; I need to meet someone real special. They are expecting me you see? And it wouldn’t be right for a boy of you age to witness me meeting this person. Do you understand?”
The boy shrugged his shoulders once more. He had a look of complete confusion on his face.
“I don’t get it,” Tiny said.
“You don’t get what?” Alistair asked, his voice showing the strain of his patience wearing thin.
“I don’t get why you have to do it?” the boy asked.
Now Alistair had a look of confusion on his face. Was this kid fucking with him? He felt as if his anger was about to take over. It was then that he decided to breathe in deep, and exhale. This kid didn’t deserve to see him lose his temper. Especially if he was used to that sort of thing at home. He didn’t understand why he felt he owed that kid the courtesy of being nice. Something in his core was telling him to do so, but he just couldn’t put his finger on the reason why he felt he had to.
“Tiny, I’m being serious now. It’s late. Passed ten o’clock in the evening. You need to get yourself home before your parents wonder where you have gotten to. You don’t want to get into trouble now, do you?” he said.
“But why do you have to do it?” Tiny persisted.
Alistair was about to explode. He could feel it in him. He could feel it rise up his throat like a bad batch of heartburn.
“For fuck sake, do what?” he bellowed.
Suddenly the boy had gone. In the blink of an eye, the kid that was sitting beside him had vanished. Alistair got up, frantically looking around. The parking lot was empty beside from the lone SUV, and the pathway adjacent to the bench he was sitting on held no signs of Tiny walking on them.
“Tiny?” he shouted.
No reply.
Nothing but the bitter cold surrounded him. He felt an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Could he have imagined the boy sitting next to him? Could he have hallucinated the whole damn thing? Was he going nuts?
“Tiny? I didn’t mean to shout at you,” he said.
A lonely feeling came over him. An overbearing feeling of guilt and shame. He felt like he was going to cry. He plonked himself back on the bench and clasped his face within the palms of both his hands. He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. He could hear the endless drone of the wind as it hit his back. He stopped sobbing and reached in for his wallet. He pulled his wallet out of his jacket and undid the clasp. He sat there and stared at the picture of his estranged wife. The picture was folded, concealing something behind it. He unfolded it and saw his son. The picture of his son looked familiar. He knew what his boy looked like, but Tiny held an uncanny resemblance to his boy.
“Bobby. I miss you,” he said as he started to cry.
If only his son was still alive. His little boy had died a few years ago. Hit and run. It was an unfortunate accident. They had never caught the perpetrator. Alistair felt as if it was his son’s passing that had destroyed his marriage. He and Kate had never been the same since. She just didn’t love him anymore. He still loved her though.
“Oh Bobby,” he whaled.
Suddenly he heard laughter. He turned his head and saw two people come out of the
Mall holding bags and bags of gifts. They were talking and playing, both looked like they were having one of the best days of their lives. He recognised the laughter. It was uncanny. He had heard her laugh like that before. Back when she used to laugh at his jokes. Back when he used to make her happy. But now somebody else was fulfilling that role. Someone else had taken her. And that person was no more than fifty meters away from the bench.
Alistair got up, dropping the wallet and picture on the ground. He didn’t even notice his possessions hitting the cold, icy floor. He was too immersed in his rage. Too caught up in the moment. He stood there for a few seconds as he watched the couple load up the SUV. It was time for him to act.
He started walking towards the big black car. He could hear the laughter from his ex-wife get louder with every step he took. He reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a gun. He turned the length of the bonnet of the car and stopped dead in his tracks. He saw his ex-wife kiss the man as the trunk was shut. The sound of the door clasping shut echoed off the stiff breeze that filtered through the parking lot. They hadn’t even noticed Alistair standing there, watching them cuddle up in the cold. It was only when both of them took their eyes of each other, and settled them in front that they realised someone was standing in their way.
A look of horror washed over his ex-wife’s face.
“Alistair, is that you? My god. What happened?” she said. Her companion didn’t look too pleased. He was just as stumped as Kate.
“You happened you spiteful bitch,” he said, clenching the gun to his side, just low enough that neither of them knew he was holding it.
“Hey, easy pal. That’s my fiancé you are talking to,” the guy at her side said in a calm, but assertive voice.
Alistair didn’t even look at the man when he raised his gun and shot him in the head. Before the guy had hit the floor, Alistair had his mouth over his ex-wife’s mouth. He could hear her muffled cries for help. Her eyes were wide open in fear.
“You know Kate, you have ruined my life. Completely obliterated it, in fact. You get married to me, spend fifteen years with me, our son dies, and then you leave? So you thought that would be acceptable? You thought me losing my son wasn’t enough, and now you are engaged? To this fucker…Too bad he won’t make the wedding. Pretty nasty head wound he’s got there,” Alistair said.