A Song for the Dying. Stuart MacBride

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      ‘They all ran away when they heard Mr Smith was coming over.’

      A nod, then she wrapped an arm around thin air and pulled it towards the side of the house. ‘Come on, Mithter Thtripey…’

      The man watched her go, head on one side, a wide smile on his face. Then sighed. Turned back to me. ‘Now then, Mr Smith, Alec believes you’re looking for some spiritual guidance?’

      ‘Where is he?’

      He placed a hand against his chest and gave a small bow. ‘This one has the questionable honour of being Alec.’

      ‘OK…’ Shifty was right, the man was a nutter. ‘In that case: semi-automatic, clean, at least thirteen in the clip, and a box of brass. Hollowpoint if you’ve got it.’

      ‘Hmm, that’s a lot of spiritual enlightenment.’ He joined me at the Buddha, leaning back against the statue. ‘Tell me, Mr Smith, have you truly contemplated the consequences of your actions here today? Because Karma is watching, and it’s never too late to change one’s path.’

      ‘Have you got it, or don’t you?’

      He placed both hands against his chest, fingertips spread. ‘Take Alec for example. Accepting the Buddha into his life made a world of difference to Alec. Alec was a sinner – it’s true – and his life was hard and dark… Well, until Alec had his little incident and decided to let the teachings of the Buddha into his cold, cold heart.’

      I pushed off the statue and stood, resting most of my weight on the cane. ‘You’re going to have another “little incident” if you don’t make with a gun in the next fifteen seconds. And it better be clean – I find out it’s been used in a hit, or a Post Office job, or some sectarian drive-by shite, I’m going to come back and introduce you to your god personally.’