Edward and The Thieves Part 2.

Rory crumpled to the floor, spitting up blood and clutching his stomach. Keith stood still, eyes wide as they could go, as if their very widening would prevent further bloodshed. Edward stood quivering in the centre of the room, tranquil. Tears still snaking across the little trenches of his worn-out face. His eyes were closed, and it seemed for all the world to Keith that any minute now the wind from the kitchen window would sweep this poor old man away. Everything was quieter in the aftermath of the gun shot... In the distance, birds sang.

Fuck, thought Keith. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. What now? I'm not prepared for this, for fuck's sake. I'm not a violent man. He nervously felt for the Animal Liberation Front badge by his breast pocket. 20 years in this cause... is this it? Is this little loopy loo with some antique shooter gonna finish me off? His heart raced. He thought about his family and, hating himself, let a few silent tears grizzle their way out from his veteran eyes.

Suddenly, Rory croaked "A...amm, muh, muh... ambulance"

Keith stared horrified at the blood-soaked American. So he's not dead. He reached for his mobile.

"I can't take that risk, I'm afraid" said Edward. The gun was trained on Keith.

Keith took a few shuddering breaths. "Edward, now, just... listen alright? It is Edward isn't it?"

No reply.

"Edward he's gonna die if we don't call an ambulance. Alright mate? You'll be a murderer. None of us want that."

No reply. Despite the horror of the situation, Keith felt a twinge of every-day frustration at the old man.

"Edward for fuck's sake!" Keith cried, voice cracking.

"No... no. We can't call him an ambulance. I've already shot him, that's jail time, and I don't rate his chances anyway. Now who the bloody hell are you people?"

What the fuck is going on. It really, really wasn't meant to be like this. Keith's hands shook.

"We're... we're animal liberation activists, Edward. Please let me call an ambulance, alright? Please."

Where is this old boy gettin' confidence. Jesus fuck I didn't sign up for this.

Edward's face switched from glaring anger to a contemptuous sneer. He gave a low chuckle.

Fucking LAUGHING?

"You mean to tell me that my home has been invaded by bleeding heart hippies? You mean to tell me that you are responsible for stealing that letter?"

Keith just stared.

"Well then. I shall dispose of you both in the river. I daresay you'll enjoy getting back to nature"

"You know what Edward? Fuck you, mate. Fuck you, you silly bourgeoisie cunt. It'll be an honour to die by Rory's side, fightin' against your fuckin' cruelty! And that daft old bitch is never gonna love you. In fact, I bet she thinks you're a tit."

Scarcely believing what he was doing, Keith walked towards Edward, arms outstretched, leaned his chest into the barrel of the gun and spat full into his face.

Edward had been struck momentarily rigid with rage, but on feeling Keith's spit slap into his cheek, snapped out of it.

"Well then. This is it. Get ready".

Keith thought about adopting a crucifix pose, emulating Jesus, but decided it was too pretentious. He mentally made vows of undying love for his family and his wife. He was ready. He braced himself for the bullet. In the distance, the birds sang.

And a car pulled up.

What?

"It's Margaret!" hissed Edward, scrabbling around frantically, gun cast aside.

Keith stood dumbly blinking, wondering if he was dying and this was all a hallucination.

"It's Margaret, you unwashed brat!" Edward seethed, slapping Keith into the moment. "Help me! Hide! Get behind the TV and take Rory with you".

Keith was so shocked that he simply obeyed, thinking longingly of the roast dinner he would have been enjoying by now.

Edward danced about the room like a man possessed, throwing a rug over the pool of blood where Rory had been and trying, ludicrously, to correct his appearance. Keith heard the sound of the door open and shut, and footsteps.

Keith heard a woman's voice.

"Edward... I've been meaning to say this for a long time... Look I know you're a good man. I'm not promising anything but... oh, god. Will you take me to our spot in the park, like old times? Just once? I know you want it too. I know it."

She sounded more hopeful than confident. Hang on, thought Keith. This is my chance. The old man hasn't got his gun on him and he won't wanna ruin the moment. I can walk out of here.

Once more, Keith leapt from behind the television. Margaret let loose a deafening scream and nearly fell over as she staggered back in terror. The look in Edward's eyes was baleful.

"...Edward. I'm gonna walk out of her now, okay mate? This is over. It's all over."

Keith began to walk slowly towards the door, hands raised. Once more he heard the gun click, and froze.

"Edward... Edward, what are you doing?" sobbed Margaret.

Edward blurted out what had happened in a half-crazed shout. Nothing to lose now, thought Keith. He turned to face the two of them, and noticed that Margaret had a strange, distant look in her eyes.

"All... All I know is I should like to be taken to our spot in the park a few more times, at least. And if my Edward gets locked away for murder that can't happen... and I don't suppose that between two of us we can lift that man's body..."

Suddenly her voice hardened. "You there. Thief. If you help us get rid of his body, we'll spare you".

A little flame of idealism deep in Keith's belly guttered and died as the tempting scent of continued existence wafted over him.

"Alright. Alright you old bastards."