SMITHEREENS OF DEATH 18 Manna Nigh

The night was black. Yellow carca.s.ses of danfos and molues littered the garage, rotting away in the dark. Two ghostly figures were perched on the roof of one of the dead buses pa.s.sing a tiny orange glow back and forth between themselves. The wispy grey clouds they were making melted fluidly into the empty sky leaving behind a thickly pungent smell that hung heavy in the air over their heads and soaked their weary rags.

The boys smoked on in pensive silence, the weight of their despair causing their hearts to sag, so that they looked bent with age, and very tired. They had sunk to the depths of penury.

Tonight, they were listening to the policemen carry on their business on the bridge above them like they did every Sat.u.r.day night. The policemen, three of them, in frail t-s.h.i.+rts, khaki shorts and rubber slippers, armed with only one old AK-47 rifle between them, and two torches. They reeked of cheap local gin and raw greed.

It was that witching hour when the owners of the night emerged from their holes and began heading for the clubs; so the policemen were having a good night. The boys could hear them tossing loud banter into the cars they stopped and getting crisp notes in exchange. Their expansive laughter filled their big mouths and spread throughout the night. The boys envied them so bitterly it began choking. . .

'. . .Park! Park!' the men were suddenly bellowing, in mad

unison like a pack of rabid local dogs. 'Stop!'
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The boys stopped smoking and sat up. They shook off the marijuana mist hanging low in their heads and c.o.c.ked their ears. 'PARRRRRK!'

A car screeched off.

The savage hounds took up the chase, scattering their footsteps all over the bridge, their big angry voices shaking the still night violently, 'Hey! Stop! I say stop!' 'BANG!' A shot exploded.

The feet gathered to a halt. The fleeing car swung sharply to the right and smashed through the bridge's metal rails. It plunged straight to the ground with a shattering crash. . . Then everything stopped; as if the night had been abruptly swallowed up in an abyss of silence.

The boys watched with hanging jaws — the car had dropped right in front of them. It was a Toyota Yaris. It lay on its back with its tyres up in the air, like a dead animal.

The boys didn't move; they just clutched their breath tight inside their chests. They waited, waited for the policemen — they would be down soon. . . But the silence stretched infinitely until the boys felt as if they would snap.

Then they heard it, floating on the silence, from the direction of the wreckage — a low moan; like somebody humming a sad love song. It sounded eerie, continuing in one long unbroken line.

They did not know how long they had been waiting but they suddenly realized that they couldn't just sit there listening to the song of agony while waiting for the policemen. They jumped down from their perch and made for the upturned car. They put their hands on its sleek body as if their touch would press the sound away. . . When it didn't go they removed their useless hands and stood back, staring at the car and listening to the moan, helplessly.

They were now certain that the policemen had dissolved into the night air; as if connected by a string of telepathy, the boys began to move together, at the same time. They forced open the door on the driver's side and pulled the single occupant of the car out. His moans swelled with every movement, threatening to burst into a wail.

One of the boys struck a match in his face — the fresh p.u.b.escent face was drenched with blood, as was his s.h.i.+rt.

'He-eeeelp meee. . .,' he whispered hoa.r.s.ely. They didn't hear. . . Their hands shook as they lifted the teenager's bleeding head to take off his gold necklace and other chains. One of them freed his feet of the suede loafers while the other searched the pockets of his jeans; he removed an iPhone and a Blackberry and the $500 in the boy's wallet.

'P-leeeeease.' The feeble groan of misery lapped at their heels as the boys scurried off into the night with their loot and were absorbed by the pitch-darkness.

The wounded teenager was now alone. The chill began to seep into his bones, filling him with fear. He closed his eyes, looking for a warm place in the blackness of sleep.

Three policemen on their way from the station were the first to come upon the body in the morning. The wallet beside it had the ID card of an American university inside; the owner was a secondyear student of Chemical Engineering. They also found a 9mm Glock pistol in the glove compartment of the car. . .

A curious crowd was already converging on the scene.