To Snatch a Thief

To Snatch a Thief - By Hazel Cotton



PROLOGUE



‘Here, I’ve brought you bread,’ he said, a sudden irritation crossing his face as the child stepped back. It wiped a gutter-slimed hand across its mouth, hesitated.

‘Wot’s the catch?’

‘There’s no catch. You’re hungry. I’ve brought you food.’ The man shifted closer, but pressed the handkerchief more tightly over his mouth. The stench from the building – if you could call this crumbling ruin a building - was overpowering. What was left of the walls leaned drunkenly to one side, slimy with green dripping water. Icy draughts blew, unhindered, through gaping holes in the powdery bricks freezing the bucket catching oily drips in one corner. He took another step towards the doorway, his fine leather shoe splashing into an open drain, and shuddered at the unspeakable shapes floating there.

Around him, in the labyrinth of streets, the conditions were repeated. The slums were getting worse, he thought. Mile upon mile of poverty, hunger, crime; humans brought to their knees by the apathy of governments too weak, too afraid for their own political skins to act. The man’s hand fisted over the bread. ‘Take it, damn you.’

But still the boy hesitated. Then, through the tangle of greasy curls, his eyes lowered to the food, thrust now right under his nose. He ran a pale tongue over his chapped lips before one small hand shot out, grabbed the loaf and stuffed it down in large chunks without bothering to chew.

‘There now, that’s better, isn’t it?’ The man’s voice was smooth again, relaxed. He watched calmly as the child’s actions slowed; merely tilted his head as it staggered, its eyes glazing over, the uneaten portion of bread dropping from its hand. The boy slid boneless to the ground, a pathetic heap of rags amongst the squalor in which he had been conceived.

The man moved forward, bent over and held a finger to the child’s lifeless neck. ‘Interesting,’ he murmured. ‘Ten seconds, no obvious sign of pain.’ With a satisfied smile, he straightened, wiped his hand on the handkerchief, and before leaving, kicked the remaining scrap of bread into the gutter.