The Shadow Man by Mick Hickman

Leeds

West Yorkshire

5am

The rain was coming down heavy and the wind was howling, blowing rain direct into anyone’s face who dared to venture out on a night like this. There was little traffic about at this time of the day, the odd milkman on his rounds, and a few early risers heading off to work. The Cemetery just off Stoney Rock Lane in Harehills, Leeds was a desolate looking place on the best of days, but tonight with the wind and rain it looked even more sinister. The area was a maze of back to back terrace houses, alleyway’s, lines of garages with big padlocks and barb wire rooftops and cars with smashed windows sat on bricks. The cemetery was a mix of old and new head stones, wooden crosses and large family plots with magnificent statues and fancy picket fencing. Behind one statue stood a man, he was dressed in a big rain coat with a hoody underneath with the hood up covering his head, tracksuit bottoms and dirty looking trainers. He was trying his best to stay out of the wind and rain but to little effect, he had been stood there for around 20 minutes, he was cold, wet, and frustrated that the man he was supposed to meeting was late. Mark Summers had been a Police officer for over 15 years and for 10 of those years he had worked as an undercover officer on the serious organised crime squad. To any member of the public he looked more like a drug dealer, with his log hair, tattoos, earrings and tatty clothes. He had been working on something, something big. It was a dangerous game that he played, he knew if his real identity ever got found out, he would surly end up with a bullet in the head or being tied to a railway line, but it was a game he was willing to play in order to make a difference. He was twice divorced and had two girls who he only saw once a month, relationships were not his strong point. Neither of his wives had understood why he chose the job that he did, they couldn’t cope with the fact that he would disappear for days, sometimes weeks at a time. When he did appear he never talked about what he had done or where he had been. He had to live a double life, he had two names, two national insurance numbers, two dates of birth. He had been living a double life for so long now that it was hard for him to remember exactly who he really was. But since he had no one to go home to, this was his life, the only life he ever knew or wanted to know. Mark took a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and a petrol lighter, placing a damp cigarette in his mouth he lit it and inhaled deeply, the warmth of the tobacco instantly gave him a sense of comfort and the heat helped to warm his hands up a little.

He checked his watch one last time, 529am, one more minute and that was it, he was going to go back to the flat that he was using as yet another temporary home and get himself dried out and warmed up. He would of course have to ring his handler in the morning and tell him that the meeting never took place and he was yet again led on a wild goose chase. Finishing his cigarette he threw it to the floor, he didn’t need to stamp it out as it landed in a puddle by his feet and fizzled. Checking his watch once more, 530am, ‘That’s it’ he thought, time to go. As he was about to walk away he heard slow lazy footsteps approaching. Looking down the path towards the road he could see a lone figure of a man approaching. When the man got to with 10 meters, Mark stepped out of the shadows onto the footpath. The man stopped a few meters away “Mark?” he asked “Yes” Mark replied. The man stepped closer “I’ve been asked to give you this” the man said at the same time ripping open the front of his jacket to produce a sawn off shotgun, at point blank range he pushed both barrels against Mark’s stomach and fired off two shots. Mark was instantly thrown back by the blast, he didn’t have time to react, the lead shot tore through his outer coat and his hoody, dissolving his t-shirt and tearing open his stomach in a gaping hole. Before Mark had even fallen to the ground he could see that the man was running back the way that he had come towards the gate that led on to Stoney Rock Lane. Mark instinctively moved his hands to where he had been shot, he could feel the warm blood on his hands immediately. He hit the ground hard, paralysed as the shots had torn through his stomach, intestines, liver, kidney and spinal cord. He lay there on the cold wet floor, his hands clutching his stomach, it was weird, he was slowly dying as the blood drained from his body, but yet he could feel no pain, he never imagined it would end like this on a cold rainy night in some desolate poverty stricken place, looking up at the solitary street light that twinkled like an inviting angel, his world turned to darkness for the last time.