FRASER MCLEOD, a sunburned veteran of Africa’s blood-soaked conflicts is back in his home city. He closes in on the one thug who has the key to finding the mercenary’s teen daughter.

‘I can guarantee you both a night of passion; heavy breathing, contorted faces and beating hearts. But it won’t be romance and sex that sets your pulses racing.’

The effect of Fraser McLeod’s low and rasping voice with its South African twang paralysed the two wannabe lovers. Beads of panicky perspiration exploded across Goldie Hastings tightly knit brow and the hair on the nape of his neck stood out like a yard brush’s bristles.

‘Who the fucking hell do you think you are and what are you doing in here. Get out of my apartment; get out.’

Goldie Hastings shrill response held a fine balance between distress and indignation. The ex-Bush Wars killer stood quietly in the shadows of the apartment from where he had emerged from behind the heavy curtains. As he did so Fraser McLeod contemplated the luckless and flustered couple.

An amused look spread across the arms dealer’s face as he considered the couple’s horrified expressions that showed embarrassment and consternation. The arms dealer had savoured this moment during the hour or so he patiently waited for the couple to arrive at the apartment owned by one of the city’s slickest politicians.

The mercenary’s blue-grey eyes wrinkled as he smirked at the couple’s embarrassment. McLeod’s voice was firm but he spoke in a gentle tone which suggested he was calm and fully in control of the unfolding drama.

‘Have you two ever looked under the bed for bogeymen when you were kids? You always knew that one day there just had to be someone hiding in your room. Someone who was not only ready to kill you but was going to slaughter you in the ghastliest ways imaginable. Tell me, do you remember?

As you grew up you should have kept looking. Tonight, there is someone who might kill you and it will not be clean I assure you. The guys from the police forensic service are sure to throw up when they find you both in the morning.’

Goldie Hastings eyes were calculating. ‘Fuck you! What do you want? Money?’

Fraser McLeod smiled. ‘That is a good question, Hastings. I would prefer to have the money that you owe to the people you have ripped off over past years. I checked you out. You are plankton. You are parasitical pond life, aren’t you?’

Stung and disconcerted by McLeod’s coolness, Goldie Hasting prepared to lunge forward to grapple with his mysterious tormentor. Stopped in his tracks by his fear of the unknown the entrepreneur turned local politician thought twice about such a hasty response.

Certainly, the welcoming smile on McLeod’s face and the vicious hunting knife that appeared in the former merc’s grip caused the city councillor to rethink his strategy. Anxiously, Hastings eyes glanced in the direction of the luxury apartment’s panic button.

McLeod grinned. ‘It’s disabled. Come any closer to me and you’re disabled too.’

MICHAEL WALSH (RIGHT) Award-Wing Writer and Journalist is Britain and Ireland’s most exciting author of adventure novels.

With all options off the table, the small-time crook changed his tack. ‘Okay, I think we can settle this amicably. Tell me. What it is you want as you haven’t come for a nightcap and a lullaby.’

‘Precisely; you know a guy named Rivers? Casey Rivers?’

Hastings nodded. ‘Sure, who doesn’t? I know of him so what’s the big deal with Rivers?’

McLeod whispered, ‘That’s my business. Your business is telling me where I find him.  If I find he’s done a runner because you warned him, I am going to separate you from your balls. Then I am going to gift wrap them, put them in a Jiffy bag and post them to Teddy Bear thighs here.’

Hastings was visibly frightened and distressed. ‘Casey Rivers? I don’t know where he is or where he lives. Why should I? We occasionally meet in clubs or pubs but not that often. He’s no friend of mine. We have mutual business interests.

‘Yes, like selling shit that kills kids and their dreams. Hasting’s, you are worthless shit and I will dance on your grave if you as much as give me a sidelong glance at me. Am I making myself clear?’

McLeod paused in his thoughts for a moment.

‘Hastings, that’s a pity you don’t have the answers to my questions. It means I don’t have a use for you other than as an object of my repugnant amusement.

‘That is regrettable. You were important to me when I mistakenly thought you were going to tell me where I can find Rivers. You’re not my friend anymore.

By the way, you are pushing stuff at kids too? You are supplying Rivers and the bastard is targeting kids. That is why you are protecting him. You are protecting your income.’

The effect of McLeod’s words gave the aspiring politician an incentive to think again about his response to the intruder’s questions.

‘You have got it wrong. He’s just someone I bump into now and again and take a drink with. Who doesn’t? I don’t do business with that guy so I can’t help you, pal.’

As he spoke, he noticed again the knife clenched in the night stalker’s fist. McLeod’s expression left little doubt as to his intention. If there was any doubt in the mind of Hastings then McLeod’s presence and the threat that he presented effectively removed it.

‘Had you been more obliging I could have shown you how grateful I was by sparing your meat and veg’.

MICHAEL WALSH is also the author of the best-selling vigilante novel THE STIGMA ENIGMA, Click pic for details.

As the quivering and speechless Terri McIntyre looked on, she could see McLeod’s intended victim was unsettled. Hasting’s date guessed that her ambushed boyfriend had little to bargain with.

‘Look, I am telling you the truth. I don’t know where you will find Rivers. You have got to believe me. You have reached a dead end.’

‘A dead end, now that is a good choice of words,’ McLeod smirked.

Goldie Hastings voice was now reaching a new high. The stranger drawing near had unnerving confidence. There was plenty about McLeod that suggested the intruder was capable of carrying out his intentions and if anything, he was looking forward to carrying out his threat.

As an aside to Goldie Hastings’s girlfriend standing helplessly looking on, McLeod grinned. ‘Turn away; what you are about to see is not for a lady’s eyes even if you’re no lady.’

Terri’s voice was pleading. ‘Please, why don’t you fuck off out of here and leave us alone?’

Then, swiftly turning to Hastings the distressed masseur cum model told her boyfriend to tell their tormentor where Casey Rivers was.

‘Goldie, why are you protecting Rivers? You do know him and you know where you can find him. You have his number so why are you protecting him. What the fuck for? Rivers would grass on you for a reefer.’

Fraser McLeod beamed. ‘I will tell you why he is keeping it to himself. It is because Casey Rivers owes him money, lady. Rivers owes a lot of people and your boyfriend is one of them. Money to Hastings is what a lettuce leaf is to a slug isn’t it and that is why they call you the Slug, isn’t it?

Scowling, the city councillor looked beaten. Spreading his hands in defeat, he told the dog of war that he wanted no part of McLeod’s feud with one of his dealers. Lowering his voice, he asked McLeod if Rivers was likely to find out that it was him who had grassed him.

McLeod smiled. ‘Only if you tell him that it was you who did so but you are going to be a good boy aren’t you?’

The sinewy avenger listened to the councillor carefully and patiently.  As soon as McLeod had the information that he needed the blade was put out of sight.

‘Enjoy the rest of your evening and don’t get the lady pregnant. One slug in Liverpool is quite enough for any city to bear.’

RETRIBUTION A Liverpool-based city-vigilante thriller more gripping than Death Wish by Michael Walsh award-winning novelist. ‘Retribution is the greatest movie never made’ ~ William Housman. ‘An excellent thriller written in the tense style of a John Le Carre spymaster novel’ ~ Brian Smyth. CLICK PIC OR LINK TO SEE BOOK https://michaelwalshbooks.wordpress.com/