the bloody tyke

Leeds Savage challenge for April 6 2011.

To put Transparent, Bastard and Verisimilitude into a short story.

The bloody tyke.

From where I stood now I could see the yellow flashes explode after each impact as the shells hit. After this latest attack the availability of shells would be less, it was going to take time to recover from the blow we had just been delivered.
I am so pissed off about it I could throttle the bugger again right here and now. The way the smirking bastard is wearing his verisimilitude of innocence sickens me.  A transparent haze of fear and a stench of death had hung over the scene. The prick was gormlessly expecting me to believe he had arrived to find himself in this gore-fest. I mean, he was spattered and smeared with their blood for shit’s sake and he had the raw gall to be looking at me, claiming no involvement.

I am in awe of the stupidity of the dolt I now have in front of me.
If I could know for sure she wouldn’t see from behind the glass I‘d kick his balls in to wipe the daft grin off his face.

It was her bloody fault anyway, I’d told her we’d never be able to trust him from the moment she introduced us. I just knew his type, dealt with them all my life in pubs, in town parks and down city back streets. Bloody Yorkshire bastards, you can’t trust them. I’ve seen them crack a fit of fury for no reason whatsoever.   Given any situation you never know which way they're going to jump. I can’t stand to be near them.. I told her that. And here is the proof. This time it’s a massacre, as I approached the field I'd seen at least four bodies on the ground before I managed to collar the tyke  and drag him protesting away from the scene.  Granted, I had surprised him, but the arsehole had nearly tried to have a go at me. I'd slipped him one to the kidney before he got the chance. Probably uncalled for, but it made me feel good. She never saw that though, so it won’t go on the record.

I have made it my mission to keep track of the bugger's movements ever since he joined us and while I have never been able to pin anything specific on him, a lot more fatalities have been logged since he’s arrived. She kept saying “There’s always been and there will always be unplanned deaths in this sort of work” and sure, she was right. There would always be unintended casualties along with the targeted executions but the death rate had risen sharply since his arrival and I for one had very strong convictions who was responsible.

He was uncanny at knowing when I was watching him though, and I couldn’t watch him all the time. I can’t recall how many times I’d notice his absence and I’d see him cautiously heading off, looking sly. No sooner would I move to follow him and he’d stop, turn around and either come back as if he’d forgotten something or change direction and head off with an entirely different stride. The shit had been starting to do my head in. But now I had him, evidence was on him everywhere, the scene of the last slaughter was preserved and there was no bloody way in the world she could dispute it. I had him dead to rights. He was out of here this time. No excuses, no favoritism, it was a done deal.

I hammered on the Kitchen widow and she stopped making her egg custard. She looked up with horror at the dripping blood all over Timmy’s face and coat.
I shouted through the double glazing,
“Your fucking dog has killed another four of my chickens! I tell you Sarah this is it .
Its over.
I am going to the pound and I’m taking your bloody Terrier today!