A Night's Work

You all know about my wonderful illustrator ability? "What ability Hope?" Okay so I admit-I have none. I illustrated this story anyway.

Have you ever noticed that I love to have surprising and sudden endings to my stories? This one, in my opinion is one of my most surprising. I should tell you it's origin though so that you are not totally creeped out: One night I was reading my Bible and I came across a verse that inspired me to write this story.

One other thing before I actually give you the story-I have been told this is a very confusing story and I completely agree. However I am unsure how to clarify it while still leaving it the style I want it to be. Any ideas?

A Night’s Work

            Glancing out one of his four frosted window panes Roger noticed a strange black cloaked figure  hurrying along the crowded London street below him. There was something almost familiar about the cloak. It seemed to him, though he somehow couldn’t quite place it, that he had seen it before. Perhaps it was one of his many bitter enemies who carried around clinking gold in their pockets. It was getting dark outside and many of the street lamps, his usual signal, were already being lit, telling him it was time to go out. He turned away from the window, hurriedly dumped his pipes contents into the fire and snatched his own black cloak off a rusted nail by the door. As he was trying to shut his ever creaking door quietly he remembered something. With a grunt of impatience he shoved open the door, jerked open one of his bettered desk drawers and slipped something cold and steely beneath his cloak. In his mind he could see the strange cloaked figure hurrying down the street. He too must hurry if he wanted to be able to follow. Tiptoeing down the rickety stairs he slipped out the front door relieved to have escaped his landlady’s sharp ear for once.

Out on the street the wind nipped fiercely and bits of ice and snow cut at Roger’s face. He pulled his hood low over his dark brows and hurried against the wind looking for his man.

He soon found his and began following his at a short but safe distance.

A burly man with gold rings on his fingers bumped against the cloaked figure causing him to slip on the icy pavement.

“Pardon me sir! I wasn’t watching me steps.” The gentleman held out a hand.

“I can get up myself.” Roger heard the muttered reply and he bit his lip in concentration. The voice was familiar but yet he couldn’t place it.

The gentleman was also familiar and a passion for revenge against him boiled up inside Roger but he restrained it. He had someone else to deal with tonight.

“Tut man! I am truly sorry! If I had time I would show just how much by taking you to a pub but my wife is having a baby and I wish to get home as soon as possible. However here’s a few farthings to get yourself something.” A ringed hand reached into a bulging purse and removed several coins.

The mouth inside the hood made a noise and spitting on the coins struck them to the ground and turning on his heel marched away.

The gentleman looked shocked and offended and quickly passing off the wet coins to a nearby beggar he hurried on his way. Slipping into a dark doorway, Roger waited until the gentleman had passed and then descended back into the street. His eyes strained through the darkness looking for that black cloak. To his surprise he saw it hurrying towards him, the opposite way it had been going. With a sudden idea Roger stepped directly in front of the moving figure. He didn’t get to see the face of his man like he had hoped. The cloaked man coming even with him barley paused and then shoved him forcefully to the ground and out of the way.

Roger leapt to his feet with an oath and his hand sought the cold steel underneath his cloak.

A policeman passed him and glanced curiously at his mud stained cloak. No, here was not the place. He would wait, follow and bide his time. Wrapping his cloak around his head more securely he began to once more stealthily follow his man.

Three dark figures threaded their ways through the crowds each unaware of the other following.

The gentleman stopped and spoke to a little child and the cloaked man and Roger both quickly ducked into doorways. Roger listened intently to what the man was saying.

“You are quite sure taking this alley will take me to Haircourt Lane more quickly?”

“Yeth thir! Buth you wudden’th pay me to walk down ith. Too many ghosths!” The beggar child looked nervously around the gentleman and down the alley.

“Well I don’t have time for any ghosts tonight so I’ll just reckon I won’t have to worry about them.” The rings caught lamplight and his purse clinked with a beautiful sound of fullness as he dropped some coins in the child’s hand.

Yes I totally agree-both artist and photographer need some serious help. :)

The beggar child watched curiously for a while but after seeing nothing he passed on.

On tiptoe now both men moved silently into the street, each unaware of his following.  After turning a few corners the dilapidated and abandoned houses blocked out the noise of the bustling city street and it became harder to walk silently.

With a snarl Roger’s man leapt forward and with two bounds was on his victim. The ringed gentleman had not time to cry out before he lost his chance forever.

Roger waited for his chance as his man stripped the gentleman of his rings and transferred the heavy purse to some place under his cloak.

Roger’s hand grasped a cold steal handle beneath his cloak and he drew it out. Now! The moon glinted delightfully off the nine inch blade as he pounced. The cloaked man was off his guard but Roger missed his mark. The two men struggled silently for a few minutes each knowing he was fighting for his life. With a lightening move Roger ducked under the other’s arm and this time the blade went home. With a groan the man fell heavily to the filthy pavement. He gasped and then shuttered and then was silent.

Roger stood looking down on the two bodies. This was a good night’s work. Two fat purses and several rings with large stones. He smiled with the thought of coins dancing before his eyes. One thing more to make his night complete. He reached down and removed the blood spattered hood.

A black pointed beard, stringy black hair, shaggy black eye brown and the scar with curled the lip into a perpetual snarl and pointed upwards towards one of the staring black eyes—Roger uttered a cry of surprise and horror.

It was himself!

Proverbs 1:18-19

New American Standard Bible (NASB)

¹⁸ But they lie in wait for their own blood;
They ambush their own lives.
¹⁹ So are the ways of everyone who gains by violence;
It takes away the life of its possessors.

For those of you who don't like downer ending stories like this, here is the rest.

"On your lives Lestrade and Waston! Hurry or the man will have already accomplished his bloody deed!"

The sound of running footsteps came from behind Roger but he was still so stunned he didn't move. A grip like and iron vice fell on his shoulder and jerked him to his  feet and a panting officer clapped handcuffs over his wrists.

"I have got you at last!" the bulldog face of the officer was curled into a sneer. He turned to the tall gaunt man who had just let go of Roger's shoulder. "Holmes my dear man, if you continue on in this way you may yet become on of us professionals up at Scotland Yard!"

A smile played on Holmes' face.

"Come Watson. I think our job is done here and though you have been kind enough not to mention it I am sure you want a full account of how I came across my facts. I think however it would be more enjoyable at Baker Street over breakfast and a pipe."

Turning on his heel the tall gaunt Holmes strode away followed closely by his thick set companion.

"My dear man! I am at an absolute loss to see how you did it!" Watson was nearly bursting with impatience.

"Elementary my dear Watson. Very elementary I assure you."