Revenge

Although I was mad as a coot, I almost smiled at him. I never could stand his taste in clothes. I nearly shot him there and then.
Admittedly, Roger McKay was dressed in an immaculate dinner jacket. But he had fallen for that sickening new fad. You know, my sweet; the range of designer suits by that Japanese, Yamazokizuki- whatever it is. The one who had the bright idea of dinner jackets in colours other than black or white. McKay's DJ was a dark shade of peach, which looked disgusting on a self-respecting business man like himself. I took solace in that fact that, at the very least, this aspect of the loathsome man would no longer bother me. I would put a neat red blossom directly over where his heart lay. It would no doubt seem like he had a red carnation in his breast pocket.
I felt a slight ironic pity for the poor, confused policemen forced to deal with the two dead bodies found in my study. Me lying on the floor poisoned, McKay shot; probably done-in with the whole magazine, just to be on the safe side. Just to make sure.
McKay must have thought to make it a clean sweep: move in, do the dirty deed, and get out of the house fast, before the poison took effect. You wouldn't believe it, pumpkin. Five minutes ago, I'm happily talking to the chairman of Amalgamated Holdings, thinking of how I should kill Roger McKay, and the next thing I know, this wort-hog has poisoned me. Pulled a fast one. Given me a dose of my own medicine. I knew I shouldn't have let him get me that new glass of wine. Well, take my soul to hell if this bugger thinks he can get away with it. Take my soul if thirty-five years of experience and better-judgement can't make me smell a rat in a dinner jacket standing only the other side of the vol-au-vents from me. He was barely distinguishable from the shrimps on my butler's platter! I noticed the back-stabbing deed a little on the late side, I'll grant you. But I could damn-well still get him back for it, my little pumpkin! Quick as lightening I'd asked the little weasel to have a private drink with me in my study. There was no way he could get out of that.
Now he stood before me, hand shaking a little, his vodka idly lapping up the sides of his glass.
"Erm...What are you doing?" he said hesitantly, his voice hoarse, yet still impressively calm.
"Oh shut up, McKay. You always were an unobservant fool in my book."
"But-" he hesitated, forehead glistening. "But- But I don't understand."
"Stop stuttering, McKay! You know I hate it when you stutter."
"I really must go, Mr Kidron, I--"
"Look, McKay, you're not going anywhere. So pucker up, close your eyes, and let's get this over with." The wretched little fellow looked at me with stark surprise. His gaze fell on my pistol. Vodka splashed across my expensive Persian rug. A line of sweat crept over one cheek. He dabbed himself with a handkerchief.
"Sir, I know you think the investment went horribly wrong. But I told you it would be OK! I told you to have faith. I told-- I told you to have patience!"
"I know perfectly well what you told me, McKay: a safe investment; hundred percent guaranteed return, you said; a sure-fire winner. And what has it brought me? A very disturbed bank manager and the government breathing down my neck!" His face was red. A single droplet of sweat fell from his chin. I winced as it landed on my carpet.
"But you all but own the British government, sir. They're all corrupt as--"
"Don't be pedantic, McKay! You know I hate it when you're pedantic!" Admittedly, he had a point. "And McKay, please spare a thought for my carpet. You know it's been through a lot." He wiped his chin nervously, and took a large mouthful of the vodka he had thusfar been liberally sprinkling my carpet with. That was some light relief, at least. A little peace for a dying man, dear pumpkin.
Now, a resolute drop of mucus clung from his red nose. The six strands of hair he combed over the top of his balding head had once again jumped out of place, as they always did in my presence. The man was the very antithesis of "growing old with dignity".
"Mr Kidron, please don't shoot. It would be a big mistake!"
"Is that a threat, McKay? Makes a change, coming from you. But don't you agree it's a little too late for threats now?"
"No!..What?" He gave me a confused look, typical of him. Maybe I had underestimated his cunning.
"What did you use McKay? A slow working; painful cramp-inducing poison? A hallucinogenic to frighten me out of my wits before I keel over? Satisfy the malevolent streak? Quick and painless maybe - to stop me from doing anything about it?"
"I- I- I don't know what you're talking about! You've lost your mind!"
"I'll have you know my mind is still in perfect working order. And I'll not stand for any more of your insults, McKay!"
"I'm sorry sir." -At least he apologised. "Oh please! Don't do anything rash."
"I'm afraid I haven't got much time to chat. I may just suddenly crumple to the floor before I get the chance to shoot." Roger McKay's lower lip started quivering erratically. Huge eyes stared at me from behind thick, horn-rimmed lenses. He looked like he was going to grovel. I couldn't stand it when he grovelled.
"Pull yourself together man! You want to die with dignity don't you?" Actually, I wasn't sure whether he did. His kind would stop at nothing to wriggle and squirm their way out of being killed. His legs were shaking like wheetsheafs in a strong breeze.
I turned to look out the window at the thought. Outside, the trees were growing restless on that oppressive October evening. Their dark silhouettes made the stars flash as they dimmed and reappeared from behind my conifers. Things were definitely getting gusty outside. A collection of leaves fluttered hastily by my window sill. Shame it was dark. I would have liked to gaze over your fair countenance for one last time. It seemed I would never never again look upon your beauty.
Loud applause suddenly broke from the revelry beyond the door of my study. The girls from Orgies-R-Us must have finally arrived. They brought me back to matters closer at hand. I turned to see Roger McKay sneaking his way towards the heavy oak door.
"Hey, buster, where d'you think you're going, you lily-livered limpet? Get back here!" McKay cringed in true McKay-style. He turned, and hesitantly made his way back, where he collapsed against a marble bust of my good self.
"Mr Kidron," he puffed, loosening his collar, sending his peachy bow-tie out of skew. "Amalgamated Holdings has not gone bust yet, I tell you! It will be bought up! My insider information was accurate! It will happen soon, I'm sure."
"D'you think for one second I believe that hog-wash? After you just poisoned me? And while I'm holding a Desert Eagle to your navel?"
"But I haven't poisoned you, Mr Kidron!" he blurted pitifully, and nearly fell to his knees.
"I'm afraid that won't work, McKay. You always were a bad liar. You know just as well as I do that the deal fell through. The chairman himself just told me. He kindly offered to make my shares disappear; hide the unfortunate matter from public scrutiny. You knew I would find out. You knew I would make you disappear. So you poisoned my wine. You think I can't tell when something blights my own house wine? You think I haven't noticed your poison-powder ring?" I pointed the gun at a big emerald-encrusted ring that graced one of his fat fingers.
"It's just an old heirloom, sir! I've never filled it with anything! I swear!" he bawled. Growing weary of his lame excuses, I looked back out of the window. Clouds had obscured the night sky. Now I couldn't even see the trees, let alone my prize plantation. A tragedy.
Roger stared at me, but said no more. I helped to fill in the details he seemed so reluctant to admit: "You decided to get rid of me before I could do the same to you. It all makes sense, McKay. I would have done the same, had I been in your shoes. Well...Maybe I would have done it with a little more success."
"I didn't know you were going to make me disappear! How was I to know? I thought-- I thought we had a deal! If you'd only had a little more faith--" With a fierce jerk, I extended my arm, jabbing my gun in his direction. He cringed back, mouth slammed shut, staring intently. He tried to seek cover behind my statue.
"Come out from behind there, McKay! You know I hate it when you hide from me! I have a reputation to uphold, and I'd like to think I do a damn fine job of it!" I sighed; carried on patiently: "You know as well as anybody that if someone fails me, or lets me down, they pay the price...I find it keeps my employees on their toes." He sank to his knees. His brow was shiny, and a single tear rolled down, past his red, shiny nose. He looked straight down the muzzle of my weapon. His eyes seemed even larger that usual.
"Oh god." he whimpered.
He was right. It was a big gun. Things were looking pretty bleak for him. I knew how he felt. I came pretty close to suffering the same fate once. The Desert Eagle belonged to an ex-worker of mine. He too had once languished in my study. He too had once knelt before me. I normally used a smaller gun. Didn't rouse the neighbours quite as easily. Or party-goers. But this time, whether someone heard really was the last of my worries. In fact, I had no worries, apart from thinking up an epitaph fast.
In any case, that particular ex-worker had let me down. He knew where he stood. And he gave me a good old scare when he drew out that portable cannon of his. He managed to put a big hole through my collected works of Shakespeare before I got him. I kept his Eagle behind that very bookshelf. It had proven useful many a time, when there had been no alternative. I only ever used it in dire emergencies. One thing about it always annoyed me, you see. The big gun was a bit hard on my Persian rug. The drugstore on the corner had frequently done a roaring trade in stain-remover. Now though, I wielded the Eagle willingly. I thought: if you're gonna go, go with a bang. A big one. The rug would hardly matter after I was gone.
Damn. My mind was wandering again.
"Where was I, McKay?" He just stared at me blankly. I remembered time was slipping away. Ah yes. I wanted to get rid of this moron before his poison took effect. "I have a reputation to uphold, McKay--"
"But if I poisoned you, and you die, what good does your reputation do you then?" he retorted. I blinked, slightly taken aback.
"In that case I see my motive as being revenge." Hence the big gun, I thought with satisfaction.
"Revenge? But I haven't done anything to you apart from organize a risky deal!" he whined.
"Which has fallen through, McKay."
"That's not true! You've been led astray--" he seemed to have found something to cling to. Some last vestige of hope. "Yes! It's the chairman! He's set you up! He just wants your shares! Go and ask him! You'll see there's no reason for me to have poisoned you!"
"D'you think me stupid? Who do you think I believe? You; a conniving little schemer, or the highly-respected chairman of Amalgamated Holdings? D'you think I'm going to leave this room to politely ask him whether he was telling the truth? And leave you on your own so you can get away? That won't work, you old schemer, you! No more schemes. This is the end!" Finally, McKay's nerve broke entirely. The pathetic man fell down onto the carpet, quivering. He was drooling, and begging me to let him live. The more I watched, the more I felt repulsed; the more I wanted to blast away his ample gut with my over-sized hand gun.
"Think of my family!" he pleaded, voice blustery with sorrow. "Think of my five year old daughter!"
"To hell with your daughter! Think of my pumpkin! My pride and joy! What will happen to her now? What happens to her when I'm gone?" McKay stared up at me, his expression one of fierce dismay.
"Do it for the sake of goodness! Spare me! Forgive me!"
"Do you really think I got where I am today through goodness?" In the hall way, the party was becoming rowdy. Things were getting out of hand with the host not around. I felt an urge to return. Rain pattering gently on the window panes held me back. The window drew me in the opposite direction. I needed to gaze upon you, pumpkin, just one last time before the poison took me from you. Cries were coming from outside. Bloody party games, no doubt. Revellers prancing about on my immaculate, if somewhat sodden lawn.
"You're mad, Kidron! You're insane!" cried McKay. "You're paranoid! I never poisoned you! That wine was untainted!"
"You think I can't taste the difference between my own house wine and your poisoned sample?"
"I'm telling you! Please! Mayb- Mayb- Maybe the bottle was left standing upright in your cellar and the cork dried out!" He blustered, desperately. There was a crash of thunder, and the room lit up for an instant. A storm had broken. I turned hopefully. Maybe I could snatch one last brief glimpse of you before I died.
"Mr Kidron! I think you were tricked by the Chairman of Amalgamated holdings! He just wants to have the shares I bought for you! He is the danger! Not me!" But I was hardly listening. Outside, the sky was dark again, and anger overcame me. I whirled round to face McKay.
"You liar! You confounded poisoner!" I cocked the hammer, and took aim. McKay huddled in a foetal position, crying; drooling over my Persian rug. "You've always hated me, McKay! You've been so envious! You think I hadn't noticed? You: the lowly scum feeding off me with your stupid schemes! This has been the last of them, McKay! Say your prayers!"
I pulled the trigger.
The gun gave an impotent click. Roger McKay burst out crying on my carpet, still curled up to protect himself.
"Shit. You lucky bugger. After all this time." I mumbled, looking down at the big, silver gun. It was empty. I knew I should have kept track of the number of bullets I'd fired over the years. I guess there'd just been one too many emergencies. But then, I remembered, I still had my smaller gun. It always lay on my window sill. I rushed to get it, head spinning, my footing not as sure as it had been in years past. I grabbed the sill to steady myself. There lay my trusty old weapon. My butler always made sure the magazine was full. It could not be empty.
As I stood there, a slash of lightening suddenly tore apart the heavens with a roar. Momentarilly, by beloved pumpkin patch was illuminated. Or, at least what remained of my prize possession was. Aghast; dismayed, I searched for you, my dear. I searched for my prize-winning pumpkin. I saw your sisters, like daughters to me. I saw to my horror, that people had mutilated them. Attacked them with knives and then set them alight. The dead bodies of my children lay in my garden, rain pattering gently down onto horrid smiles set deep into scarred faces. Raped and ravaged by revellers dancing in the rain, wearing multi-coloured dinner jackets and sodden dresses, wielding candles and my entire set of kitchen knives.
And then I turned to you, my sweet.

Now there is no more McKay. There is only you. My biggest prize thou art, my pumpkin. McKay the rogue doth hope to win my favour. He hath rescued thou from the patch and left thine fair countenance on my Persian carpet, as a symbol of his goodwill. Thou I cannot shoot, my sweet. I could never mar thy peachy skin. I lo--