A Clattering of Jackdaws
The Birdwatcher Series, Volume 2
European P. Douglas
Published by European P. Douglas, 2020.
While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.
A CLATTERING OF JACKDAWS
First edition. July 30, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 European P. Douglas.
Written by European P. Douglas.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 1
FLICKERING CANDLELIGHT danced on the old fashioned red and white checked tablecloth at Vito’s Italian restaurant in Baltimore, Maryland. Carson Lemond sat alone in a corner booth enjoying his tagliatelle and prawns, musing over his day’s success. His inside jacket pocket bulged with a heavy wad of cash, and he tapped it every couple of minutes to be sure it was still there.
Collecting this money would be the clincher, he hoped, in his attempt to get in with the Castino Family in the city. Collecting a debt on their behalf would surely be a step closer to this. Assuming they didn’t somehow get offended by his help. He pushed this negative thought away.
Ever since he left school, in his graduation year, Lemond had been in awe of the powerful men he saw running things in Baltimore’s inner city. Seeing their wealth, the gold watches and the cars they drove ruined him for normal work and he felt he’d never be happy until he had what these men had.
To date, eight years later, Lemond was not much better than a street punk, robbing the odd liquor store or holding up an elderly couple for their wallets and handbags. He barely made enough money as a criminal to pay the rent and feed himself; it was a far cry from the opulence he dreamed off.
But all that was going to change now. Carson Lemond had just done a favour for the Castino Family and they would repay him with some more work, he was sure of it. That would be the real start of things for him. Lifting his glass, he took a sip of wine as if to seal the deal in his mind. Carson Lemond had never felt better.
That was, until a few minutes later when strange gurgling noises began to erupt in his stomach. At first, it was just some odd noises, sounding like liquids squeezed from one tube to another in his gut, but as they grew louder and Lemond started to become a little self-conscious of them, a sharp pain suddenly gripped him and he dropped his cutlery and clutched his stomach.
The few patrons who shared the restaurant with him this evening looked up at the sound but quickly went back to their own meals and conversations. Lemond slid out of the booth, the pain growing with the movements and was just about to scurry down the hall to the bathroom when he remembered his jacket. He couldn’t leave that there; he’d worked too hard to see this opportunity slip through his fingers by losing the money for the Castino's. Leaning across the table, the need for the toilet multiplying by ten at this, Lemond grabbed his coat and pulled it to his side before hobbling down the hall, fully sure everyone in the place was watching him and probably snickering behind his back. That didn’t matter right now, all he wanted was the toilet and then he would give Vito a good telling off about his food doing this to him.
The urinal cake odour tugged at his throat as he went into the bathroom. It was a rank smell and one that Lemond didn’t know was much of an improvement over stale urine. A huge man was at the sink washing his hands and he looked to Lemond and smiled in the reflection of the mirror. Lemond grimaced and made his way to the single stall door.
“If you have a happy life, I wouldn’t go in there!” the man by the sink said jovially, still with his back to Lemond and looking at him through the mirror. Lemond grinned, appreciating the heads up- this guy must have done a real number on the bowl- but knowing he had no choice but to go in and ease his own stomach cramps.
“No choice, I’m afraid!” Lemond called back as he pushed the cubicle door. It gave easily enough, though it creaked heavily on old uncared for hinges. Lemond had taken a step inside as the door was still in motion before he noticed the blood running to the floor. He looked up and was greeted with the sight of a man sitting on the toilet bowl, his throat slashed and his abdomen opened up, and blood flowed freely from his wounds.
Lemond’s own pain was instantly forgotten as his brain tried to make sense of what was in front of him,
“What the fuck?” he managed to say and at that moment he felt a strong hand turn his shoulder and it was the man who’d been washing his hands.
“I told you not to go in there!” he said like it was the punchline to some sick joke, looming over Lemond and with a pressing movement Lemond suddenly felt something in his hand. The man stepped back and pushed Lemond who slipped on the rapidly reddening tiles and fell onto the lap of the dead man.
He pushed himself away in horror and as he did, he saw in his own hand a huge knife, no doubt what had been used to kill the man. It was then Carson Lemond knew just how bad things were for him.
The dead man in front of him was none other than Jeff Suchet, the same Jeff Suchet Lemond had beaten that afternoon to get the wad
