Day 327 – Half Hour Hitman – Part 26

Word count: 728

Andy lay on the backseat of the car wrapped in blankets. The Half Hour Hitman had gone into a nearby shop to fetch something to drink and a little snack for them both. Andy was trying to have a nap, to sleep off the journey woes and to try and bury some of the painful questions that could not yet be answered.
Fortrose’s advice swirled around his mind like a teaspoon playing with its coffee. It was the first contact from the real world that he had had since he was taken; why had he not screamed for help? Why did this so-called policeman place all his trust in the Half Hour Hitman? All his mannerisms indicated he was nice, loyal, trustworthy – but a crime is a crime. He has murdered people in cold blood. He is a serial killer. He is a lethal weapon in himself. Why was the Fortrose man not chasing after him? Why was he adamant that Andy trust the Half Hour Hitman with his life? Andy’s turmoil grew thicker by the day and there were no dazzling lights at the end of the tunnel that would indicate he was ever going to receive any answers.
They were somewhere north of Newcastle. From what Andy could gather, they were taking the longest way possible to travel from A to B. Andy deduced that the assassin was trying to lose any possible tails he had. Andy hoped that he had succeeded.
The driver door opened and the hitman returned, depositing a large amount of bottles and crisps in the front passenger seat.
“This was all they had, sorry,” he handed a packet of cheap looking Bacon flavour crisps. “I’ll steal some more money tomorrow and buy ourselves something decent. We’re almost there, Andy. Don’t worry.”
Andy munched through the crisps, deliberating where their final destination was. It looked pretty certain it would be in Scotland. What possible reason it could be there was beyond Andy. The Half Hour Hitman was a code that few appeared to be able to break. The Half Hour Hitman finished his crisps and swigged a bottle of lemonade before starting the engine and setting off.

“Keep low under that cover if you don’t want us to be stopped by police,” he advised Andy, who strangely obeyed.
Andy pretended to be asleep for the next few hours, not that it made much difference to the hitman. He could have been awake in silence and conversation would have never have been forced. Andy was thinking about how he had never been this far North before. It was a very odd thing to have never done in his own country, given that Britain was so small. He had been brought up in Greater London. He had ventured out to Spain and all those popular family holiday places as a kid, but the thought of going further North than Birmingham was an unknown voyage for his family. He didn’t have any family further North than Oxford and the only Scots he met were either tourists of ex-pats come to invade the City glens.
After a while he stirred and got up. Bleary eyed, he realised they were driving through a city now. The traffic lights against the navy backdrop painted a warm sensation inside heart.
“Where are we?”
“Near Glasgow.”
“Why are we here?”
“Wait and see.”
Andy sat up in the back and wrapped his blanket around him to keep away the oddly comforting shiver that he always got when driving at night. From what he could see they were driving through a residential area. It was late, almost half one in the morning. Most of the lights inside the houses were out. There was no one wandering the streets.

The Half Hour Hitman then turned into a small carpark for a closed supermarket. He switched off the engine and opened the window.
“Is this it? Is this our final destination?”
“Then what is it?”
The Half Hour Hitman pointed out the window to another car that from first glance appeared to be empty. But a second later a figure emerged from it, long black trench coat. He stalked towards their car. The Half Hour Hitman turned the window down some more and leant out.
“Is it you?”
The Half Hour Hitman turned to Andy, “Andy, meet Fortrose. Fortrose, meet Andy.”

~ by S.G. Mark on August 29, 2012.

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