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Sunday 1st June 2014
Simon pulled up in front of the little shop.
“Here’s a tenner. Get me a diet coke, a packet of cheese ‘n’ onion and a sandwich. See if they’ve got any vegetarian ones.”
Nicks took the money and ambled in.
Si turned on the CD and drummed his fingers on the wheel, losing himself in the moment.
The door opened. Nicks plonked himself in his seat and turned the CD off. “Diet coke, packet of crisps and a spicy chicken wrap.” He handed them, with the change, to Simon.
“Didn’t they have a vegetarian option?”
“Yeah, they did.”
“What was it?”
“Fuck off.”
Si stared at his crisps. “These are beef. I wanted –”
“They didn’t have any and I know you don’t like salt and vinegar.” Nicks gave him an exasperated look.
Simon ripped the packets open. “D’yer want some?”
Nicks hesitated then relented. “Yeah, go on.”
They ate in silence.
Still brushing bits of crisps off his trousers, Simon stopped halfway down the lane. Nicks grabbed his little backpack and opened the door.
“No Si, sorry but you didn’t. You still owe me a fiver,” he said.
“I’ve told you. I paid that back,” Simon protested.
“Not that fiver! Ages ago, the one for the sandwiches and the sports drink. I mean, a fucking sports drink. You’re taking the piss,” he laughed.
“It has a nice taste. Anyway, tight arse, don’t fuck up.”
“And you,” he smiled, closing the door.
Taking the public footpath, he walked casually across the field, entering the tree line and at the opposite edge of the woods, he knelt to thread the suppressor onto the weapon, the wrought iron gate beyond. He left the bag in the undergrowth, next to a tree stump, then racked a round into the chamber.
Swiftly, he made it across the open ground, through the gate, to the French windows. Time was of the essence now. Quietly opening the door, he slipped into the room.