His arm slithered silently from behind the garage where he stood in wait for Harry Broon to amble drunkenly home. He pressed his forearm into Harry’s adams apple. Harry gagged. His voice strangled in the cold night air. Charlie had decided he had thought about it enough. If he hung about the garages at closing time he could probably do Harry in one go. Little parasite. He knew Ruby wouldn’t be interested in him, little rat boy, with the scrawny little legs and twiggy arms. He played around with scenarios that had kept him awake last night. He’s nothing but a fly to be swatted out of the way. One last vermin to be eradicated. Everyone worried about germs these days he mused, people were weird. The world would be a cleaner place. Why is it always me who has to deal with the rubbish? Every Monday night he had to take the rubbish out. That stupid Mother of his. She enjoyed watching her son robotically doing his chores. She would smile, with her red lips and yellow teeth, some stained brown from smoking too many roll ups. Sometimes she would let out a witches cackle, the one she saved only for him. Life played out languidly in his mind. This rubbish might just give him a modicum of pleasure though. The strength of Charlie surprised Charlie sometimes. He allowed himself a little smile, whispering in Harry’s ear, his breath encompassing the little grey matter of his brain, seeing stars as he tried to free himself from Charlie. Charlie pulled a corkscrew from his pocket and held it in front of Harry. It was his favourite corkscrew. He’d been drawn to this one in a bring and buy sale for the scout group his mother had forced him to go to. She wanted him to mix she said. He loved the way the silver screwed like a barley sugar into the wooden handle, the patina worn over many years of happy party people, maybe toasting each other at life’s milestones. He liked how it sat between his middle and fore finger. It was a thing of tactile beauty as it nestled in his clenched palm. He loved this piece. “See this, lover boy?” he whispered in Harry’s ear, “I’m going to make a prediction, this is the last screw you will ever have.” He plunged the metal barley sugar into the softness of the other man’s neck and twisted. Charlie heard the gurgle on the back of Harry’s throat as he tried in vain to shout for help. It came from his mouth in a rasp he didn’t know he could be capable of. The warmth of his blood slowly flowing down his neck was the last feeling Broonie had, his death being quite slow. Charlie had no idea of how long the deed would take but enjoyed watching the life’s blood ooze out of this little runt’s body. Blood wasn’t as watery as water. He felt the consistency to be somewhere between water and the spunk at the pinnacle of last night’s masturbation ritual. (It was never just a wank). It was that little bit warmer, he felt it trickle through his fingers as he slowly pulled out the corkscrew. Broonie rasped his last breath. It disappointed Charlie that he could not look into the other man’s eyes as he died. If he could have done so his hard-on would have at least a destination, but he had to settle for the journey. It made him smile anyway. He could deal with it later. He hated violence just for the sake of it. It had to have a reason and a purpose. This time he had to admit to doing the right thing. The rest of the world had no idea the extermination of this particular vermin would be a good thing for mankind. Nobody else would have to know, only his number one man Arthur who he called upon to clean up. Arthur had been with him since school, had been in his corner when the video of Brogan Smith was doing the round of the school toilets. Arthur was solid. He knew how to tidy up.