The Sister(155)

‘I didn’t mean exactly that. I meant how easy he did it. You know I'd have taken the law into my own hands if it was one o' mine, but to do that afterwards? For f*ck’s sake, that’s the work of someone who’s comfortable around death.’

‘I guess you’re right, it’s got to be someone who’s killed before, that’s for sure. If I had to stick my neck out, I'd say it was a squaddie, back from Iraq or Afghanistan.’

The men lifted their glasses and drank. Another man approached and asked, ‘D’you fancy a nip o' whiskey, boys?’

The two men shrugged at each other and downed their beers in unison. ‘Aye, why no'?'





Miller checked his watch. Either he was early, or she was late. It occurred to him she might stand him up. The vigilante talk had intrigued him. After taking a long swig from his pint, he studied the motif on the glass: Northern Lights. He drained the rest of the heady brew and put the empty glass down.

The conversation he’d just overheard, called Kirk to mind. Highly trained, cool under fire, it was exactly the sort of thing he’d have been capable of doing. He remembered an incident when he was at school. Three older lads made the mistake of setting about him on their school-leaving day, the last day of term. All three were big and on the school’s rugby team. Kirk must have been in his mid-forties. He dropped low, quick as a flash. His hands on the floor between his legs formed a central pivot, about which he spun one leg parallel to the ground, and six inches above it, the extended limb came round like a scythe and chopped the legs from underneath two of the lads. Both hit the ground hard, landing on their backs. Kirk jumped up and caught the third in a painful arm lock, and tightened his grip until the boy arched his back, in a vain attempt to ease the pain.

‘Thanks for the game, boys,’ he said through gritted teeth.

The boy gasped, ‘I surrender!’

‘Surrender? We were only playing here, weren’t we?’ Kirk’s eyes were cold, one inch from madness.

Eyes wide, they exchanged worried looks. ‘Of course we were sir!’

Kirk had pulled back from the edge. With eyes still flinty, he released his grip on the boy and pushed him into the other two.

‘That’s good, but don’t ever play with me again, sometimes I get carried away,’ he said, darkly. ‘Now that we’re clear, off you go!’

As they left, the tallest boy turned and said, ‘How did you do that?’ There was a hint of admiration in his voice. ‘I mean what was that thing you just did, with the legs?’

For a moment, it looked as if Kirk wouldn’t reply, but when he did, he said only four words. ‘Combat training, Korean style.’





Chapter 129



Miller often wondered what Kirk might be up to now. He hadn’t seen him since the early hours of 25th April 1980, when he was nineteen years old. The exact date stuck in his mind because Kirk changed the course of his life that day. The brainwashing, the Korean War, something he told him to do. Look it up.

After wondering so many times what had happened to him, he decided to track him down, finally finding him in a nursing home for the elderly. Miller became a regular visitor, and Kirk was always pleased to see him, keen to catch up on the life of his former pupil.





The last time they'd met, Kirk held onto his hand a long time as they shook. The staff had him propped up in bed, his face hollow and gaunt with pain; the steeliness had left his eyes, but the chipped tooth grin was the same.

‘Did you live up to your name, Miller?’

The question baffled him, but he kept his confusion to himself. ‘I think so, sir.’

Kirk relaxed into his pillow. ‘Good, I’m glad. You haven’t found yourself a woman, though, have you? You’ve been avoiding the question ever since you’ve been coming to see me. You haven’t, have you?’

Kirk’s grip increased perceptibly, the cool and papery texture of his skin more apparent as he did so.

Miller shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Don’t end up like me, son. Alone in bed, waiting for the night to come.’ His voice was dry. He licked his lips.

Miller handed him a thin plastic cup of water.

Fixing his gaze on Miller as he sipped, Kirk wiped the wetness from his upper lip. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you, boy, just moving in the wrong direction, running away when you should be chasing. Get yourself a younger woman.’ A light shone in his eyes. ‘I had one once, a French mistress at the school, she was younger than me. She’d have looked after me when I got old.’ He sighed. ‘Didn’t work out, though.’

‘Why not? What prevented you?’

His eyes dimmed. ‘It’s a long story and one you wouldn’t understand or care for much. Just suffice to say, it was the nights.’ He drew a short breath. ‘I used to disappear in the night, back into the hell I'd escaped from. It scared her. Don’t you let your hell hold you back from your destiny.’ His eyes, storm no longer on their horizons, were calm and grey. They locked onto Miller’s. ‘You...get chasing. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, boy?’

He nodded.

‘That’s the spirit,’ he said, finally relinquishing his grip on Miller’s hand.

‘Good night, sir.’