Free THUGLIT Issue Four by Roger Hobbs, Eric Beetner, Patti Abbott, Sam Wiebe, Albert Tucher, Christopher Irvin, Anton Sim, Garrett Crowe Page A

“It’s something to look forward to.” Smiling. “Now. Shall we flip a coin to decide who steps out of the car first?”
     
    *****
     
    It was possible of course that the Bastard meant to murder him prior to their rendezvous. The Old Man found it good practice to live as if that was likely. He’d always lived aware of others, of the slightest variation in mood or noise. Now he once again had reason to.
    He learned about Protection Island. The history of the coal mines that ran underneath Nanaimo Harbor. The explosion that had killed a hundred whites and fifty-three Chinese. Protection Island’s rebirth as homes for the wealthy. He studied nearby Newcastle Island too, since at low tide one could wade between them. A rare species of albino raccoon prowled its shores. A Hawaiian convict lay buried on Newcastle in an unmarked location. The Old Man studied them but he didn’t visit them. That would somehow violate the pact he and the Bastard had made. He’d have to cede to the Bastard the advantage of terrain.
    He picked his tools and his attire carefully. He knew the Bastard might use explosives. The Bastard favored cheap radio detonators and the most rudimentary land mines. That was another advantage the Old Man would yield. He would never employ explosives again.
    He decided on an air taxi to take him across the Georgia Straight to Nanaimo, and then a rented boat with a thick plastic windshield and a powerful outboard motor. He wanted to limit his exposure on the water. The Bastard might decide that the contest began when the first one of them reached Gallows Point. And the Old Man knew the Bastard would be there first.
    He considered his own advantages but took no comfort in them.
     
    *****
                 
    In the air the Old Man settled his stomach and said his goodbyes to the city. He was anxious. How could he not be? He had done nothing like this—nothing at all, really—for years.
    He held two fingers to his neck and listened to the thrum of the plastic replacement heart in his chest. His pulse was elevated but steady. He thought of Chen, of Higgs and Mulcahy. He wondered what they would’ve been like at his age. Would they have taken to retirement? Higgs, maybe. Not the others.
    He’d outfitted himself in dark clothing and carried his gear in a red nylon hockey bag. He’d tinted his hair dark so that no one would try to assist him with his luggage out of sympathy. He’d avoid people, but more importantly they’d avoid him.
    In a Nanaimo diner he put away acidic coffee and stared at grub he didn’t want. He reminded himself he was doing this for justice. Not selfish reasons like revenge. Least of all out of idleness, the “sheer boredom” the Bastard had spoken of. He’d settle things with the Bastard, get justice, or go down swinging, the way the others had.
    At dusk he walked to the marina and paid a man in cash for the use of the boat. The Old Man checked it thoroughly. He inspected the motor and made sure there were no superfluous wires. Satisfied, he paid the dealer. The dealer told him to be careful, boating at night.
    Protection Island wasn’t five miles from shore. Houses and moored yachts gleamed in the fading light. Newcastle lay to the north, thick deciduous forest set back from peach-colored sand.
    His new vessel was called the Bran Mak Morn . The name meant nothing to him.
    Halfway across the bay he realized he had to piss. He could see no one on the docks, nothing glinting from the yachts save the odd bit of brass or chrome trim. He eased off the throttle until the boat was coasting and did his business off the port side, feeling exposed. The city glow from the harbor was slight. It wasn’t tourist season.
    The sun fell. There was a light rain. He slipped a paddle into the water, preferring not to use the motor for the last part. He knew the Bastard was watching him. Probably had been since he cast off from the marina. But from where, was the question. If it was him…
    The