The Premonition
New writing
Once we nabbed him he was allowed to dress — Sunday best — tracksuit bottoms, budget trainers and a bright-blue polo shirt. He wasn’t the best endowed, which might explain a lot. Just some overweight traveller-type with a bulging neck. Hair shaved at the sides, eyes black as coal. Intimidating on a dark night against a defenceless girl aye, but up close; a pathetic ill-bred specimen with a ridiculous high-pitched, squeaky voice. Like a fatso on the hippy crack. Had some tics too, blinking and tossing his head nervously every few seconds, fidgeting and fiddling – but then I suppose he knew what he had done and what we were now going to do to him. The lads at the station were all geared up for this one. A year’s hard work and we had him. I read him his rights and he wouldn’t stop itching and scratching, or at least as much as a tightly-handcuffed man could. We did though allow him a shower but not until some forty-eight hours later. We could put up with the stink if it made him feel humiliated. It is a very small thing in the context of the abject misery this man inflicted but I am so glad that, in those moments, the last few minutes of freedom he would enjoy in his entire worthless life, he was not only very uncomfortable but also utterly devoid of dignity. It is still much better than he deserved. I think the families would have approved.