Eye for an Eye

Open—’
    Sebbie let out a high-pitched shriek.
    Silence.
    He held his breath. Had they gone?
    Four quick raps from a knuckled fist. ‘Mr Hamilton?’ The voice sounded quieter, as if the landlord was concerned over Sebbie’s well-being. But he had met the landlord before, a bungling ape of a man with a bald head and hair like thin fur that protruded from the back of his shirt collar.
    ‘Go away,’ Sebbie shouted. ‘Just go away.’
    ‘Can’t do that. Under the terms of your lease agreement, I have the right to carry out an inspection of my property once a year. I am exercising that right.’
    Sebbie closed his eyes. ‘Go away.’
    ‘You have refused to acknowledge correspondence from my lawyers, and you are obliged to provide me access to inspect my property. Failure to do so will result in eviction proceedings being initiated against you.’
    Sebbie blinked at the hot sting of tears. This was the house he had been raised in, the only home he had ever known. ‘I pay my rent,’ he shouted.
    ‘That satisfies only one condition of your lease, Mr Hamilton. You need to satisfy other conditions by letting me perform my annual inspection.’
    ‘My parents lived here.’
    A burst of light lit the hallway as the letterbox opened, then darkened as a face lowered to it. Two dark eyes blinked then changed to a black hole of a mouth. ‘I couldn’t care less if the fucking Pope lived here,’ the mouth growled. ‘I own this property, and I’m coming in, even if I have to break this fucking door down.’
    ‘You can’t do that. I have rights.’
    The letterbox closed with a clatter then reopened. A folded sheet of paper was pushed through and fell to the floor. Sebbie did not have to look at it to know it was a copy of his lease agreement with the inspection clause highlighted.
    The black hole returned. ‘There’s your rights. You have the right to pay me rent. That’s what rights you have. And I have the right to get into my fucking property. Now open up.’ The letterbox clattered again, followed by a dull thud like a muted explosion.
    Sebbie covered his ears. ‘Fuck off,’ he screamed. ‘Fuck off fuck off fuck off.’
    Two eyes again. ‘Oh, I’ll fuck off all right, you little fucker. But I’ll be back. You’d better believe it. And I’ll be back to break this door down. So, sleep tight. And sweet dreams.’
    The letterbox snapped shut. Someone laughed.
    The door thudded. Once. Twice. Then silence.
    Sebbie suckled the quilt. The landlord would keep his word. He would be evicted. Of that he had no doubt. Then where would he go? What would he do? He had squandered almost all the insurance money from his father’s policy, and had not worked since being fired from Coulthart’s Engineering for poor timekeeping.
    Then it struck him. His life had been leading to this moment. His father’s death. His mother’s disappearance. His failure at university. His inability to hold down a job. His burgeoning hatred of life, of people, of all things beautiful.
    Of her.
    A low groan escaped his lips as he rocked back and forth.
    If he was going to lose, then so was she.
     
    Gilchrist realized he had switched off his mobile after talking to Sa. He powered it up and found he had missed two messages. One from Beth, thanking him for returning her car, and asking if he could drop the keys off at her shop. The other from ACC McVicar, ordering him to call at his earliest convenience, and leaving a number Gilchrist did not recognize.
    Gilchrist wondered if he should call McVicar right away. True to his word, Patterson had forwarded Garvie’s complaint to him – accompanied by a scathing report, no doubt – and McVicar had no option but to follow it up.
    Christ. It was really happening this time. He was about to be fired. Then what would he do? Take a part-time job at the driving range? Work the bar in Lafferty’s? Or nights for some security firm out of town? The injustice he felt he had suffered at the hands of Patterson more than irked him.
    He stared off along the street, seeing in the random movement of an unconcerned public the passing of the final hours of his own police career. His once promising sky’s-the-limit career had peaked at detective inspector and was about to be terminated with the stroke of a pen. For one crazy moment, he wondered if McVicar had called for some other reason, then saw there would be no saving grace. He could almost hear Patterson telling it how it is.
    After twenty-seven years