This is a Friday Fictioneers submission http://rochellewisofffields.wordpress.com/2014/07/16/18-july-2014/. It took a while to come up with an idea this week but I’m reasonably pleased with this though I suspect it’s well over the hundred words.
Incidentally, for a more involved look at a similar fictional universe, my bookis still available. Apologies for the plug but I spent most of last night correcting typoes which had somehow survived into the first edition.
Thanks to Adam Ickes for the photograph.
NB A few readers have noted that I referred to ‘piano wife’ in the first draft of this post. There was nothing Freudian about it. Rather, I presume it was something to do with the ridiculous predictive text system on my iPhone. I gave some thought to leaving it in, but I’ve decided to change it.
Clearing your desk is never easy, but for a gangster’s torturer, it’s a real bind. There are usually bits of informant stapled to it for a start. Jimmy hadn’t wanted to quit, but he’d known it was time when he held a length of piano wire in his hands and found himself thinking he could use it as a guide wire for the clematis he was growing at the side of the garage. Don had understood, too. He’d even got him a leaving present: an antelope’s head. A memento of his first job 40 years ago, he’d said. It should’ve been a horse, of course, but Don’s bloke at the knacker’s yard had disappeared. Something about a job in Iceland, apparently. Still, it was the thought that counted. When Diamond Eddie had gone, all they’d given him was a pair of concrete boots. They hadn’t even been the right size, though he doubted Eddie would have bothered to check if Don had kept the receipt. An antelope’s head was better than nothing, thought Jimmy, though he couldn’t help wishing he’d stayed on at Hairdressing College.