of metal. The man was lost from her view mere
seconds later.
The man in black made a few rounds through
Bromsky's. As he did so, he made an increasing number of people
feel hostile towards him, while his bag was to blame. Far in the
gloomy back of the pub where hardly a light burnt, he stopped at a
table. As most of the commotion in the place was centered around
the speakers in the front, hardly anyone was here. There was only
one man sitting at the table. Although... he had been sitting. Now
he lay slumped over the table. A glass had fallen over and its
contents had spilled over the table and the floor. "No desire to go
to work today, eh?" the man in black mumbled to himself.
He placed the big leather bag on one of the
wobbly chairs. He worked the brass clasp that held the bag closed
and took a few gloves and some goggles from it. He put the goggles
on his nose, slipped the gloves on and carefully prodded the man on
the table.
"Oy, what'cha doing there?" The question came
from a sturdy man, tall enough to paint the ceiling of Bromsky's
without using a ladder. The man spoke loud enough to attract the
attention of several others, and soon the table in the far corner
became the new centre of attention.
The man with the goggles stared at the sturdy
speaker. The glass in his eyewear made his pupils so large that
they seemed to fill the entire frame. "I was looking for this man,"
he said in a gentle voice, "and it appears that I was too late. Now
if you please let me do what I came here for..."
"And what are you here for?" Sturdy wanted to
know, putting a ham of a hand on the thin man's shoulder. More
voices made it clear that they wanted to know what was going on
there, especially the voices from people whose view on the corner
was obstructed by big men with broad shoulders.
Chapter 2
Before the man in goggles could reply, the
shrill sound of a whistle sent a wave of unrest through the
clientèle of Bromsky's. It was unmistakably a police whistle, and
everyone in the pub had heard those things often enough to
recognise that. "Coppers," someone said needlessly.
The speaker was right. There were seven
policemen outside Bromsky's, deciding how they would all be able to
go inside. The place was just too crowded. One of the constables
made his way in and started sending people outside. Some went
willingly, others needed some physical encouragement. The more
people left the establishment, the easier it became for the
remaining law enforcers to enter.
"Hey," a coarse voice sounded from behind the
bar, "they still have to pay!" Bromsky was rather ticked off as he
saw how his valued customers quickly disappeared outside, urged on
by the police.
"Don't worry," one of the officers laughed, "all
these are honest and law-abiding people, they told us often enough.
Surely they'll come back to pay you when we're done."
Bromsky snorted loudly.
Finally the pub was empty. The policemen formed
a line around the far table, where the man in goggles stood. One of
the constables helped him to put the man on the table, after
writing down how they had found the person: very dead. The fact
that he had not resisted or grunted while being moved had made that
rather obvious. The large red spot on his chest was an additional
indication.
"Good of you men to come so quickly," said
Goggles as he peeled the sticky vest from the dead man. It revealed
a blood-stained grey shirt with a large hole in it. Goggles nodded
to himself. "Yes, straight through. I already feared that. Don't
touch." The last words were directed towards one of the constables
who had picked up the dead man's overcoat.
"What do you mean 'straight through'? There's no
hole in the coat," the constable said as he quickly put the coat
down again. Goggles shook his head, muttered something and
continued examining the man.
Bromsky had left his station behind the counter
and, pretending to clean some tables, made his way to the corner.
That was well lit now, as some constables had gathered
seconds later.
The man in black made a few rounds through
Bromsky's. As he did so, he made an increasing number of people
feel hostile towards him, while his bag was to blame. Far in the
gloomy back of the pub where hardly a light burnt, he stopped at a
table. As most of the commotion in the place was centered around
the speakers in the front, hardly anyone was here. There was only
one man sitting at the table. Although... he had been sitting. Now
he lay slumped over the table. A glass had fallen over and its
contents had spilled over the table and the floor. "No desire to go
to work today, eh?" the man in black mumbled to himself.
He placed the big leather bag on one of the
wobbly chairs. He worked the brass clasp that held the bag closed
and took a few gloves and some goggles from it. He put the goggles
on his nose, slipped the gloves on and carefully prodded the man on
the table.
"Oy, what'cha doing there?" The question came
from a sturdy man, tall enough to paint the ceiling of Bromsky's
without using a ladder. The man spoke loud enough to attract the
attention of several others, and soon the table in the far corner
became the new centre of attention.
The man with the goggles stared at the sturdy
speaker. The glass in his eyewear made his pupils so large that
they seemed to fill the entire frame. "I was looking for this man,"
he said in a gentle voice, "and it appears that I was too late. Now
if you please let me do what I came here for..."
"And what are you here for?" Sturdy wanted to
know, putting a ham of a hand on the thin man's shoulder. More
voices made it clear that they wanted to know what was going on
there, especially the voices from people whose view on the corner
was obstructed by big men with broad shoulders.
Chapter 2
Before the man in goggles could reply, the
shrill sound of a whistle sent a wave of unrest through the
clientèle of Bromsky's. It was unmistakably a police whistle, and
everyone in the pub had heard those things often enough to
recognise that. "Coppers," someone said needlessly.
The speaker was right. There were seven
policemen outside Bromsky's, deciding how they would all be able to
go inside. The place was just too crowded. One of the constables
made his way in and started sending people outside. Some went
willingly, others needed some physical encouragement. The more
people left the establishment, the easier it became for the
remaining law enforcers to enter.
"Hey," a coarse voice sounded from behind the
bar, "they still have to pay!" Bromsky was rather ticked off as he
saw how his valued customers quickly disappeared outside, urged on
by the police.
"Don't worry," one of the officers laughed, "all
these are honest and law-abiding people, they told us often enough.
Surely they'll come back to pay you when we're done."
Bromsky snorted loudly.
Finally the pub was empty. The policemen formed
a line around the far table, where the man in goggles stood. One of
the constables helped him to put the man on the table, after
writing down how they had found the person: very dead. The fact
that he had not resisted or grunted while being moved had made that
rather obvious. The large red spot on his chest was an additional
indication.
"Good of you men to come so quickly," said
Goggles as he peeled the sticky vest from the dead man. It revealed
a blood-stained grey shirt with a large hole in it. Goggles nodded
to himself. "Yes, straight through. I already feared that. Don't
touch." The last words were directed towards one of the constables
who had picked up the dead man's overcoat.
"What do you mean 'straight through'? There's no
hole in the coat," the constable said as he quickly put the coat
down again. Goggles shook his head, muttered something and
continued examining the man.
Bromsky had left his station behind the counter
and, pretending to clean some tables, made his way to the corner.
That was well lit now, as some constables had gathered
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