An Eye For An Eye

3

3

Kurt Walker looked around as he walked up to the gates to remove the padlock; there was no-one to be seen, not that he expected to see anyone on a Sunday afternoon, and he quickly pulled the chain free, so he could push the gates open. He returned to his car then and drove through, stopping again once he was on the other side, so he could secure the gates.

He worried that the new padlock he had put on when he decided to use the place as a hideout would be spotted by someone who would raise an alarm, but so far there had been no problems. He supposed that was because most people passed the old industrial estate in cars, and didn’t have the time to see something as small as a new padlock.

He parked his battered old Honda Civic down the side of the building he had picked at the rear of the estate, where it was out of sight of anyone passing along the road. He wasn’t concerned that anyone might connect it with the robbery at the Bhaskars, but the presence of a vehicle on the estate, even one as beat-up as the car he was driving, might get people talking, and he wanted to avoid that.

With the bag containing his spoils from the shop in one hand, and his takeaway in the other, he left the car and nudged open the back door of the building with a foot. The interior was gloomy, despite it being early afternoon, for the sunlight had a hard time penetrating the thick layer of dirt and grime that coated every pane of the numerous windows that had once made the building a light and airy place to work.

What little light did penetrate the windows was barely sufficient to help Kurt avoid tripping over the debris that remained from when the building had housed a thriving business. The air was thick with dust and the musty smell of decay; compared to the smells he had become accustomed to, however, firstly while working as a garbage man, his first job after leaving school, and later while in prison, it was nothing to trouble him.

The gloom deepened as Kurt crossed the landing at the head of the stairs and entered the office where he had made his home. A crude curtain hung over the window, preventing the small amount of sunlight that penetrated the grime-coated glass brightening the room. He didn’t enjoy being surrounded by such darkness, it was too great a reminder of the cell he had occupied until recently, and he quickly groped for the electric lamp he had positioned just inside the door.

The lamp blazed on, filling the office with light and chasing away the darkness. In one corner of the room, where he had shoved it after deciding the office would make a good hiding place, was the furniture that had belonged to the company’s last manager - all of it was dusty, stained, and showing signs of age, which was why he had elected not to use any of it. In place of the old furniture he had a folding, camp chair, a thin sleeping bag, and a blanket he had folded up as a pillow; it wasn’t much, but it was enough for now.

Kurt tossed aside the bag containing his ill-gotten gains and sank into the camp chair. A low rumble from his stomach reminded him how hungry he was, and he quickly took his takeaway from the bag and unwrapped it; it being Sunday he would have preferred a roast dinner: beef, pork, lamb, chicken, he didn’t really care which, any would be better than the cheeseburger and chips he had, but under the circumstances he was happy enough just to have a decent meal.

He couldn’t help but smile as he lifted the cheeseburger to his lips; six weeks ago, he had dreamed about having a proper cheeseburger, one with all the trimmings, and decent chips, now he had one and he wanted something else.

As he chewed on his first mouthful he reached over to the camping stove; a warm glow settled over him the moment he turned it on, dispelling the chill that had long since permeated the antique brickwork of the building, which the outside temperature didn’t seem to affect. He then grabbed a bottle of cider from the box next to his chair, chilled to a nice temperature by the room’s atmosphere, and drained half the contents in a single swallow before stretching out a hand to flick on his radio.

Content, he settled back to enjoy his food and drink while wondering if there would be anything about what he had done on the news yet. If there was, it might give him some idea of whether the police had any clue who was responsible for murdering the Bhaskars - he doubted it, he was confident he had left no clues to either his identity or his motive at the scene.