Fatal Accident (3)

Mick poured himself a shot of whiskey, his hands trembled and he could not help spilling a large quantity of whiskey on his rug carpet. He walked on shaky legs with the shot of whiskey in his hand to the table were the pictures lay, keeping his eyes away from the corpse. He sank slowly onto the sofa. With his hands still trembling, he took a sip and then in one quick movement emptied the glass cup. He felt the biting sensation of the whiskey move from his throat to his stomach.

His brain had already refused to function but now it seemed to have cleared. He had to discard the body somehow, somewhere and quickly before rigor mortis sets in because that will make it difficult to dispatch it somewhere.

He dropped the glass cup slowly on the table and stood up. He looked at dead Ann and shivered as the open but dead eyes stared back at him. He could not touch her, he could not hide the body anywhere – he thought. But he had to get rid of the body.

He paced the room slowly after closing and bolting his front door, someone might just walk in and see Ann’s body. It was stupid of him not to have remembered locking the door before now. He stopped pacing, picked up a pack of cigarette that was on the television, shook a stick out and lit it up. He took a long drag and exhaled smoke from his nostrils. He felt his head clear.

He had to hire somebody who could do the dirty job no matter what it cost him. But who could he hire on such short notice? He racked his brain for an answer.

He inhaled some more smoke, a smug smile lit up his face. He had to call Socket, he thought, the guy was just the perfect person for the job.

Picking up his phone he dialed Socket’s number and asked him to come over to his house as fast as he could.

Twenty minutes later, Mick heard a knock on his door. He sprang to his feet and hurried to the door unbolted it and yanked it open.

Two men entered the room and Mick closed the door frantically behind them after staring outside to make sure nobody saw them come in.

“So, Socket thanks for coming”, Mick said as the two men stood in the middle of the room.

Socket nodded. He was about six foot tall and was wearing a slouch hat at a jaunty angle on his skull of a head. The jeans he wore were greased, a white T-shirt covered his lengthy torso and his feet were covered in a pair of cheap sandals.

A black patch made of leather covered his left eye; his good eye was big and protruding. He had broad nose and an equally wide mouth. The scar running from his left cheek to the side of his mouth completed the picture of a hardened criminal.

Socket’s functional eye scanned the room and finally rested on Ann’s lifeless body. He turned sharply to Mick, lifting his eyebrow as if needing an answer.

“Sit down, gentlemen” Mick said in a quivering voice, not noticing Socket’s querying eye. “Can I offer you anything?”

Socket waved his hand languidly in polite rejection and said in a guttural voice.

“Why are we here?”

“Well, I need your help Socket, somebody just died in my house by accident.” Mick said glancing over at Ann’s body, his face a mask of fear.

“I see”, Socket said laconically and walked over to the corpse. He knelt beside her and stared at her dead eyes for a couple of seconds before putting his right palm across her eyes. Her eyelids covered the dead eyes. “Too scared to even cover her eyes, aren’t you Mickie boy?”

Mick shifted his gaze from Socket’s one-eyed mocking glance.

“T-boy” socket called out slowly, “come over here.”

T-boy who had remained standing at the spot he had been when they both entered, but who had listened to every word spoken between Socket and Mick, walked quickly towards Socket.

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