Wolfie

The cobbled stones of Shabazi Street ran red with the blood of a 15 year old Arab boy named Salim. Wolfie stared briefly at the flow of blood that gushed from the hole in the boy’s head that he had created, London would not be pleased.

He shook slightly and then busied himself with the business of searching through the boy’s pockets for what he knew must be there. His robes had many folds and in one of them he found a cheap dagger which he immediately discarded. When his methodical search of the still warm body turned up nothing of any value he began again. This time unable to maintain his previous air of calm he patted the body down with increasing desperation to be met with absolutely nothing. Looking around him he picked up the blade and casually walked away from the scene of his crime, carelessly kicking away what had once been an irrelevant stone but had within the last few moments assumed a far greater importance as a make shift murder weapon.

The shadows of narrow, cobbled street had hidden Wolfie’s face and his terrible deed from the attention of any of the night people who may have sought to navigate through Shabazi Street on their way from the Jewish area to the Arab or vice versa. Though he could already hear muted sounds of alarm as the body was discovered he wasn’t overly concerned. He was British which essentially meant immune from arrest and in any case already too far away for any of the Fez wearing Arabs or Jewish traders furtively wandering through the night to discover him, even if they had wanted to.

The walk back to the hotel that doubled as his office and quarters gave him a chance to think. Depending on the way he worded it Wolfie had either just murdered a 15 year old boy or he had attacked and defeated the opposition’s most successful courier. London didn’t know how old the kid was and was unlikely to care anyway. The lights and music of his favourite drinking establishment beckoned and he went in to ponger these thoughts more deeply, though he knew he wouldn’t. These were the last coherent thoughts he would remember the next day after awaking with the usual hangover.

Comments
Anonymous says:

Very good – if you’re an angsty 12 year old