For audio click here
Alert Maggie's Milkman is just £1.99 / $3 from Amazon and Smashwords, find out more here
The white car's engine idled gently in the street outside
the café. The sun shone off the windscreen in such a way making it impossible
to tell if there was a driver inside or not. It wasn't a car, it was a SUV, one
of those big anti-social jobs that middle class people drive their little Camillas
to school in. In between checking his Facebook and his email, swigging his
coffee and watching the pretty waitress with the angel tattoo do her thing. Vic
kept his eye on the car, not really watching but being aware it was there,
slightly out of place. Yes, there were plenty of similar vehicles on the streets
of Prague but most of their drivers turned their engines off when parked rather
than keep them running for 20 minutes.
The man on the table opposite also seemed to be aware of the vehicle; he kept glancing at it suspiciously before returning to his papers and laptop, or barking more instructions into his phone in Czech. He looked like the kind of businessman that walked along the edge of the law, flirting with the underworld, dicing with danger but always coming up smelling of roses. He wore a black t-shirt with a leather suit-style jacket and had a thick gold chain around his neck. He picked up his phone again, glancing at the car, his face was red and puffy, his eyes bulged, and his collar seemed too tight. He looked like he was a cheeseburger away from a heart attack. He was an angry man and he didn't like the white car stationed outside the cafe. Maybe it was his car and he was angry with his driver for the engine running, keeping the aircon on, or maybe it was the police watching him, keeping him out of temptation.
He ended the call, snapped his laptop shut, gathered his things and, leaving a note on the table, he got up to leave the cafe. Vic watched him waddle towards the door. The waitress leaned across Vic’s table filling his nostrils with a wonderful perfume. As she took away his coffee cup, Vic saw the window of the SUV glide slowly down and a pistol emerge. Whoever was in there, was going to shoot the businessman. Vic's Czech was not great, he wracked his brain to think what to say. What would he say in English? Duck! He knew that in Czech.
'Kachna' he shouted at the top of his voice and when the man ignored him he yelled it again.
Then a shot rang out and the man crumpled to his knees, blood spread on the floor, colour seeped from his face.
Why hadn't he listened to Vic? Why hadn't he ducked? It would have saved his life.
‘What the hell did you do?’ The waitress with the angel looked angrily at Vic.
‘Me?’ he said. ‘I didn't do anything it was the white car.’ Vic pointed but of course the car was gone. ‘I tried to warn him.’
‘Warn him? By yelling Kachna? How is that warning him?’ The waitress said. ‘Why didn't you say k zemi or something?’
It was then Vic realised that whereas duck has two meanings in English, the word Kachna in Czech only meant one of them and not the one he'd needed.
The man on the table opposite also seemed to be aware of the vehicle; he kept glancing at it suspiciously before returning to his papers and laptop, or barking more instructions into his phone in Czech. He looked like the kind of businessman that walked along the edge of the law, flirting with the underworld, dicing with danger but always coming up smelling of roses. He wore a black t-shirt with a leather suit-style jacket and had a thick gold chain around his neck. He picked up his phone again, glancing at the car, his face was red and puffy, his eyes bulged, and his collar seemed too tight. He looked like he was a cheeseburger away from a heart attack. He was an angry man and he didn't like the white car stationed outside the cafe. Maybe it was his car and he was angry with his driver for the engine running, keeping the aircon on, or maybe it was the police watching him, keeping him out of temptation.
He ended the call, snapped his laptop shut, gathered his things and, leaving a note on the table, he got up to leave the cafe. Vic watched him waddle towards the door. The waitress leaned across Vic’s table filling his nostrils with a wonderful perfume. As she took away his coffee cup, Vic saw the window of the SUV glide slowly down and a pistol emerge. Whoever was in there, was going to shoot the businessman. Vic's Czech was not great, he wracked his brain to think what to say. What would he say in English? Duck! He knew that in Czech.
'Kachna' he shouted at the top of his voice and when the man ignored him he yelled it again.
Then a shot rang out and the man crumpled to his knees, blood spread on the floor, colour seeped from his face.
Why hadn't he listened to Vic? Why hadn't he ducked? It would have saved his life.
‘What the hell did you do?’ The waitress with the angel looked angrily at Vic.
‘Me?’ he said. ‘I didn't do anything it was the white car.’ Vic pointed but of course the car was gone. ‘I tried to warn him.’
‘Warn him? By yelling Kachna? How is that warning him?’ The waitress said. ‘Why didn't you say k zemi or something?’
It was then Vic realised that whereas duck has two meanings in English, the word Kachna in Czech only meant one of them and not the one he'd needed.
Did I mention Maggie's Milkman is just £1.99 from Amazon and Smashwords, find out more here
No comments:
Post a Comment