Reckoning Point, стр. 77

The Colonel groaned. If he swore he would have spat a list of expletives, but he restrained himself, backed up to his original vantage point, and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long, mere moments after entering, the man emerged. But he wasn’t alone.

He had his arms around the shivering, shaking form of Roland, and the Colonel stamped his foot as Roland appeared to shrink even further into himself and clutched at the well-meaning neighbour.

And the neighbour, the stupid, air-headed, blonde muscled man was herding Roland along now, towards the stairs, kicking out at the resident’s doors, shouting, and now the Colonel could hear his words.

“It’s going to blow, the whole building is wired, get out, get out, get OUT!”

And the Colonel watched as the doors opened, and all the parasites that would have died flowed out, a crush of dirty insects making their escape down the metal stairs.

The Colonel who didn’t swear, who couldn’t remember ever uttering a single curse word, stamped his foot again.

“Fuck,” he hissed, and it felt so good he said it again. “Fuck, fucky-fuck-shit-bastard.”

It wasn’t over. It was never over for the Colonel. He didn’t lose, he didn’t make mistakes or errors that couldn’t be fixed.

He waited until the police chiefs came along and he moved in amongst them, speaking gently, calmly, taking pleasure that they worked ten times harder in his presence because of who he was.

And at the prison medical centre he was given free access to both Mark and Roland.

Mark was still practically comatose, so the Colonel spoke to Roland first. He stood in the doorway, looked at the boy slumped on the bed, his shoulders rounded, the tracks of his tears apparent on his dirty face.

Roland looked up as the Colonel came in and closed the door. He waited for the boy to speak first, because, depending on what he said, the Colonel would know how to play this.

“I’m sorry, Colonel,” whispered Roland. “I’m so sorry I let you down.”

The Colonel nodded, walked over, pulled a chair up to Roland’s bed.

“No, son, you didn’t let me down. You did your best, I’m the one who has failed you.”

Roland looked up, stared at the Colonel for a full five seconds before averting his gaze.

The Colonel patted Roland’s hand. “I can’t save you from prison, you do understand that, don’t you, Roland?”

Roland gulped, nodded, and two more fat tears fell from his eyes.

“I might be able to get you a shorter sentence, would you like that, if I could do that, Roland?”

Roland’s face changed as though he had been given a last minute reprieve from the electric chair. “Oh, yes! Oh, Colonel, do you really think you would be able to do that?”

“I might, but, you would never be able to tell anyone that I already tried to help you, do you understand that?”

Roland screwed up his face.

The Colonel twitched. The boy didn’t understand.

“Roland, us officials only get one chance to help someone, and then it is taken away. So if anybody found out I already tried to help you, I wouldn’t be able to do it again.” A pause, the Colonel let his words sink in before adding, “You didn’t tell anyone of our plan, did you?”

Roland shook his head.

“What about the man who helped you outside?”

Roland shook his head again. The Colonel believed him, Roland was one of those marvellous, stupid people who were quite simply unable to lie, even to save themselves. This led on to another thought, what if anyone asked Roland about the Colonel? But, the Colonel rationalised, the boy would have to be asked very specific questions, such as, ‘did the Colonel help you wire the apartment and show you how to turn the gas taps on?’ The Colonel was satisfied nobody would ask the lad that, after all, nobody had ever seen the Colonel with this boy, with any of the boys, come to think of it. He didn’t care about the people who knew that he was by Roland’s side now, because this was what the Colonel did. He cared about his people, he was like a minister, looking out for his flock of parishioners.

The Colonel stood up, in the coming weeks he would speak to Roland again, before the trial, to coax him and question him and prepare him for his day in court.

He patted Roland’s hand again.

“You’ll be fine, son,” he said. “I’ll look after you.”

Straightening his coat, the Colonel prepared to pay another visit in the room next door. His mouth set in a grim line. There would be no talking this troublesome individual around. Luckily, he had something altogether different to offer Mark Braith.

It was easy to hang around the prison. For a while he sat with the Chief of Police, and together they discussed the town that they both loved and protected, and they took coffee together and spoke of old times.

It was late when the Colonel closed the Chief’s door gently behind him. Apart from the usual, harmless drunks, the prison hospital was quiet. Even the officers on reception had gone off for a break. It was easy for the Colonel to get the keys for the room he needed. Even if anybody had have seen him go into the room, they wouldn’t have questioned him. That scenario would be as ridiculous as someone asking the Chief what he thought he was doing should he deem to visit his own prisoners.

It was easy to slip into the room where Mark Braith was still deep in his drug induced slumber. The Colonel waited patiently until Mark coughed and stirred. There was no expression in his eyes as he regarded the Colonel.

“Feel sick,” said Mark, with a sudden shiver that wracked his entire body.

“Mmm, it’s the withdrawal,” said the Colonel conversationally. “It’s