Free Kill Clock by Allan Guthrie

6:30 pm
     

    The sea breeze nibbled at Pearce's bare arms as he crossed over the Prom towards Portobello beach, his dog hopping along beside him. Pearce never wore anything over his T-shirt unless the temperature dipped below zero. Sunbathing appealed to him about as much as tucking into a plate of vegetarian sausages.
    Luckily, it was a typical April evening, rain drizzling onto the empty tables in the sea-front pub's outdoor seating area. On the beach opposite, a couple of dog walkers trudged through the sand. One hardy soul in a wet suit kite-surfed in the shallows.
    Pearce was halfway across the road when this tosser backed out of a parking space right in front of him. The car jolted to a stop, the rear bumper less than a foot away from Hilda's nose. Pearce didn't know much about cars. Wouldn't have known the make of this one if he wasn't staring down at the words 'Hyundai' and 'Accent', silver against the black paintwork either side of the number plate.
    Hilda didn't seem to mind any of this, but Pearce did. The least he expected was an apology. But from the way the driver kept blasting his horn, there was cock-all chance of that.
    "Get off the road, arsehole." The driver was leaning out of his window. Bald. Pointy head. Made you want to turn him upside down and plant him in the sand.
    Hilda tugged on the lead, muscles straining in his weasel-shaped body. Turned his head, big eyes looking sad as ever.
    Pearce stooped down. Gave the wee fella's chin a scratch. "It's OK, pal. This won't take long."
    Hilda was named after Pearce's mother, who passed away a few years ago. He was still speaking to her long after her death, which he finally realised wasn't healthy. So he'd paid a visit to the local cat and dog home, leaving with a three-legged Dandie Dinmont terrier, one that happened to be male but somehow still looked like a Hilda. And of course, Pearce could speak to the dog without everyone thinking he was a loony. Most of the time, anyway.
    "Move, you thick twat." Speaking of loonies, the bald guy wasn't going to let this rest. "Want me to run you over? That it?"
    Pearce stayed where he was, even though his mouth tasted bitter with all the exhaust fumes he was inhaling.
    Hilda stared up at him, the tips of his ears wet.
    The guy shook his head. Leaned on the horn.
    After a short while, two men came out of the pub, one looking heavily pregnant, the other with a crutch under his arm and his foot in plaster. They sparked up a couple of smokes and watched.
    The driver finally eased off the horn and yelled at Pearce. "You've got ten seconds to get out of the way." He started counting. "Ten … nine … eight …"
    Pearce picked up Hilda and stood his ground, staring at the guy in the car.
    "… three … two … one."
    Interesting. What was Baldie going to do now?
    He revved the engine. And then started to reverse.
    Pearce watched the car inch closer, wondering how far this knobhead was prepared to go. He found out when the bumper touched his shins.
    Well, well.
    He stepped to the side, set Hilda down and unclipped the lead. "Go, be busy." Wee soul was desperate. The grassy area where he liked to do his business was a safe distance away.
    The car drew alongside Pearce. "Good mind to take your stupid dog and shove it up your hole."
    Pearce could have reached through the open window and grabbed him, but that would have been no fun.
    The bald bastard blinked hard, then rolled up the window. "Wanker," he mouthed, moving his wrist up and down for emphasis. Thought he was safe 'cos there was a pane of glass between them.
    Should have driven off while he had the chance.
    Pearce turned to the side, as if he was about to walk away, then swivelled, hammering the sole of his boot into the window.
    It exploded, glass spraying over the driver. He yelled. Sounded more surprised than scared.
    Other than a jagged fragment in the bottom corner, the window was gone.
    Pearce looked over at Hilda, who was squatting, back towards him as always.