It was one of those flaccid non
descript mornings when the birds don’t even sing; here at the end of the world
the birds have long ago realised the futility of song. Toots was thinking too
loud to register the eerie silence, or notice the milky white sky that hung low
over the rooftops. He was on a mission and had fallen behind schedule. It was
imperative that he made it to Uncle Frank’s before Maimie showed up. It was the
same routine every morning; ever since the wife’s Uncle Frank had been
diagnosed Toots was over there every morning with his milk, rolls and
newspapers. He was the epitome of the Good Samaritan – everyone said so.
Frank’s
door was locked which meant Maimie had yet to show. Toots raised his eyes
heavenward and gave silent thanks to his guardian angel. He let himself in
using the key Frank had entrusted to him. The old man was fast asleep in his
room so Toots tiptoed to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. There
were two bottles of morphine linctus left, but they were both sealed. The third
bottle was obviously in the room with the old man. He dared not open one of the
new bottles for fear of discovery, so he tiptoed back to the bedroom with
larceny in his heart.
The
room was darkened but for the glow from the muted television at the end of
Frank’s bed; the fifty five inch Sony Bravia Frank had bought with his
insurance money dominated the room in its gigantic splendour. Toots coveted
that television – how good would the football look on that ultra high
definition screen, not to mention the movies? All the old man watched was news;
it was a shameful waste of technology.
Toots
spied the morphine linctus from the doorway. He made his way around the bed and
picked up the bottle and checked to see if any smart bastard had marked the
level in an effort to catch him out – safe. Toots had just begun to pour some
of the precious liquid into an empty pop bottle when the old man woke up.
“You
thieving wee bastard!” he rasped.
“No
Frank it’s no what it looks like” stammered Toots.
“Ya
dirty thieving junkie – get oot o’ here” the old man was finding his voice.
“But
Frank – I can explain...”
“No
need to explain” exclaimed Frank “I can see what’s been goin’ on.”
“I’ve
been sick Frank – I just need a wee drop – fur ma nerves.”
“Get
out of ma hoose!”
“But
Frank...”
“Get
out!”
The
old man was shouting now and Toots was sure the neighbours would hear and with
Maimie due to arrive at any moment Toots was in a serious bind. He’d worked his
arse off for this old bastard for the last six months with the tacit
understanding he’d be in the old man’s will; all that was now flushed down the
lavvy pan. The old man was getting louder and louder – Toots picked up a pillow
from the bed and attempted to muffle Frank’s voice. He muffled him long and
hard.
When
Maimie arrived Toots was standing over the old man crying. He hadn’t meant to
kill him he told himself – just shut him up. It was his own fault for being so
bloody-minded; the ungrateful old bastard. Maimie took Toot’s arm and lead him
away from the bed.
“When
did it happen?” she asked him.
“What?”
“When
did he pass away?”
“Just
there the noo.” replied Toots numbly “We were talking and he just stopped.”
“What
did he say?”
“What?”
“What
were his last words?”
“Oh
aye, he said I was to have his telly...”
