The doctors had been telling me for ages I was ‘stressed’, then I had what they called a ‘psychotic delusional breakdown’. That’s bollocks, though. I saw it as a breakthrough, as this was when I became aware of my calling in life – my one chance to do something good for the world and, more particularly, my wife, Mary. They didn’t see it like that though: they locked me up. I know how Jesus felt – betrayed!
I’d never really given karma too much thought before I went into hospital. In my job it can be hard to think about any kind of spiritual stuff – all the scumbags I’ve nicked made me see things black and white, right and wrong. I never even considered the science behind it until God spoke to me and filled me in on a few things. The role God and His angels have in making sure all is even in the world is huge. It is too much for the normal human brain.
My mission is to kill a mugger. Doing it will level things out and make sure that me and Mary are safe in retirement, which is fast approaching. I’ve been an exceptional copper over the years, arresting thousands of lowlifes, probably the reason God chose me as one of his Karma Agents.
The mistake I made was telling people what I know: the knowledge I was given is too much for the normal man to comprehend.
I thought people would understand. It isn’t like they know everything and every outcome of all the ways of the world, is it? No. They just think they do.
But I really do.
‘For your own safety, Fred,’ they’d said.
‘You’ll be out in no time,’ they’d said.
Mary said I would feel better and understand things when I had given my head a holiday.
Eight weeks they kept me in. Locking me up didn’t stop me getting my messages from God, though, He sends them in loads of ways: T-shirt slogans, the TV and the radio. No one can stop them coming, not even the liquid cosh they put in me. I refused the tablets, but several burly ‘nurses’ jumped me and injected it. Knelt on my head and everything. I’m told these are Devil’s agents hell bent on destroying my mission. I need to watch out for these.
My mate, Mike, wants me to stay on sick leave then retire when the time comes. I have other ideas, though. I WILL be donning my uniform one last time.
I got a message through the TV pointing out Simon, a hopeless drug addict and a thief. He used to nick cheese exclusively, but things changed when his parents – nice, good people – cut him off after he was booted out of St Paul’s Rehab for dealing. He's been given every chance to sort himself out and hasn't. He now mugs old people to get his fix.
I’d been walking one day thinking over the message about Simon when I saw a T-shirt slogan. It told me: Just do it. And I knew there was no mistake, no mix up. Simon has to die.
Today is the day it is going to happen.
‘Morning, love, alright?’ Mary asks as I come back in from the shed.
‘Good, ta, love; you?’ I reply. I’ve been out checking my uniform and badge are still where I left them. I keep that to myself. She doesn’t know, doesn’t need to.
‘Yeah, I’m fine. Have you remembered I’m off to the library, then meeting Karen for coffee? I’ll see you after lunch. Remember Mike is coming at one,’ Mary reminds me.
‘I have. Have fun, I’m going to clear the shed out,’ I say, kissing her on the cheek.
‘OK, ta-ta, love you,’ Mary says, taking her coat off the peg.
‘Love you, too,’ I say, watching her leave.
As soon as she gets in the street I think I see her on her mobile. Who would she be calling?
Stop worrying, Fred, she is not clever enough to have worked anything out. No one is clever like you, God tells me. Plenty of time.
Ten minutes later, having allowed time for her to return if she's forgotten something, I head to the shed to put on my uniform for the last time.
***
It feels good walking down the path wearing my uniform again, powerful. Not as powerful as I feel with the knowledge that I can speak to and hear God. I mean it must be Him that is talking to me through the TV and giving me all these signs. I have thought about it a lot and this is the only logical explanation. I've done too much good for it to be anyone else.
I'd have taken the car if it hadn't been hidden from me, so I have to walk. Luckily the estate I am heading to is only ten minutes away. I should move, really, but then again I shouldn’t have to. This is why God has come to me and given me these instructions. He doesn’t think it is fair, either.
As I am walking I feel elated. I buzz from knowing I have been chosen. Some of the mad people in the hospital tried to tell me they had been given missions, too, but they were all fucking bonkers and didn’t make sense. I saw through them straight away. Some were agents of the Devil placed there only there to hinder my work, some were just plain, honest-to-God nutters.
I think about how clever I have been, tricking all the shrinks into thinking that they were good at their jobs. This is just one more pointer to the fact I am working for a higher being than these losers. I doubt they even know I was spitting my meds out. Even if I didn’t, the messages kept coming. They just made me feel too muddled.
I know what I need to do and nothing is going to stop me.
I also think about how I am going to do the job. I have got my keys on me with the penknife attached – the little lock knife I used to use in the Scouts – along with the second police baton I nicked a couple of years ago. I took it just in case. I wasn’t being given messages then, but I must have known this day would come, so I just didn’t give it in one day and nothing was ever said. This is the thing about the police, nothing is as tight or organised as we are led to believe.
I have not been told how to finish the job yet. I suppose the less people that know, the better. Maybe I am being given license to do as I wish. I’ll know when I look into the scumbag’s pinned eyes. If I am allowed to do as I wish, I’ll make the bastard suffer as much as possible.
It doesn’t take me long to get to the Granbyhill Estate. I know which number Simon lives in, I have been there often enough. The time is 10.55. I shouldn’t think it will be long before he is up and about. I choose to wait in the underpass.
A couple of local yobs ride past on their stolen, hand-repainted bikes and make a few pig noises, but I give them a bit of the old crazy eyes and ask them to come over to me and repeat it and they fuck off.
As they go one of them is pointing to his body and then back to me, I think he clocked I have no stab vest on.
Someone walks past in a T-shirt that says Relax; there’s some other writing, but only the one word sticks out. That’s a message, things are still on track, everything is going as it should.
I was wrong. I have to wait another half hour, but I keep myself concealed and busy myself thinking about the future. Then it happens: I see the sorry piece of shit in the distance heading out of his block, dirty and scruffy as he always his. My mobile has rung a couple of times – Mike, probably checking that I’ll be in when he gets there. I haven’t answered it, though.
As Simon gets to the underpass and sees me, I see him hesitate. It must be the uniform that scares the piece of shit. If I were an old lady he’d have run towards me, eyes wide with excitement.
I stand my ground, eyeing him as he walks towards me. As he gets closer to the middle of the underpass I move towards him; he is getting edgy now.
‘What?’ he says, almost shitting his knickers. I can only assume this is because he’s scared of getting nicked before he gets his fix for the day. Well, he won’t need that shit where he’s going. If I knew more about it I would try and injure him fatally AND make sure he has to go through withdrawal. I don’t, though, and the only message I have got through so far is to finish him.
‘Come here, son,’ I say in a menacing tone. And the thick twat does.
‘What do you want? I’m busy,’ he tells me matter of factly.
‘Come here, I need to talk to you,’ I say, as he moves closer and closer.
With each step he takes I keep hearing the same thing.
Do him, save Mary, do him, save Mary. Like a tape on repeat.
I reach round to get my baton; his legs are going to be first.
‘Hang on a minute,’ he says, just an arm’s length away.
WHACK!
I crack him on the side of the knee and he’s down before he knows what's happened.
This is it, the moment I have been building up to for months, the moment that was nearly taken from me by the Judases in my life.
‘Argh, what you do that for?’ Simon whimpers from his face down position on the ground.
‘Turn over!’ I scream. ‘You mugging scumbag, you ain't going to harm my Mary now. TURN OVER!’
‘What the fu—’ he is saying, but I stop that with another belt to the kidneys. I know that hurt.
‘Argh!’
‘I said, turn over.’ I want to see the fear. The fear he has caused so many will now be coming back on him tenfold. This is good, better than expected.
He's going in the water once I've caved his head in, to double check that the bastard is dead.
As he turns, I see his eyes: the fear is there, I can see it.
Doof! He kicks me in the balls – hard. Before I can react and whack him again he has slid out from under me, he’s up and he puts the boot into my ribs, knocking the wind out of me. I’m down. Shit, he’s getting away. I need a message.
Fighting for breath and ignoring the infernal pain from my bollocks, I try and tune in to what’s coming through the channels. Then it comes: Get up and get after him. Time’s running out!
I'm up and after him as soon as I can catch a breath; the fucker has a head start, though. He is up the embankment and across the road before I am at the end of the bridge. I didn’t think a fuck-up like him would be as quick. Maybe his survival instinct has kicked in.
I cannot lose him – EVERYTHING depends on this!
Getting to the road, I see Simon jumping on a bus. That is far too public. I can't finish him there. The message comes and it’s a good un: I stand in front of the next car to come round the corner. As I stand there, I worry a little that it won’t stop, then I remember: I am looked after, it just won’t happen.
‘Hello, Officer, what can I do for you?’ the old dear in the car says. Typical – I am commandeering the car of Miss Daisy.
‘Car! I need your car, there’s a criminal on the loose!’
‘But, but, I—’ I don’t wait for her to finish and I help her out the rest of the way, well, drag her. Wrong, but God won’t mind as I am on His mission.
I'm in the car and after the bus like a shot, leaving the driver in the road wondering if her day can get much worse.
After couple of hairy overtakes I am behind the bus. I've got to get him fast or Mary will be home and see I'm not there.
After three little stops the bus waits to get into Greyfriars’ stop, which has a few lanes for buses. I know he'll get off here, me and Mary do all the time, you have to change here to get into town.
The radio’s on in the car. I hadn't noticed up till now, but as the message comes through I suddenly tune in to it: I hear You gotta roll with it, don’t let anybody stand in your way. And I know how to finish the job.
As the bus pulls into the stop I hang back a bit, I need a run up to finish the job. There’s a bit of a crowd and for a moment I worry about the other people there, but they’ll move; he has a knackered leg, he won't be able to. I hear You gotta roll with it again and I know that I’m right – the power will move the others for me.
Suddenly I have to stop thinking, as there he is.
With as much wheel spin as I can get out of a Fiat Punto, I bomb towards him. I mount the kerb, the crowd scatters, and Simon stands directly in front of me, right in my line of fire.
Just as I am about to hit him, someone runs from the bus and pushes Simon out of the way. I collide with the person that does and they fly over the bonnet. As I look in the mirror, I see Mary’s distinctive coat roll off the roof and on to the ground.
© Pete Sortwell 2024