The Work of Peter Caunt
Peter originally had a science background and worked, in Harrogate, for the C.E.G.B, on pollution control (until it closed down), in Preston for Babtie Environmental (until they closed down the department) and in Harrogate for the Regional Health Authority (until it closed down). Following these, he worked for a software house in Harrogate until it was taken over by a multinational and downsized. Having seen the writing on the wall, he decided to copy it down and try to publish it. He has had an interest in writing short stories for the last thirty years but has only recently had the time and the enthusiasm to start accumulating a large pile of rejection letters.
In the latter part of 2005, a small pile of acceptances began to grow, much helped by inspiration from his wife, Pamela, and friends at the the Writers' Circle.
To go to Peter's own writing site, (and maybe buy one of Peter's books on Amazon) click here
In the latter part of 2005, a small pile of acceptances began to grow, much helped by inspiration from his wife, Pamela, and friends at the the Writers' Circle.
To go to Peter's own writing site, (and maybe buy one of Peter's books on Amazon) click here
Exit Facilitator - (first published in Writers Forum May 2010) (an Extract)
We burst out onto the balcony as the fireworks light up the sky. The rest of the party have stayed inside to avoid the sharp air. We are alone. She turns her head to the exploding sky, takes a deep breath and kisses me.
Then she leans her head back, closes her eyes tight and whispers, "Thank you."
I fire two bullets straight into her heart and lay her down on the stone floor. I take the contract from my pocket and pin it to the front of her dress. Then I make my way home.
Back at the flat I access my account. The payment hasn’t arrived. The police must be slow tonight. New Year’s Eve is always busy. For them and for me. I can wait. The cash is safe in an escrow account until the police match the body and the contract. I have three hours until the next one so I take a nap.
This one isn’t up close. He wants to go in the fountain in Trafalgar Square. At first I’d refused. It’s too public, too dangerous. There would be too many people around, too much chance of an error. The police don’t like errors.
Eventually we agreed that he would have to wait until four in the morning. By then the other revellers should have gone home.
I take up my position on the far side of the square. I have clear line of sight. I hear them arrive before I see them. It sounds like it’s been one hell of a celebration. I glance at my watch. They’re early. I use the binoculars to check. It’s him. He can hardly stand. I curse. I can’t proceed unless he remembers the protocol. We need to be within five minutes of the agreed contract.
I look at my watch. It’s four minutes past. He’s waving the jacket instead of putting it on. This could be a wasted night.
Then I see one of the party looking at his watch, gesticulating at the jacket and backing away. The target suddenly seems to remember and slips it over his shoulders. As he fumbles with the buttons the final alarm on my watch goes off. I have ten seconds. I count as I draw a bead on his chest. He has two buttons to go as I count to one. I think "Near Enough" as I squeeze the trigger. It looks like a clean shot, but I need to get to him to make sure.
By the time I pack the rifle away and sprint across the square, there are two local police standing by the body. They must have been cruising by and heard the shot. I remove the contract as I approach them. The older one, a sergeant, takes it.
"Do you know the deceased?"
"I met him just once."
The sergeant keeps reading the contract, I can see his lips moving.
"May I check the body now?"
He looks up, then goes back to his reading.
The other one, a female officer, is kneeling over the body taking a DNA sample, "It’s Ok, clean through the chest. He would have died instantly. He does have the right to check though, sergeant."
He hands the contract back to me and nods in the direction of the body.
I do a quick examination. She’s right.
"As I said, he’s dead. Nice shot by the way."
I hand her the contract to compare with the DNA.
She scans it then hands it back to the sergeant, "Checks out serge."
I stand and start to go.
"Hey, where you going?"
"Home sergeant. I think we’re done."
"Just you hang on," He looks at the contract, "Mr Sicarius. If that’s your real name."
"It’s my professional name."
"So what’s your real name?"
"Serge." the female officer intervened, "By law he can just use his registered professional name. It checks out. It’s him."
He turns to face me, "Bloody fast track uni graduates. Think they know it all. There were two buttons unfastened on the target jacket. I’m calling this in."
"Sorry about this. It’s been a slow night and the sergeant is getting fidgety."
I put down my case. This could take a while.
"The serge, he’s a bit …", She waves a hand in the air. "He’s been around since before the law on assisted death was expanded."
I look down at her. To her life is so simple. Follow the letter of the law. Life was much easier before the changes. You never met the client. You never met the police. Money changed hands and you took your shot. Now it’s all about getting the paperwork right.
"Does it pay well?"
I’m surprised by the question.
"Are you thinking of a career change?"
She smiles, "Maybe."
The pay’s not why most people do it. It’s not that good anyway.
"So what did you do before this?"
"Army."
Well Ok, I was in the army. But before I became a facilitator I was freelance. No red tape, fast hits then get out. And always the possibility of getting caught. That’s what made me feel alive. Now? Well it’s just another job.
I hear the sergeant coming back.
"On the spot fine. Two hundred dollars for the business with the jacket buttons."
The female officer raises her eyes then looks away. I reach for my wallet. I always carry cash. Just in case. I take out four fifties. He snatches it, stuffs it in his back pocket and returns to the patrol car.
The female officer shrugs then turns, "See you around."
"Hey ..."
"The name’s Jenny."
I fish a card out of my wallet, "If you’re serious about a change of career."
She takes it and turns away.
It’s six months later when I get the call.
"Hi, this is Jenny."
"I’m sorry."
There is a slight pause. "We met a while ago. I’m the female officer. The incident with the unfastened target jacket at New Year."
I’d almost forgotten. I’d been busy. So many clients bored with their lives. All without the balls to end it themselves.
(To read the rest of the story or others by Peter, look on Amazon Kindle books.)
Then she leans her head back, closes her eyes tight and whispers, "Thank you."
I fire two bullets straight into her heart and lay her down on the stone floor. I take the contract from my pocket and pin it to the front of her dress. Then I make my way home.
Back at the flat I access my account. The payment hasn’t arrived. The police must be slow tonight. New Year’s Eve is always busy. For them and for me. I can wait. The cash is safe in an escrow account until the police match the body and the contract. I have three hours until the next one so I take a nap.
This one isn’t up close. He wants to go in the fountain in Trafalgar Square. At first I’d refused. It’s too public, too dangerous. There would be too many people around, too much chance of an error. The police don’t like errors.
Eventually we agreed that he would have to wait until four in the morning. By then the other revellers should have gone home.
I take up my position on the far side of the square. I have clear line of sight. I hear them arrive before I see them. It sounds like it’s been one hell of a celebration. I glance at my watch. They’re early. I use the binoculars to check. It’s him. He can hardly stand. I curse. I can’t proceed unless he remembers the protocol. We need to be within five minutes of the agreed contract.
I look at my watch. It’s four minutes past. He’s waving the jacket instead of putting it on. This could be a wasted night.
Then I see one of the party looking at his watch, gesticulating at the jacket and backing away. The target suddenly seems to remember and slips it over his shoulders. As he fumbles with the buttons the final alarm on my watch goes off. I have ten seconds. I count as I draw a bead on his chest. He has two buttons to go as I count to one. I think "Near Enough" as I squeeze the trigger. It looks like a clean shot, but I need to get to him to make sure.
By the time I pack the rifle away and sprint across the square, there are two local police standing by the body. They must have been cruising by and heard the shot. I remove the contract as I approach them. The older one, a sergeant, takes it.
"Do you know the deceased?"
"I met him just once."
The sergeant keeps reading the contract, I can see his lips moving.
"May I check the body now?"
He looks up, then goes back to his reading.
The other one, a female officer, is kneeling over the body taking a DNA sample, "It’s Ok, clean through the chest. He would have died instantly. He does have the right to check though, sergeant."
He hands the contract back to me and nods in the direction of the body.
I do a quick examination. She’s right.
"As I said, he’s dead. Nice shot by the way."
I hand her the contract to compare with the DNA.
She scans it then hands it back to the sergeant, "Checks out serge."
I stand and start to go.
"Hey, where you going?"
"Home sergeant. I think we’re done."
"Just you hang on," He looks at the contract, "Mr Sicarius. If that’s your real name."
"It’s my professional name."
"So what’s your real name?"
"Serge." the female officer intervened, "By law he can just use his registered professional name. It checks out. It’s him."
He turns to face me, "Bloody fast track uni graduates. Think they know it all. There were two buttons unfastened on the target jacket. I’m calling this in."
"Sorry about this. It’s been a slow night and the sergeant is getting fidgety."
I put down my case. This could take a while.
"The serge, he’s a bit …", She waves a hand in the air. "He’s been around since before the law on assisted death was expanded."
I look down at her. To her life is so simple. Follow the letter of the law. Life was much easier before the changes. You never met the client. You never met the police. Money changed hands and you took your shot. Now it’s all about getting the paperwork right.
"Does it pay well?"
I’m surprised by the question.
"Are you thinking of a career change?"
She smiles, "Maybe."
The pay’s not why most people do it. It’s not that good anyway.
"So what did you do before this?"
"Army."
Well Ok, I was in the army. But before I became a facilitator I was freelance. No red tape, fast hits then get out. And always the possibility of getting caught. That’s what made me feel alive. Now? Well it’s just another job.
I hear the sergeant coming back.
"On the spot fine. Two hundred dollars for the business with the jacket buttons."
The female officer raises her eyes then looks away. I reach for my wallet. I always carry cash. Just in case. I take out four fifties. He snatches it, stuffs it in his back pocket and returns to the patrol car.
The female officer shrugs then turns, "See you around."
"Hey ..."
"The name’s Jenny."
I fish a card out of my wallet, "If you’re serious about a change of career."
She takes it and turns away.
It’s six months later when I get the call.
"Hi, this is Jenny."
"I’m sorry."
There is a slight pause. "We met a while ago. I’m the female officer. The incident with the unfastened target jacket at New Year."
I’d almost forgotten. I’d been busy. So many clients bored with their lives. All without the balls to end it themselves.
(To read the rest of the story or others by Peter, look on Amazon Kindle books.)