Dirk crouched down, expecting the bird to fly away in panic. Maybe it would have. But it couldn’t. He reached out and picked it up, gently, supporting its tiny head with his thick bass-playing fingers. One wing was shattered, bent in too many different directions. The matchstick leg on that side of its body was just as mangled.
The bird looked up at him. No longer scared. Resigned to its fate.
*
Mick leaned against the wall outside Janine’s flat. Those stairs were a lot steeper than he remembered. Although, to be fair, he was normally stoned when he used to climb them.
Speaking of which. He drew a deep breath of the air in the corridor. The Rasta neighbours were obviously home, a fact reinforced by Bob Marley asking whether he would help to sing these songs of freedom. He grinned with his blackened teeth. Redemption Song. A fitting soundtrack.
Inspired, he pushed himself upright and staggered towards Janine’s door. Woah, there, sunshine. Take it easy.
He wiped one hand across his eyes and reached the other one into his jacket pocket. Then his eyes cleared and he stepped forward to set things right.
But… Wait a minute. What was this? What was that prick doing here?
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