Story #18

Enough was enough.

He lit another cigarette as he leant in the doorway, the collar of his overcoat up against the rain and the cold, staring out across the street at the old butchers shop. The only indication of something amiss was a chink of light escaping from the edge of the closed blinds and the 6ft hunk of meat loitering outside at 1am.

Enough was enough.

The words stuck in his head like a fly caught in a room. It was her writing on the note, he was sure of it. But how did it get on his table? He had seen her the night before, at Vinnies, she’d humoured him for a few drinks before saying she had to see someone. He’d been drinking, heavy. His latest job had come good. The last thing he remembered was watching her leave the bar, then he woke up. Last nights clothes. Smell of perfume in the air. Hers? He’d flipped over the note. It was on the back of an old receipt. Jones & Sons. Family Butchers. Even in his state he knew she was telling him something.

He stubbed out his cigarette and headed out across the road.