Ten To One newsletter - February 2014

This is the newsletter for the exciting collaborative writing project from Pigeon Park Press in which ten writers will create a novel together. This newsletter contains the latest chapters for you to read and provides you with instructions on how to vote for which writers (and characters) stay in the novel.

1) NEWS

2) HOW TO VOTE

3) LATEST CHAPTERS

1) NEWS

Eighth Round Results - The eighth round of chapters for Ten To One were shared 4 weeks ago and the public were asked to vote for their favourite characters/writers. The votes from Facebook and e-mail were combined with the judges' scores and Yasmin Ali, creator of the character Anastasia, was voted out of Ten To One. As part of the process, Yasmin has now been invited to join the panel of judges.

Although we still have a month until the writing of the Ten To One novel comes to an end, we're already gearing up for the next stage of the project: editing. But, as this is a collaborative novel, we want people to collaborate on the editing process. With this in mind, we've set up a beta-reader group/event on Facebook. The beta-reader page is the forum by which readers can discuss what they liked and didn't like about the Ten To One novel. There are already some questions and discussion points on there so get over there and get involved: https://www.facebook.com/events/653605708023136/

Ten To One author interview - Sue Barsby -

As part of the Ten To One project, we are interviewing each of the Ten To One authors and posting that interview on the Idle Hands collaborative writing blog. This month, Sue Barsby talks about writing groups, being a Ten To One judge and the tricky business of juggling writing and a family.

Click here: http://www.mrclovenhoof.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/ten-to-one-author-interview-sue-barsby.html

2) HOW TO VOTE

We will be posting the chapters, piece by piece on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/TenToOneNovel)  but the easiest way to read them all is in this e-mail newsletter. Once you have read all the chapters, you will need to go to our Facebook page which is https://www.facebook.com/TenToOneNovel. You will need to have a Facebook account to access this page.

We'd like you read the chapters and then 'Like' your favourites. You can vote for more than one chapter if you wish and we don't have a problem with that.

We will be handing out points (from 10 down to 2) to the authors/characters based on how many likes they get.

Oh, and do remember, we are now voting on chapters 9.2 - 9.3 (but not 9.1 because Yasmin's character, Anastasia, has already been voted out)

You have until midnight on 5th March to cast your vote.

Happy reading!

3) LATEST CHAPTERS

Below are the fifth round of chapters for Ten To One. If you have not read the earlier chapters, you can find them here:

Round 1 - http://archive.aweber.com/tentoone/6pfbY/h/Ten_To_One_newsletter_July_2013.htm

Round 2 -

http://archive.aweber.com/tentoone/4mFPo/h/Ten_To_One_newsletter_August.htm

Round 3 -

http://archive.aweber.com/tentoone/9fDQz/h/Ten_To_One_Newsletter_September.htm

Round 4 -

http://archive.aweber.com/tentoone/8As.z/h/Ten_To_One_newsletter_October.htm

Round 5 -

http://archive.aweber.com/idlehands/PatLD/h/Ten_To_One_newsletter_Late.htm

Round 6 -

http://archive.aweber.com/tentoone/O.JzH/h/Ten_To_One_newsletter_December.htm

Round 7 - http://archive.aweber.com/tentoone/5S6CX/h/Ten_To_One_newsletter_January.htm

Round 8 - http://archive.aweber.com/tentoone/9JLMn/h/Ten_To_One_Newsletter_Late.htm

And, now, round 9...

9.1 - Anastasia

Andras froze at the mention of Tristan Tzara, Emil and Henric looked at one another in bewilderment.

"Tzara..." was all Andras managed to say.

"Miss Boty," came the Russian voice from the telephone, "Tell me, are you in difficulty? We know where you are. We can be with you very quickly."

"Mr. Kaletsky," said Anastasia, "I have no idea what is happening here, but Andras and his men are armed and reckless. They killed a child. I have no doubt that they would kill anyone without a second thought."

"Tzara," said Andras once more.

"Tristan Tzara," said Kaletsky, "is a brother to me. More to the point, he is not foolish, like you. I have instructed one of my people to call him immediately. Would you like to speak to Tzara?"

"No," said Andras, his voice stronger. "Pune jos cuțitul. Stai în spate!"  Emil lowered the knife slowly, and released his grip on Vassil's hair.

"At last your brain is working," said Kaletsky. "Now, Miss Boty. Why are you in such a place? What do you want with these men?"

"Robert said you bought my triptych," said Anastasia, "the girl, the angel on the central panel..."

"I have heard the news," said Kaletsky. "It is sacrilege. To desecrate beauty, art. You believe this Andras killed the child? Why would he do that?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out.  Why he gave the instruction to destroy my work" said Anastasia.  "There must be justice for Gracie Greenwood. And I want these men to leave me alone."

Andras gestured to his men to move away from Anastasia and Vassil. They did so with surly insolence, shuffling back, gazing at their weapons as if willing the objects to countermand the instructions of their boss.

"Andras," Kaletsky's voice was low and steady, its menace icy. "Why did you kill the child?"

"I did not kill her," said Andras. "The child was just unlucky. We needed to frighten the woman, the artist. She was asking too many questions. "

"And you did not ask enough questions," Kaletsky said. "You are in England. The European Union. Tzara's money must now be clean, not rinsed with blood, as in the old days."

"This has nothing to do with Tzara," said Andras, "Nothing. It was a question of business. She was in the way," said Andras.

"Miss Boty, or the child?" said Kaletsky. "It does not matter. Miss Boty wants justice. I am her patron. I will see that she gets it."

"She wants justice, does she?"   In one swift move Andras reached out a hand, seized Emil's pistol, and put the gun to Henric's head. Henric's execution was instant. "There," Andras said, "Justice.  Emil, du-te înăuntru și să se ocupe cu Emil."  With that he passed the gun to Emil, and gestured towards the factory with an upward flick of his chin.

Anastasia took a step towards Andras, and the lifeless body of his henchman. "How dare you speak of justice?" she said. "You killed a man before my eyes. This is barbaric."

Vassil reached out a hand towards Anastasia, seizing her elbow. "Ana, do not provoke them further. You know the truth now. That must be enough."

"Your friend," Kaletsky's voice declared, "he is right about one thing. These men will not face English justice. The important question now is your safety. You must go, Miss Boty. My helicopter is in the air. Get to the city, and you will be taken to safety."

"Go," said Vassil, "Please."

"Dacă se întâmplă ceva cu ea, ești terminat toate. Ai înțeles?" said Kaletsky.

"Da," said Andras.

"Miss Boty," said Kaletsky, "you can be assured that no harm will come to you if you leave now. You have my word, and that of Tristan Tzara."

"I am grateful, Mr. Kaletsky," said Anastasia, "but I still don't understand why any of this happened."

"Keep the line open," said Kaletsky, "and leave. My people are investigating this matter. We have connections all over Europe. You will have your answers soon."

"Go, woman," said Andras. "You have been lucky this time."

Anastasia stepped away, but did not dare turn her back to the scene.  She looked at Andras, his whole body a throb of steroidal aggression.  Henric, a slumped carcass with a nimbus of blood. Emil, emerging from the factory, a length of bloodied wire in his hands. Then she saw them. Two other men, supporting the crumpled figure of a third. Or were they carrying yet another corpse?

"What do you want us to do with Bobby?" shouted one of the men.

"As before," Andras called back, not taking his eyes off Anastasia. "Can't you see," this time addressing his words directly to Anastasia, "we have work to do here."

At the end of the car park the two men tossed the figure they had been carrying, living or dead, into the boot of a vehicle.

"Vassil," said Anastasia, "are you coming?"  Vassil took a step towards her, but Andras blocked his path.

"You work for me," said Andras to Vassil. "You're going nowhere. I have just lost one man to please your girlfriend. You will do his job now." With this Andras used the toe of his boot to nudge Henric's inert form.

Vassil gazed across at Anastasia. His face had the opacity of a man resigned to his fate. He shook his head slightly. He lowered his gaze.  For an instant.

The noise burst upon the scene seconds before the light, the one deafening, the other blinding. The floodlight raked the factory site once, was extinguished, and the helicopter rose up again, to circle far overhead.

"Ana, darling?" Robert's voice issued from the phone in Anastasia's hand.

"Did you hear that?" said Anastasia.

"It's Kaletsky's helicopter," said Robert. "No distance at all from Cambridge."

"Is Kaletsky still there?" said Anastasia.

"I am," said Kaletsky. "My men cannot land where you are, but they can take out the gangsters who are threatening you if they have to."

"Andras," shouted Anastasia. "I have an army on my side. Let Vassil leave with me."

At that the helicopter dipped again, its rotors slicing powerfully through the air overhead.  The floodlight was trained upon a refrigerated lorry in the loading bay. Two shots rang out, popping the heavy duty tyres as easily as balloons.

Andras spoke, but his words were inaudible. His gesture was not. Pushing Vassil roughly in the back, he released the young Bulgarian to Anastasia's care. Vassil ran towards her, and together they backed out of the car park and sprinted down the lane towards the waiting taxi.

"What the fuck's going on here?" said the Scotsman, as they climbed into his cab. "Did you see that? Like Apocalypse fucking Now!  Are the Americans about to napalm the fens?"

"Not the Americans this time," said Anastasia, "the Russians."

"Jesus Christ," said Shafique, "and I thought the Cold War was over."

Anastasia looked at the phone in her hand. "I'm in the taxi now, Robert. I'll tell you if they come after us."

"Apparently the helicopter's going to follow you. There's a helipad in Skegness, at the Water Park. Get the cab to take you there directly," said Robert.

"Aye," said the cabbie.

9.2 - Mungo

Mungo and Mabel exited the factory by a side-door and collapsed onto the ground after putting some distance between themselves and what almost became their crypt. The storage shed still burned behind the factory but with waning ferocity, as if its bloodlust had faded now that its prey had escaped.

Mabel was in bad shape. She was bloodied and bruised and those were just the visible injuries. Mungo himself was no better. His nose - his real nose - had been broken by the butt of Skender's handgun and his lungs were clogged with smoke, like an overstuffed vacuum bag. He panted and wheezed which is why Mabel spoke first.

"I didn't think you would come. Why did you?"

Mungo hacked up some more smoke before replying. "These past twelve years, you have never given up on me. I thought it was time to return the favour."

"Thank you," said Mabel, squeezing his hand. "I always knew there was a knight in shining armour under that clown suit. I'm just sorry you got dragged into this mess."

Mungo shook his head firmly. "No, I should be apologising to you. When we last spoke on the pier, I said some things that I shouldn't have. All this time, I have been trying to put the circus behind me but that was selfish. I should not have turned my back on you. I should have been there for you long before today."

"It's okay," said Mabel. "I know why you wanted to forget. We lost our home, our livelihood, our family -"

"Mabel," said Mungo, but she continued.

" - and it hurts to remember all of that. I shouldn't have forced you to remember -"

"Mabel, I started the fire."

Mabel stopped and stared at him. A grave silence fell on both circus survivors, as if the world was holding its breath. Mabel's face appeared to be searching for an expression. Her mouth twisted into a dozen different shapes as she formed and unformed potential responses on her lips. All the while, Mungo became distinctively aware that Mabel held Skender's handgun.

Eventually, her shoulders drooped and the world exhaled.

"I know Mungo," she said. "I have always known it was you."

"You did?!"

"I saw it all. I was only sixteen at the time so I was too scared to intervene but I heard the things your father said to you and I saw him strike you with his cane. I would have fired that cannon too."

"But why did you never say anything?"

"I saw what your guilt did to you. If I told you that I knew, I feared your guilt would erupt and you might do something rash, like taking a long walk off a short pier."

Mungo remained quiet. Suicide had crossed his mind several times in the year following the fire but he was too much of a coward to take his own life. And everything looked better after a bottle of Wonky Donkey cider.

"Besides," continued Mabel, "if you knew that I knew then you would never be able to look me in the eye again. You would push me away even more than you have done these past twelve years."

"But why would you want to be around me? I cost us our home, our way of life, the lives of our friends and family."

Mabel wiped a tear from her eye. "Someone had to be there for you, to keep an eye on you, even just from time to time. Who do you think kept your hat overflowing with coins? A drunken layabout clown is not as entertaining as you might think. My tips from Sammy's and the Sand Castle always went in your hat so you would have money for food. You may have spent it on chips and donuts but junk food is better than no food. I couldn't have you wasting away."

"But why? I didn't deserve your grace."

"You watched your father die," said Mabel. "I was not about to do the same."

The silence returned.

Mungo puzzled over that one. "What do you mean by that?"

"Do you remember my mother, Rózsi?"

"Yes, I remember. Rózsi and I were very close once upon a time."

"More than close, as I hear it."

That was true enough, thought Mungo. They had had a fleeting romance in his early days of the circus. He was in better shape back then. Those were the years when he had to fill out his clown suit with padding, a need which has passed in recent times.

"It was a long time before she met your father, Thoros the magician," Mungo said. "And besides, our relationship only concerns your mother and me."

"Wrong on all three counts," Mabel said. "It wasn't that long before she met Thoros, in fact there was quite a bit of overlap. Second, Thoros wasn't my father. Thirdly, your relationship with my mother is very much my concern."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Yes," Mabel said. "My mother told me on my sixteenth birthday, a few months before the fire. I should have told you before then and I certainly should have told you before now. It was why I could never give up on you."

Mungo was speechless, his mouth hanging open like the plastic trout in his briefcase.

Mabel squeezed Mungo's hand again. "You are my -"

A gunshot fired in the woods behind them and they both ducked out of instinct. Mungo and Mabel looked at each other and reached the same conclusion. "Popescu!" Their fellow circus survivor, the artist formerly known as Marku the Magnificent, was still at the mercy of the madman Mihai.

"We'll talk about this later!" said Mabel, dragging Mungo to his feet.

"Very well," he said. "Let's put the circus troupe back together."

Two more gunshots fired. Mungo and Mabel followed these sounds deep into the woods, pushing their way through the thick trees. The two circus survivors brushed the branches aside with increasing desperation before finally bursting out into a moonlit clearing.

The moonlight was so white and dazzling compared to the darkness of the trees that Mungo struggled to immediately interpret the tableaux he had stumbled upon. At first glance, it looked like Mihai was bowing down to Popescu in a state of genuflection, as if he were praying to the old man or waiting to receive a knighthood. Popescu stood awash in a bright aura, standing strong and proud, with one arm outstretched towards his worshipper.

But then Mungo's eyes adjusted to the moonlight and the aura dimmed, allowing Mungo to see the truth of the scene. Popescu was a broken man, with a crooked jaw and one arm hanging limply by his side. His other arm was pointing a gun at Mihai who lay crumpled on his knees. Mihai was in equal disrepair. His face was like a sack of hammers, as if the bones underneath had been rearranged and his skin was the only thing holding them together. He glared at Popescu with utter vehemence but the kidnapping thug was held in place by the threat of Popescu's gun. Mungo realised it was the same gun that Mihai had used on him outside Sammy's cafe.

The third person in the clearing was -

'Nell!'

'Mabel! You're alive!

Mungo stood aside as the two friends embraced. Nell immediately began to check Mabel's injuries so Mungo took her place at Popescu's side.

Popescu raised his eyebrows at Mungo's appearance but quickly returned his gaze back to the thug he held at gunpoint. "Mungo! It has been a long time."

"Hello Marku," Mungo said. "I'm told you call yourself Popescu now."

"I was always Popescu," the old man sighed. "Marku was just a chance to escape from myself for a while. As Marku, I could pretend I was someone else, someone without such horrors in his past. Marku allowed me to forget the past." Popescu nodded towards Mihai. "But the past has now caught up with me."

At this, Mihai spat at Popescu. "You better kill me măgar whilst you have the chance because I will never stop coming for you. I won't forget, I won't forgive, I won't rest until I stand over your cold lifeless corpse."

Mungo took a step towards Mihai. "You don't have to live like that."

"Stay out of this clovn!"

"No, listen to me," said Mungo. "I have been running from my past for a long time and you have been holding on to yours. We cannot live like that. We are both letting the past hold sway over us, tugging at our strings like a puppeteer. It is better that we accept the past for what it was, however terrible and upsetting. The past can never be changed so let's cut those strings. Instead of living for yesterday, let's live for today. Better yet, let's live for tomorrow."

Mungo's voice trembled as he thought back over the past twelve years, rotting on his bench, ruining his body, being of no help to anyone, not even himself. "I have gone nowhere for so long now. It is time to start over. You should too."

"But this man deserves to die!" Mihai said. "You don't know what he did!"

Mungo shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I was also tormented in the past and I had revenge on my tormentor. I watched him die at my own hand and, believe me, it brought me no satisfaction and it cost me everything I held dear." He glanced briefly at Mabel. "Well, almost everything. But you will find no peace in revenge. It will not bring anyone back."

Perhaps Mihai realised the truth in these words because tears ran down his misshapen face. He then tilted his head back and howled at the stars. It was such a terrible sound that it awoke the seagulls for miles around like a seismic surge, sending them spinning into the air in a bout of feathered flustered madness. It was a howl of grief, of rage, of disgust at the sheer audacity of the universe. Time could not be altered, fallen friends could not be revived and justice would never be balanced. It was a cry that all those gathered in the clearing - Mungo, Popescu, Nell, Mabel - understood only too well.

When Mihai had finished his scream, he rocked forwards, sobbing violently. He pounded his fist against the soil, punishing the earth for all the monstrosities it allowed, until his strength left him and he remained a shuddering shadow of his former self.

Popescu spoke. "Listen to the clovn. Go live your life, Mihai. We are only here for a brief spell. Take it from an old man. I am truly sorry for what I did. I tried to help the children as best I could. I wished them no harm back then and I wish you no harm now."

Mihai stared back through bloodshot, teary eyes. Mungo saw him frown but could not tell whether it was through anger or confusion or sadness.

"If you want proof," Popescu continued, "then here, take the gun -"

Mungo, Nell and Mabel watched in amazement as Popescu tossed the gun and it landed in the leaves in front of Mihai.

"- do what you will."

9.3 - Nell

The adrenaline had run its course, and Nell's face was throbbing where the butt of Mihai's gun had connected with her jaw. Her left knee was aching too, and her knuckles were sore from throwing a poorly aimed punch at Mihai. She clung to the simple pain. It kept her in the moment.

Even after Brian's death, there had been a nagging sensation that she had never hit rock bottom, that if she wasn't careful, she would stumble over something even worse. Like a five year old who burned to death. Or a man so damaged, his life was reduced to a living nightmare fueled by revenge. Nell squeezed her swollen fingers together until spots danced in front of her eyes. The death of a friend who had lost absolutely everything, yet still managed to carry on.

A friend who stood beside her looking very much alive. If her mind was playing tricks, conjuring Mabel from her grave, why was she so badly bruised? The Mabel she knew was a phoenix, gold and crimson and triumphant over the flames. The woman beside Mungo was badly singed.

Nell's head snapped around at the sound of a safety being released. Mihai swayed on his feet. He raised the gun, but Mungo was already there, shoving Popescu aside. A shot went off, and someone screamed. It might have been Mabel. Nell didn't have time to look before the second shot rang out. This time, it was Mungo who screamed. He fell to the ground, hand pressed against his chest, fingers already damp with blood. Nell snatched the gun from where it hung limply in Mihai's grasp and reengaged the safety. The young man trembled as if he could hardly support his own weight any longer.

Popescu collapsed to his knees beside Mungo. She nudged him aside and knelt down. "Hey Mungo," she murmured. Her own pulse pounded in her ears, but she allowed her training to take over. "Are you with me?" He groaned. Nell snatched some gloves and a small pair of shears from the front pocket of her backpack. "I'm going to cut your shirt away so I can see where the bullet entered. Mabel?"

"Yes?"

"I need you to come find the gauze pads in my bag. I'm going to need them right away."

Mabel moved slowly toward them, her eyes trained on Mungo. "Is he dying?"

"Mabel," Nell said, as evenly as she could manage, "I really need you to help me right now. I know you've been through a lot, but you can do this." She kept her eyes on the fabric as she carefully snipped around the spot where Mungo was struggling to keep pressure on the wound. "Mungo, how are you doing? Can you tell me how you feel?"

"Like somebody fucking shot me," he whispered.

Popescu had begun rocking back and forth. Nell got the feeling he was praying, although she couldn't hear half of what left his lips. She glanced over her shoulder, but Mihai was gone. Fuck.

She accepted the pads from Mabel and tried to remain completely focused on her patient. "Okay, Mungo, I'm going to move your hand now." She gently pried his fingers away and slipped the gauze in its place. She layered a few more then held them firmly in place. "The good news is it looks like the bullet went through higher, in the shoulder, and not the chest."

"The bad news?" he asked, as Nell checked his pulse.

"We're in the fucking woods."

"Oh," he tried to nod. "Of course."

"And Mihai's disappeared," Nell said, glancing around the clearing.

"Does he have the gun?"

"Not anymore." Nell nudged Mabel with her elbow. "I have another set of gloves in my bag. Can you put those on?" Mabel fumbled in the pocket and pulled them out. "Okay. You're going to come over here and put pressure on the wound for me."

"I don't think I can do this," Mabel said. Her hands were shaking.

"You can," Nell said. She pulled her own gloves off and bundled them up. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a HeatReady blanket and wrapped it around her friend with an awkward hug. "I need to get help."

"What about Mihai?" Mungo wheezed. Nell pull off her sweatshirt and tucked it around his torso. She ran her hands over his legs, but he didn't seem to be losing heat as fast as he could have been.

She glanced around. "I don't know. I don't think he could have gotten far in the shape he's in."

"What if he comes back?"

Nell held out the gun. "Would you feel better if I left this with you?"

"Definitely," Mungo said. "Mabel, take the gun."

She just shook her head and reached under the blanket to pull out another pistol. "Needed something to replace the snake you lost me."

"What snake?" Nell asked.

Mungo glanced at Mabel, then at Nell, and shook his head. "Nothing," he said after a minute. "Nothing to worry about."

Nell looked down at her little circus of three -  all sharp edges and illusion, they were. It would be great not to worry. That would mean none of them had snuck past her defenses, that she was free to assess this situation professionally and not feel torn between getting out from under the trees to where her stupid phone might actually have a signal and staying right here where she could keep an eye on them. She rested a hand on Mabel's shoulder. "I'll be right back. As soon as I know help is on the way, I'll be back. I promise."

Before she could consider another reason to delay, Nell took off, phone in hand. When she'd followed Mihai in, it had taken her at least fifteen minutes, but at full speed, even with her knee twinging, she made it back to the parking lot in less than half the time.

She reached the end of the path and paused, gasping for air. It was quiet here, on this strip of dirt, and a part of her just wanted to sit down at the border between the horror behind her and the reality ahead. Instead, she dialed 999 as she tried to catch her breath. She didn't relish the idea of explaining away the opportunities she'd had before this to call the police instead of trying to Nancy Drew this goddamned disaster, but Mabel was alive. That's what mattered. That and getting a certain pain-in-the-ass detective out here to sort this shit out.

The sound of a door slamming across the parking lot made pick up her pace. "Bobby?" she called. "That you?"

"I'm afraid not." The man turned around. Half of his face was wrapped in bandages, and it occurred to her that this must be the man Bobby had been looking for. And apparently not found.

She heard a voice on the other end of the line pick up. "Emergency - what service do you require?"

"Ambulance and police-" Nell managed before the man smacked the phone out of her hand.

"You're with Bobby Thomas then?"

"No."

"Don't lie to me. I've had a very bad day." The smile that crossed his face was an ugly one. "Only good thing about it was that I killed that bastard." He watched her carefully. "If you knew him at all though, you'd know he deserved it."

"He certainly seemed to rub people the wrong way." The rational part of her brain told her to run, but without a phone, she would be counting on clearly absent luck to find help.

"Isn't that the truth," he sneered. "Don't know what you think you're doing, but this is private property, and I have plenty of room back here for a friend of Bobby's." He held up his key fob and the boot popped open behind him. 

Andras reached into his jacket, but Nell's gaze was locked on the trunk of his car. In one fluid motion, the less than dead Bobby rose to his knees, leveled his own gun, and shot Andras in the back before the man could even turn around.

"Fucking knob," Bobby said, staring down at the body. "Thought I'd kill myself if I had to listen to him go on much longer." He tumbled out onto his knees with a grunt.

Nell backed away. "Jesus fuck Bobby. He said you were dead." She could understand the man's mistake - Thomas looked barely better than a corpse.

Bobby examined his torn pants and the blood stains on his shirt. "Worse for the wear, maybe." He nudged the body in front of him. "Can't mess around, you want a man dead. Bullet in the skull does the trick in my experience." He reached out, groaning, and grabbed Andras' legs. "Give me a hand with this?"

She kept her gaze focused just above the carnage. "Bobby..."

"No need to be squeamish. It's nothing that didn't need to be done," he said, heaving the body up into the boot himself. Bobby picked up Andras' keys and grinned at her. "About time I got out of town, don't you think?"

"You've killed him." It couldn't be that simple though - a single shot and a man became meat? There had to be a moment in between that stretched on and allowed the possibility of redemption, of survival.

"He might not be dead yet." Bobby shrugged. "Not your problem, at any rate."        

He really didn't, or couldn't, care what he'd so easily stolen. Nell wanted to reverse time and stand in front of another man who thought so little of life. She wanted to destroy the destroyer. Instead, she swallowed hard. "How do you figure?" There was no undoing any of it. There was only surviving.

He dropped a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it tightly. "Because I'm telling you not to make it your problem." Bobby gave her a little shake. "He was a bad man. This is no less than he deserved." He bent down and retrieved her phone. He held up to his ear for a minute, then tossed it to her. "Sounds like it's for you." She wrapped her fingers around the phone and pushed it against her ear.

"Ma'am? Are you still there?"

Nell watched the car peel out of the lot. "I'm here."