Like Sharks

It looked like chum, all those chunks in the bath, and that was good, because that was what he intended to use it for. He had very little affection for any other creatures on this Manichean God’s septic green earth, but he liked sharks … or rather he respected them — didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill them.

The remains of the person in the bath represented to him a job well done. He had found the fucker in the playground with his hand clamped on some little girl’s shoulder. The look of fright when he realised that he was in the grips of a bigger predator than him was something to behold. John liked the look of relief on the child’s face when she recognised her narrow escape.

John had lost count on how many people he had despatched, but if he were to graph it he would be confident that his statistics would be good.

Sat here now he wondered what exactly it was that he might call himself – a tactical nuke of a monster? How hard was it to get together a list? Just ask around – people actually liked people that took the initiative, and someone that was handling criminals?? Some places really liked that. People got behind him.

He had to lay off feeding the sharks for a while because those bastards were starting to get huge, and they were getting regular.

The police were sat around twiddling their thumbs because the crime rate had dropped significantly. So someone started digging, and stories have a way of spreading. Once they dig through the reflections and shadows they started to build a picture of him. They didn’t like it, and so they started to give chase. The crime went up, and the chum, or whatever name he chose to slap on it, dried up. He felt bad about it.

That day he did not suspect that what he was doing would end in any kind of a different day – and though the business he had involved himself was experiencing something of a drought, there were plenty who would drop breadcrumbs along a trail for him to follow.

The policeman was a little slow to reveal himself, and it was through this idiot’s mouthful of busted teeth that John discovered this was a sting operation, and the whole scenario had been cooked up to catch him.

John did not fancy his chances inside, with all the sundry friends of those he had disposed of. He raised his gun, and policemen on a mission to capture a deadly vigilante were more than happy to oblige him in his quest for death.

Some sharks left, and some drew nearer.

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