Wolf – Remains?

The flimsy wood of the door frame shattered with ease,    these cheap council flats weren’t built to last and the builders had obviously been cutting costs to keep their profits high.

It was obvious that no-one was home. Who could stand that stench of rotting flesh or the multitude of insects that were already buzzing around my face.

I told Stevie to keep his hands in his pockets so that no evidence was disturbed.     Better than putting gloves on, touching things like door handles and taking away any valuable prints,  besides the SOCO guys moaned if anything was disturbed.   Although I didn’t think that would be a problem in this case.

At first glance,  the apartment was a shambles,   pizza boxes, dirty clothing and drug paraphernalia lying all over the place,  a typical junkie hovel,  nothing particularly memorable apart from the obvious.

The smell was so overwhelming that at first it wasn’t clear where the body was tucked away. No-one had seen the occupant in 6-8 weeks and like the best steaks,  he’d had time to tenderise and mature on the bone.

On second glance into the bedroom,  the full-height cupboard door was slightly ajar and the odd blue-bottle was taking its turn to escape for a breath of fresher air.

Should I open the cupboard or give Stevie the honours?

It was his first time at a death scene,  so the pleasure was all his.

I told him to put on his gloves and open the door with his pencil from the bottom so as to minimise interfering with any evidence.

Stevie slowly opened the door and there hanging from the rail of the wardrobe was the very late Kevin McLeod.

I’d seen him looking better. Continue reading “Wolf – Remains?”

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Wolf – Stench

The stench was appalling.

You could smell it from 100 yards outside the three story apartment block.

No wonder the neighbours were complaining.

It was two weeks after Christmas and they had thought it was due to the increased volume of refuse and lack of collection over the festive period.

But now the rubbish had been collected and the smell lingered, so they called it in.

Even my probationer Stevie knew what it was the moment we parked up outside the dilapidated council block.

Stevie pressed the button on the secure entry. The caller a Mrs Armstrong lived in Flat 2/2, directly below the flat we were about to visit.

It’s not hard to guess why the smell would be worst in her place.


I’d already noticed the curtains twitching when we parked the car and she answered the buzzer within moments, opening the door to the building without the need for introductions.

I could hear her unlocking her door as we walked up the stairs. Two mortice locks and a Yale.

Stevie had checked the history of the block and there had been a number of break-ins over the years. Mrs Armstrong had been broken into twice.

Kevin McLeod, the occupant of the flat we were about to visit was suspected. He had a habit that he funded by a petty crime and a list as long as you’re arm.

But suspicion isn’t proof and who knows if it was Kevin shitting on his own doorstep or some other junkie acquaintance.

The door was open by the time we reached the last turn on the stairs. Mrs Armstrong, 60 and looks it, cigarette in hand, standing arms crossed, ready to greet us.

“About fucking time” she spat the words at us.

Maybe the community policing officer should have made more of an effort charming this old boiler.

I’ll try and remember to bring that up at the next community policing team meeting.

Stevie did the formalities, not that Mrs Armstrong was interested in our names, ranks or badge numbers.

“I don’t give a fuck son, but you too aren’t going to clean up this mess with stupid wee car of yours.”

I left Stevie to explain that we were just the initial response team and if there was a need to call for backup then we would have more resources on the scene as necessary.

I allowed myself a brief smile at Mrs Armstrong’s retort to Stevie’s by the book explanation of police procedure.

“What-fucking-ever son, just get that wee bastard out of here.”

No love lost there then.

I gave the door the cursory police style knock, three rapid thumps, a three second pause and then and another three thumps, already knowing that it was a pointless exercise and there might be a body here but nobody was home.

Stevie arrived with a quizzed look on his face. This was his first attendance at a death scene and he was keen to know the procedure on the drive over.

I stepped back from the door.

“Have a look through the letter box”. I told him.

He bent his knees slowly, placed one hand on the letterbox and used the other to push the metal flap of the letterbox inwards.

I took a step back, I knew what was coming next.

The sickeningly sweet pungent aroma of death was carried on the air by a micro swarm of flys and bluebottles.

Stevie jumped to his feet and was three steps down from the landing in an instant, bent double, one hand on the wall holding himself up, the other over his mouth as he retched through his fingers.

I gave him a minute to compose himself then shoulder charged the door.

Wolf – Once?

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I hadn’t heard from her in over a year, since that last mad Friday before Christmas when Glasgow goes nuts for the day.

Just like everywhere else.

The city centre is full of drunken works party nights, fights erupting because the alcohol has lowered the inhibitions and given the pent up frustrations a voice, or a fist.

Guys making complete arses of themselves trying to get off with that office girl they fancy, who isn’t really interested, but he’s hoping to catch her in a weak moment.

Worse .. the office girl giving it to the lecherous and probably married boss, then regretting it the next morning after she wakes up alone to find that he’s disappeared back to the wife at 3am.

She called me drunkenly at 1am asking me to join her and her friends at some club in town.

She swore down the phone that she loved me, despite that fact that she was 6 months pregnant with her and her husband’s fourth child. Continue reading “Wolf – Once?”

Wolf – Last Christmas?

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Of course I miss you, it would be stupid to think that I didn’t.

A couple of years together thrown away a puff of anger, hurt feelings and faux outrage.

Faux?

Because we are both proud people and although we were both in the wrong, our pride doesn’t allow us to apologise and climb down from our moral high ground very easily.

I know that I upset you, you know that you upset me, but is worth throwing away a bright future for the sake of some relatively petty issues?

Probably not.

So why are we allowing this to continue to fester and the distance between us to grow?

I’ve already said sorry. I don’t think I can do anything more.

How many apologies does it take? Continue reading “Wolf – Last Christmas?”

Wolf – Patience?


She’s fucking dead. 

She just doesn’t know it yet.  

Does she think she that she can steal from me and get away with it?

Really?

I mean, we aren’t talking a trivial amount here,  a full 6 figures is not to be sniffed st. 

That was my retirement fund. 

So how do you think I feel?

A fool and his money?

Too right I do. 

I trusted her,  helped her out in her time of need and this is the payback. 

The point being there is no payback. 

Not from her. 

A gift she says,  a fucking gift?

Who gifts six figure sums to ex-lovers?

Yeah maybe fucking Rockerfeller,  but not any ordinary working pleb. 

Not fucking me. 

Look at her sitting there smugly, brazenly,  holding hands with her new dick and lying her ass off. 

He’s got a smirk on his face. 

They  know that they have me at an advantage.  

It’s hard to prove a negative. 

It was a gift. 

No it wasn’t. 

Yes it was. 

Repeat. 

Things were running along nicely until this dick came on the scene.   We had an agreement and progress was being made. 

Now that counts for nothing.  So they say. 

Not with me it doesn’t.  My word is my fucking bond.  Good or bad. 

Do they think that they are going to steal from me and get away with it. 

No fucking chance. 

They’ve took advantage of my good nature and the fact that I still cared about her and abused my  trust. 

Yes I should have made it legal.  But I trusted her.  

Now do you see were trust gets you?

Trust fucking no one. 

There’s a life lesson for you. 

Not with your heart and definitely not with your money. 

Do they think that they can get away with this?

My lawyer says that I should have came to him sooner,   That I should have made a formal agreement at the time. 

Yeah fucking yeah.   Tell me what I don’t know. 

I already feel stupid.   

A fool and his money.  

But here’s the thing,    

Do they think that they can steal from me and get away with it?

That just isn’t going to happen. 

Even if legally they win,  morally they have stolen from me and there has to be retribution.   

My pride won’t allow it any other way. 

Anything else would be weak. 

Even if I win today,  they have attempted to steal from me and for that there has been retribution. 

Win or lose. They die. 

It’s just a matter of when, where and how. 

We already know the why. 

I’ve already gone to the mattresses,  shut myself off,  cut ties with the people I care about.    I don’t want them involved in this if it goes wrong. 

If they ever read this, then I hope they know why.   It’s not because I don’t care.   It’s because I need to sort this. 

I work and go home, live a quiet life. 

On the face of it. 

But that’s not me. 

That’s when I’m at my most dangerous. 

I’m planning and stalking.  This can’t go wrong.   There can’t be comeback or consequences.   It has to be planned. 

Last week, I watched him kiss her goodbye from a street away.   Followed him to his work. Later I followed him home. 

Then drove away.  

Thus can’t be obvious.  If something happened to either of them today where is the first place that they are going to look?

Patience is a virtue. 

Patience and planning make the difference between spending those retirement years with your grandchildren or Big Bob the axe murderer. 

Patience. 

No warning shots, no threats, nothing to give yourself away.   Nothing to let them see you coming. 

You’re a wolf.   Be a wolf. 

Patient, relentless, ruthless. 

Stalk your prey,   stay silent until you move in for the kill with power, aggression and surprise. 

She’s dead.   

She just doesn’t know it yet. 

 —

4am and wide awake. 

Wrote this, made tea, played piano.   

Teaching myself Half The World Away by Oasis.  Such a great song.   

I love the sentiment of checking out of the planet cos you just can’t stand it.  But not feeling down and at the end asking the listener not to feel down. 

I’d imagine that it would make a good funeral song,  leaving the planet in your old age because you can’t stand it,  but not being down about it and telling your loved ones not be down either. 

No I won’t feel down. 

Don’t feel down …

6am and still awake but eyes feeling heavy. 

The worst thing is when the alarm kicks in at 645,  I’ll not be able to keep my eyes open. 

Don’t feel down!  🙂

Wolf – Blood?

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Have you ever noticed how far a single drop of blood spreads?

Maybe you’ve accidentally scratched yourself or cut yourself shaving, but the blood doesn’t easily stop and the vivid colour permeates everything it touches.

Why is it that when you cut yourself shaving, it’s always when you’re in a hurry?

Or do you cut yourself shaving because you are in a hurry and not being as careful as you normally would?

The worst part is that it won’t stop and as you get dressed, a piece of loo-paper stuck to your chin, it drops off and a drop of blood hits your white or blue work shirt spreading through the material and spoiling your look just before you leave the house.

That’s trivial. So you can imagine what it’s like when someone has a major trauma injury, the red stuff oozing or gushing from their wound all over your brand new flooring.

Inconsiderate bastards.

You’d think that they would have been more careful.

But was it really their fault?

Was it?

Are you sure?

I’m sure.

I have my story and I’m sticking to it.

I looked at her lying there unconscious, blood seeping from her head, running down the kitchen unit and already creating a small but growing puddle on my new flooring.

I assessed the situation in an instant, there was no way that this would clean up with Mister Muscle. Continue reading “Wolf – Blood?”

Wolf – Red Card?

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It didn’t take much, it was the smallest of small things, or so I thought at the time, but then she was gone.

Was it me?

Was my understanding so different to hers that what I perceived as trivial, she perceived as a sacking offence?

A straight red-card, sent off the field of play for ungentlemanly conduct without as much as a goodnight kiss.

I thought about it later, obviously not that night as I was drunk at the time, chatting to someone on the last train home and driving up the short journey from the station because the normal laws that apply to everyone else don’t apply to me.

What?

Does that offend you?

Do you think I’m some sort of arrogant psycho? Continue reading “Wolf – Red Card?”