The Smell Of Petrol (Prologue)

The man looked side to side, before reaching into his waistcoat pocket. He took out a note and held it between his index and his middle fingers. In his other hand, he held a burning cigar, which filled the dark room with light and smoke. He told Mr Firdon the note was a business card and moved his hand on top of Mr Firdon’s. The bank note slipped through his hand like sand, producing a sly grin from Mr Firdon, once he had felt it was actually a bank note. The man leant forward and shook Mr Firdon’s hand like a friend, masking the business side of things. Mr Firdon didn’t know this man’s name; he kept a secret, calling himself, ‘your friend’ and ‘your only hope’. Secretly, Mr Firdon thought this man was scum, and he didn’t want anyone knowing he was associated with him.

Mr Firdon turned slowly, making the floorboards creak eerily; and then he walked slowly and professionally out of the room. As the door closed behind Mr Firdon, the man started laughing silently and then he narrowed his eyebrows and walked to the door as well, scuffing with his black shoes on the concrete. He peered out into the world, and saw nothing but silhouettes of cats chasing mice in the dark night. He headed in the same direction as Mr Firdon, staying as quiet as he possibly could.  He passed another man, who shuddered in his presence. He was a scary man, but it wasn’t his presence that caused this, it was the knife he was pulling out from his collar.

He started running, his coat flapping behind him. His knife was in his right hand and he had chucked his cigar away, littering the dark world even further. He came out to the main road where it was lighter. Street lights were flickering on and off, breakfast places were opening up for a four o’clock start and birds were making their morning calls. It was a world away from the dark room and alleyway the men had been in earlier.

Mr Firdon opened his car door swiftly and sat himself down. Behind a bin, the man was watching coldly. He had a plan, but it wasn’t going to be easy to pull off. He waited for the right time then he ran to the back of the car. Firdon closed his door and started humming to himself. His car was a jet black Subaru and he had bought it two days ago.  Things were going great for him at the moment. He had found a new girlfriend, he had previously learned how to cook good food and he had even got a promotion from his job at a magazine.
He had also, started doing business with the man. No one knew about this man. He worked alone, finding ways to con people out of their money. He was a con artist, and he was bad.

Mr Jojadgh jumped to the ground; surprisingly fast for a man of his size. He stuck his fat arm under the car and sunk his knife into the engine, just as Mr Firdon put his keys into the car and expected the car to start rumbling.

Nothing happened. He turned the key again, but still, nothing happened. The man had by this time, worked his way over to the passenger side of the car. He was hunched over, hidden from sight. Mr Firdon tried the key one more time, before banging his hands repeatedly on the steering wheel in frustration.
“Two days!” He exclaimed to himself. “Two days!”

 He slumped back in his seat and then tried the key again. This time, he had reached boiling point. Angrily, he opened and got out in a huff. He wandered over to the bonnet and opened it up. It was all fine, everything was okay it appeared. The bonnet was lifted up, obstructing Mr Firdon from seeing the car. This was the opportunity the man had been looking for. He got up quietly and opened the passenger seat door, then sat himself down and simply waited.

Mr Firdon had no idea he was in there, as he was still looking into his bonnet. He gave up, and grabbed the bonnet door ready to pull it down. As he brought it down, he spun around to face the opposite direction. The edge of the sun was clear over the horizon, the sky was a beautiful pink and the smell of bacon and egg burgers filled the air. Mr Firdon sat on his bonnet and sighed. He looked at all the cafes opening up and wished he’s brought his wallet to pay for a burger.

The man had told him to bring no identification. If they were found, he didn’t want anyone knowing who they were. Mr Firdon wandered back to the door of his car, watching the sun come over the trees, unaware of the man’s presence.

He sat down in his seat, still looking at the sun through his front window.
He smelt petrol. He glanced to the passenger seat, then, in shock, did a double take. He gasped and jumped back to his side window, his hands looking for something to grasp.

It wasn’t this man that had shocked him; it was the knife he was holding. Dripping in petrol, its mere blade was enough to make a grown man cry.

“Hello,” said the man, smiling and catching the glint of the sun on the knife. “Friend.”