---

“You can’t hurt me. You’re a cop. There are rules.”

The scumbag was right, thought Malone. It was his duty to serve. To protect. To make sure criminals accounted for their actions. He gritted his teeth and watched as the man scrambled backwards on the concrete floor. His eyes swept down from the blood that poured from the man’s nose like a fountain, and toward the swollen left ankle that protruded from under red stained socks. A voice, his daughters, filled his head. The system is broken. How many times have you seen the wicked walk free?

Malone looked around the derelict factory. Months of hard work had led him here. Over that time, the reports had racked up, but the evidence hadn’t. After the last death, they took him off the case. He was too involved; they said. It was desperation that forced him to set up a fake profile and trap the bastard on his own. It worked.

His fingers tightened around the gun he had stolen from the evidence room earlier, and his attention returned to the perp. He couldn’t afford to lose momentum. Lose his nerve.

Five seconds later, he towered over the pitiful wretch and raised his pistol.

The man clambered onto his knees, grimacing with the effort, and held up his grime encrusted palms. “No. Please. I’m sick. I need help.”

“This is help.”

“Wait. Do you know who I am? I can pay you. Whatever you want.”

Malone’s hand wavered. He knew exactly who this prick was, both in public and private, and he also knew that if he went missing, people would ask questions. Questions of him. There had to be a better way. He had built a solid case for the team to continue, but one now destroyed by a procedural error. His error. A technicality, the vampires would argue. His eyes lowered. Had he fucked up? Failed each and every victim. Especially her.

A sliver of moonlight broke through the dilapidated roof and illuminated the creep’s pallid face. In that moment, Malone saw the man’s upper lip turn up.

The sight made Malone’s skin burn, and his muscles tightened. In one smooth movement, he slid his index finger down the side of the pistol and onto the trigger while his thumb flicked the safety off.

He looked down at the creep, whose animated mouth pleaded in vain. The words muffled. Lost beneath the whooshing of blood that filled Malone’s ears. His brain, devoid of all conscious thought, sensed the fear in the trembling man. The stench of sweat and urine mingled in his nose, arousing a perverse feeling of power.

“Don’t. You’ll never get away with it. Think what they’ll do to you in prison!”

Malone stared at the trembling predator. All wide, moist eyes and quivering lips. He imagined those poor little girls experienced the same desperation right before. He blinked away the thoughts. But the cries, screams, and pleading remained. A chorus of dissonance filled his skull, rising into a violent crescendo.

Then it disappeared.

His daughter’s voice erupted out of the void. Daddy, you should have protected me!

An image of her laying on the slab flashed behind his eyes. He tensed his jaw.

The pistol report echoed throughout the concrete shell.

The body hit the ground with a dull thud.

Malone’s temples throbbed and his chest tightened as he watched the thick red blood ooze out of a hole in the centre of the man’s head. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He forced down a gulp of air and reassured himself he could do this. See things through. He wasn’t a bad man. Even now.

After taking one last look at what he had done, he headed back to his car to retrieve the petrol, matches, and spare clothes. There was one last thing to do before going home and writing his daughter’s eulogy.

---

Marek Z. Turner is an English writer whose fiction primarily focuses on those for whom life hasn’t been kind to. Permanently fuelled by caffeine, he has a passion for Calcio, and Italian food, as well as gritty and cynical European crime fiction. In 2021, he was a finalist in the Capital Crime New Voices Award competition, and in 2024 he was named in the final five shortlist for the Black Spring Press ‘Crimebits’ competition, as judged by Lee Child.

Instagram: @poliziotturner
Website: https://poliziotturner.com/