My Very First Murder
The victim lifted his shirt in the Chinese takeaway, and a pint of dark purple blood gushed to the floor. We’d followed him down the street after his mate stabbed him to watch him clutch his stomach and ask inane questions like, are you alright, mister? By the time he got to the Chinese, he was content to show us he was under the weather.
‘Phone me an ambulance,’ he said to the furious owner. ‘And give me a bag of prawn crackers and a can of Coke.’ The blood spread across the floor as if William Wallace had stuck a sword in a mammoth, pulsating spot. My mate, Sean, cared not a jot. That’s when I knew once puberty did a number on him, he would become a doctor or a violent criminal, and I wouldn’t be either.
‘Blood’s so cool, man,’ Sean said, stepping inside to get a close-up. I stayed behind the window, failing not to look, vomit or show more signs of weakness.
‘He’s like death warmed-up,’ said an old woman mating with the window to get a better stare. He looked more manic than that and covered in beetroot, but people see what they want to see and apply something they’ve heard before that might fit. It wasn’t a time for originality or eloquence. That comes after you get to process the horror you’ve witnessed.
Another drunk guy complained about his order taking ages and called the victim a scumbag. The victim managed to give him the relevant two fingers which I admired. The faded blue tattoos on his knuckles were less ingratiating. What happens to a person that results in them getting love tattooed on one set of scraped knuckles and hate on the other? Surely the duality of man is better expressed with anything that doesn’t immediately tell a prospective employer that you’re having a gap-year between jail time.
The police were soon on hand to ruin the spectacle with their nothing to see here lies. There was always plenty to see and do at the Peckinpah takeaway, and they knew it. ‘These wankers are in the way,’ Sean said, climbing up on a fence to get a prime view.
I scaled the fence and watched paramedics attempt to help the victim even though I suspected he was a goner after the prawn crackers hit the floor. And I was right. It was my very first murder. And you never forget your first if your subconscious enjoys pulling grenade pins like mine.
