The guy burned quicker than his wife. That surprised Frank. Although, it shouldn’t have. He had taken them from a room that stank of sweat, cheap liquor and even cheaper aftershave. The type from a market stall with a spelling mistake on the label. Highly flammable, no doubt.

With a sniff of the acrid night air, Frank choked down the bile in his throat and stared absently at the wilted bodies, which were propped up only by the remnants of scorched wood in a cleared patch of moorland.

He closed his eyes to block out their contorted faces, but their silent screams continued on a loop inside his skull. Biting his bottom lip, he shook his head and willed his cortex to save him. To remind him of why he was here. To vindicate him.

It was nearly Christmas, and he had a kid on the way. His first. The measly paycheck that he received each month would only stretch so far, and, with a heavy heart, not to mention a mountain of debt, racked up from late nights gambling in the back room of a shady pub, he agreed to take on some freelance work. For one night, he would earn over two months’ wages. How would he face his wife knowing he could have got them out of this mess and chose not to?

Despite this, the saying ‘if something seems too good to be true’, kept returning to Frank’s mind. His years of professional experience begged him not to be naïve, but caution and principles didn’t put food in the fridge or a new crib in the nursery. Let alone get the heavies off his back. So, when the credit ran out and the threatening letters increased, he was ready to do whatever was necessary to not only provide but also survive.

That was when they got him. He took a sweet retainer, paid off a bit of his vigorish, enough to buy himself a month of freedom, and blew the rest on baby stuff, and the odd treat for himself. Then he waited for the favour to be called in. In a way, it was a relief when the call came and the end was in sight.

Although it was an off-the books job, they had asked him to use his work vehicle. This didn’t sit right with him, but having already spent their money, which he had no hope of paying back, he realised he was in too deep.

Sat in his car while waiting for his contact, Frank swore to himself this would be the first and last time. With the cash from tonight, he would pay off his debts, the legal ones at least, and give up the cards. He would be the father he never had.

Lost in thought, the front passenger door clicked open, giving Frank a start. A large man with a shaved head and a leather jacket wrapped tightly around his muscles dropped into the seat. Frank felt a flicker of recognition, but he couldn’t place where from. It wasn’t the suave man who recruited and paid him, that was for sure.

The guy said his name was Charles, but from his accent, Frank doubted that to be true. They drove in near silence, exchanging few words beyond the directions to a large but run-down detached house in a middle-class suburb of the city.

“You got what you need?” Charles said, as they exited the vehicle.

Frank nodded.

Standing in front of a grubby PVC door, Frank half expected his new colleague to kick the thing in, but he rang the bell and moved away instead.

“It’s showtime, kid,” he grunted.

As the door opened, Frank experienced a rush of heat flow through his body, but it cooled when he saw a man in his mid-fifties, with grey hair and a cardigan, staring back at him.

He never imagined a kidnapping would be so easy.

All he had to do was flash his warrant card, and the perps allowed him and Charles into the house before willingly going to their death. Not that they knew it. But when the car pulled up to an abandoned building on the edge of the moors, they understood what was happening.

Perhaps more so than Frank. He still didn’t know what the couple had done to deserve this treatment, but it had to be something bad. At least, that’s what he told himself. It was all he could do to ease the tightness in his stomach when he watched his partner tie them up and pour petrol on them.

As the flames continued to lick the night sky, the heat rose and snapped Frank back to reality. He tugged at his shirt collar and glanced around the scrubland. Even in a rural spot like this, the fire would draw attention. Once that happened, it would only be a matter of time before someone would be sent to investigate. Luckily, he had planned for it to be him.

“Shall I call it in?” He said, as rubbed his clammy hands together.

“Not yet,” said Charles, checking his watch. The big man then reached a paw into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a sealed envelope. He turned it over in his hands before putting it back.

“You take that from their place?”

Charles nodded.

“That a good idea? Incriminating evidence and all.” This might have been Frank’s first time, but he was still a law enforcement professional. Besides, he couldn’t afford anything that might compromise him.  

He narrowed his eyes and studied his companion’s profile. Amongst everything he had witnessed, the horror that had seared itself into his brain, he couldn’t shake that feeling of recognition. It kept popping up in his brain, never quite forming. The dots just not matching up.

“Souvenir,” said Charles, before lighting up a cigarette and taking a drag. After a few more puffs, he threw the smoke down onto the near frozen ground and sighed.

With his concentration broken, Frank rubbed his bleary eyes and the two men stood side-by-side, facing forwards.

A light rain had started, and with it the earthy scent of the soil rose and mingled with petrichor aerosols from the nearby exposed lumps of granite.

“You held out on joining us,” said Charles as the chirping of crickets overpowered out the crackling of the dying fire.

As if noticing the cold for the first time, Frank shivered. “Yeah, I never thought I’d need money this bad.”

“No one does, but desperation does strange things to cops.”

“Who were they?” Frank finally asked.

“People who played a bad hand and didn’t want to pay up.”

Lines formed along Frank’s forehead as he contemplated what that meant. Then the realisation dawned on him. He had misread the situation, starting from the pickup.

Before he could say anything, Frank felt the cool steel at the side of his temple. Then nothing.

Charles holstered the Glock and withdrew the envelope again, placing it in Frank’s left hand.

“Consider your debt settled,” he muttered as he checked his watch and waited for his ride back.

A coffee fanatic, it was thanks to caffeine that he managed to become a finalist in the Amazon Publishing (UK)/ Capital Crime New Voices Awards 2021, and wrote Killerpede (Severed Press, 2022) and The Eighth Hill (Poliziotturner Press, 2023).
 

He has also had non-fiction articles on horror and Italian cinema published by Diabolique, Scream Magazine and Weng’s Chop magazine, as well as having articles featured in booklets contained within home entertainment releases from 88 Films and Tetrovideo.

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