Minds That Hate by Bill Kitson Read Free Book Online Page A

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    Later, his teachers explained the difference between English and Anglo Saxon. He learned that a snappy response delivered by a chef isn’t always polite. Juris discovered that calling somebody ‘a lazy twat’ or ‘an ignorant dickhead’ was no way to win friends.
    The farm where Juris worked was visible from the migrants’ house. To get there by road would mean a walk of three miles, but there was a footpath that cut this to less than half a mile. When Zydrumas had to speak to the farmer about the forthcoming harvest, he took Juris along.
    The first part of the meeting concerned the labour needed. When the discussion turned to rates of pay, Juris set off home. Zydrumas said he’d follow.
    The day had been overcast and cool. The track led through a small wood before it bisected a series of miniature farms, dedicated to the growing of vegetables and other produce. Juris had learned these were called allotments. His teacher had explained the reason for their existence. The woods were a dark impenetrable mass of foliage, tangled briar and brambles. As Juris walked, he heard the rustle and creak as the wind stirred the trees around him. Suddenly he felt very alone, very far from home and, for no logical reason, very afraid. It was only when he’d passed the woods and come to the edge of the Westlea that the irrational fear subsided.
     
    Billy sat in his room. His hand moved lazily to and fro as he passed the long bright blade of his knife across a sharpening stone. His movements were accurate, with precision born of practice. His eyes appeared to be fixed on the wall opposite. In fact they were unfocused, far away.
    Danny led by example. Billy remembered when Danny returned home with the gun, remembered with equal clarity when Danny used it. He hadn’t been allowed to see the weapon, but the look on Danny’s face told Billy more than his elder brother suspected.
    Before Ricky moved in, the Juniors had been having a lot of trouble with their drug dealer. Poor-quality gear and lack of regular supplies were only part of the problem. More critical was the exorbitant price charged by the Turkish Cypriot who controlled distribution.
    When Danny returned after being absent all day and half the night, Billy knew something must have happened. Danny didn’t stray from Helmsdale and the estate often. He certainly didn’t vanish for such a long time without a convincing explanation.
    Next day, Billy saw the news report on TV. Telling of the discovery of a man’s body in a house on the outskirts of Leeds, the item went on, ‘The man is believed to be of Turkish Cypriot origin. Police investigating the shooting are looking into a possible drugs connection.’
    Danny had pointed the way. Billy knew exactly who Danny was referring to when he mentioned ‘The Immigrunts’.
    He wasn’t quite as clear as to how the Immigrunts had made their lives so miserable, but Danny had said so, and Billy wasn’t prepared to argue. Billy knew what to do. He had to kill one. It didn’t much matter which one. That wasn’t the point. He’d a target in mind. Not a person but a location. He remembered them working on the farm close to the Westlea. They were starting to arrive back now. He’d seen two in the street, bold as you like, strolling along. It stood to reason they’d be working at the farm again. That meant they’d be walking through the woods. It’d be exciting. Not like the fire of course, but good nevertheless.
    His decision made, Billy put the stone away. He fingered the blade, then wiped it with a soft cloth. He replaced the weapon in the sheath on his belt and put his jacket on, left the bedroom, left the house and headed for the woods.
     
    Tucker had followed Rathmell for three days without anything to show for his efforts. Many journalists might have abandoned the story, but Tucker was made of sterner stuff. On day four he followed Rathmell out of Helmsdale. Within minutes of leaving the town Tucker thought he