I head out to Pevensey in the car. Rain hammers on the metal roof, screaming in my ears as the vehicle roars down the highway. The cacophany of nature and machine makes a tense, hissing soundtrack as I consider the encounter ahead.
K tells me I'll see Thornton in Pevensey this afternoon. Seems he has some sort of business in The Crown in the town centre. I still don't know if K is to be trusted. Just the scent of that perfume makes my head spin like some horrific theme park attraction. Only enter if you are this emotionally insecure.
I park the car around the corner from the pub, and walk inside. I keep to the walls and circle the place, trying to avoid notice. Why is it that being deliberatley inconspicuous always attracts suspicious stares? But there's no sign of Johnson. I'm just about to leave when I detect a trace of perfume in the air. My stomach lurches. K was here. A shadow moves across the room and slips out the back door, heading for the beer garden. An inconspicous shadow. I reach inside my jacket and settle the Twins, flicking off the safety switches.
I open the back door and look out over a courtyard garden. A children's play area sways in the slight wind. The rain has stopped, so I step into the courtyard to get a better look around.
That was my mistake. The shout was theirs.
Everything happened at once after the shout. Movement came from either side of me, shadows seperate from the sides of the building. Instinctively I drop to a crouch. My hands cross my chest, draw the twins, and fire a single round either side of me. A shadow drops to the ground to my right with a scream. But the other shadow keeps coming. I rise to meet him, and we struggle backwards, locked in a voilent embrace. I twist and push, sending him tumbling over a wooden bench. My foot stops him rising. My fist sends him into darkness for a while.
All this voilence makes me thirsty. I head back into The Crown and order a whiskey from the bar. It was a trap after all. The question now is, did K set me up deliberatley, or was she discovered? I'll find no more answers here, Thompson will be long gone.
The barman asks after the fresh swelling on my face. I give him a stare that sends him skuttling across the bar to a fresh batch of customers, and walk out.