Still Midnight

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Many thanks to Peter, Jon, Jade and everyone who helped me get this done.

And to Stevo, Mum, Tonia and Ownie and Ferg for their support.

An orange Sainsbury’s plastic bag in full sail floated along the dark pavement. Belly bowed, handles erect, it sashayed like a Victorian gentleman on a Sunday stroll, passed a garden gate and followed the line of the low rockery wall until a sudden breeze buffeted it, lifting the fat bag off its heels, slamming it into the side of a large white van.

Air knocked from it, the bag crumpled to the floor, settling softly under the van’s back wheel.

The van was barely three weeks old, had already been stolen and bore false number plates. It was parked carefully at the kerb, still warm from the heat of the engine, and in six hours’ time it would be found smouldering in woodland, all forensic traces of the men inside obliterated.

Three men sat in the cabin, faces turned in chorus, watching the bungalow across the road.

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