The beauty of a shotgun’s its pellets. Scores of em flying out. A bullet’s okay, handy for some jobs, but just imagine them pellets. A bullet’s like throwing a kipper at a wet piece of kitchen roll, punches a hole right through. But pellets, they’re like loads of pilchards hitting the wet roll, one after the other, spreading out as they fly. The first don’t really make a dent, the third breaks the surface. By the sixth, it carries on and if there something behind, it’d break that too.
Now, imagine that hitting a face. Whaddayou prefer? Kippers or pilchards?
I was always a pilchards man. But, just lately, in the last few seconds to be precise, since all them pilchards hit that girls face, I reckon I’m a kipper man now.
Bill, the excitable twat that pulled the trigger, he’s standing there, gormless and giggling like some fucking school girl. I swear if he was in some American cartoon he’d be saying, “I sure did shoot her good, boss. Eyuck, yuck.”
But he ain’t. He’s English, just like me and instead he says, “Fucksake did you see that? Did you see that?”
Cors I saw it. Her face’s just exploded with most of it, the brains, skin, bits of tissue and pieces of nose, splattering onto me.
This was a problem. ’Cos you see, not only have I just had a bath, but also this young bit of fluff Bill’s just wasted, she’s only the Boss’s favourite, ain’t she. He’s got fluff set up everywhere, more bits on the side than an Eccles cake. But this one’s special. He actually told me he loved her. I mean the Boss, falling in love? What’s that about?
And now, Bill, the twat that was supposed to scare her into not leaving, he’d only fuckin blown her face off.
“She looked pretty scared to me,” Bill says, doing his little chuckle afterwards. ‘She sure is purdy,’ I expects him to add, but he doesn’t.
“We need a plan and quick,” I says, trying to wipe a bloody piece of cheek from my eye.
Bill scratches his chin. “Suicide?”
I sighs. “Nah, who’ll buy that? She’s been shot from yards away.”
“What do we do?”
That’s Bill all over, out of ideas too quick. Good job I got ideas of me own. “Make it look like she was attacked,” I says. “Here, give me your knife.”
“The bowie knife you think I don’t know about.”
He hands it over and I walks to her, the headless, once beautiful, still warm girl. I turns and follows the trail of blood and bone towards Bill. “Okay, she was shot from here after stabbing and pushing her attacker away.”
Bill nodded, his eyes lighting up like I’d pressed a switch. “Good idea.” Then a frown grows on his forehead. “If she stabbed him, we need blood here.” He points at his feet.
“Oh yeah,” I says, my dirty face in front of his. Stabbing and twisting the knife into his chest, I holds the shotgun with my other hand. Bill struggled, he’s a strong oaf, but my surprise wins and his skewered lungs n heart loses.
The betrayal in his eyes fades quickly as they glass over. I cleans my face, puts on a big coat and goes home to change. Then, I goes back to the flat. Once inside I rings up the boss. “You better come over,” I says. “Looks like Bill’s tried it on with your girl.”