Second Saturday Stories

“Killing Roger, even the perception that you’ve killed him, is bound to make you a few enemies. Not to mention Salvatore Colisetta. In his eyes you’re a loose end that needs to be tied up and buried. Face it Perce, Your life expectancy doubles if you disappear.” I smoke in silence for a beat, considering his points. Harry suddenly leans across the table.

The hand grenades are easy to recognize because there’s four of them like identical black stones. The mason jars between them are filled with a sickly yellow powder that reminds me of the war. Amatol was like a curse among artillerymen, the scourge from the skies. In the centre of his chest a black fabric pouch has been sewn and I hear gentle metallic jingles as he moves and I can only guess at what it’s filled with.

When Percy Slate walks through the doors for the second time in a week he finds the band silent and the gaming tables overturned. The Chicago Club is a bloodbath. One man is to blame for the bedlam; a local doctor who's fallen victim to psychological torture and brainwash

BayToday.ca has always believed a community is just as important as the news that makes it, and putting the spotlight on local writers is a great way to showcase the amazing talent of North Bay and the surrounding area

The scowl deepens and I think he’s going to protest, rebuking me with a technicality or theory the way he used to. When he meets my eyes I see the curiosity that pushed him through medical school battling the stubbornness that pushed him out of my life.  “Alright.” He muttered. “But he goes into a cell. Do you hear me Percy? I want him to rot until he’s an enfeebled and desperate old man.” 

Percy feels as though the hand of fate is finally going to crush him when he spots a familiar face leading a group of police into the throng. But with a trail of bodies behind him and an active fire at his back, will Percy be seen as a master criminal and thrown in a cell? And what of Doctor Carruthers, the man fated to destroy himself for Roger's twisted cause?

The blast is deafening under the rail car. A thick ringing fills my head making it feel like it’s stuffed with gauze. Joey stumbles. I watch him tap a charred hole his sweater with his left hand.

Percy manages to corner Roger only to find he's been effected by psychological torture as much as the good doctor. Roger begins to bend Percy's will among the speeding chaos of the train yard while Carruthers moves ever closer to his explosive endgame.

My hand is on my Webley as soon as my heel touches gravel. Cocking the hammer sounds like a tidal wave to me and I feel a tremor as I draw a bead on the tallest of the three men. There’s no mistaking him in that stupid fur coat. I grab my wrist with my left hand. As soon as I let the shot off I know I’ve pulled instead of squeezed.

Percy almost convinces the doctor to run, but the psychological barbs Roger planted begin to surface, and Percy finds out just how dangerous Roger and his crew of soldiers really are.