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    A Killing In Trounce Alley
    A Killing In Trounce Alley
    A Killing In Trounce Alley
    Ebook45 pages38 minutes

    A Killing In Trounce Alley

    By Donald Harry Roberts

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    On this evening Reverend Riddell had gone but a short distance from the door of his apartment building on Powell Street. He was about to step into a café when he felt a tug on the right sleeve of his blue pea jacket. When he looked he was met with a pair of wet, rummy eyes filled with such an anguish he could barely contain the rasp of horror threatening to burst past his lips. Instead he simply breathed out, “Thadeus!”
    “Come with me now. I’ll buy you a meal and you can tell me.....” The Reverend was offering.
    “No...No.No You must come with me now. I have discovered something terrible.” Thadeus argued and tugged insistently on the Reverends coat sleeve.
    Reverend Riddell was reluctant. With Thadeus, something terrible could mean something he perceived in his mind. But as he searched the old drunkards eyes there was something in their depths that warned him that Thadeus had seen something far more viable that a twist of his imagination.
    “Very well. Where must we go.” He asked.
    “Follow me Rev. Its this way.” Thadeus urged with an almost sober tone.
    With only slight staggers and shuffling the Gastown Beggar lead the Reverend back to the green dumpster in Trounce Alley. “
    “Ugh. Blood Alley.” Riddell groaned.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDonald Harry Roberts
    Release dateFeb 7, 2017
    ISBN9781370285150
    A Killing In Trounce Alley
    Author

    Donald Harry Roberts

    I am simply a short storyist.

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      Book preview

      A Killing In Trounce Alley - Donald Harry Roberts

      A KILLING IN TROUNCE ALLEY

      BY

      DONALD HARRY ROBERTS

      Published By:

      Donald Harry Roberts on Smashwords

      A Killing In Trounce Alley

      Copyright 2017 by Donald Harry Roberts

      This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.

      Smashwords

      1

      A gentle mist curled in from Vancouver Harbour enveloping the harbour front and rail yard. Building, it drifted mystically over Crab Park, across West Waterfront Rd. and finally enveloping the quiet by-ways, alley-ways and streets of Gastown. It created a magical aura about the street lamps and dispelled the late afternoon shadows.

      And night settled in like an old friend.

      Thadeus McCann. It was a name the owner had misplaced a decade ago and which he was only reminded of when the police rousted him from his drunken digs…where ever that might be on…. any given night, demanding he produce some sort of identification. It was not a good life but it was the only one he could navigate. Too many horrible memories were etched in his mind to maintain a sober existence.

      He stood beneath the steam clock at the intersection of Water and Cambie Street. The harbour mist swirled in, carried on a cool, autumn breeze. The last of the leaves fell gently to the red, cobblestone side walk. He watched as the white globes of the street-lamps flickered on, glowing like miniature moons through a thin layer of cloud.

      At that moment a lone tourist accosted him leveling a camera to take a picture of the clock. Thadeus motioned to step aside but the tourist beckoned him to stay. He offered the photographer the best smile he could but it was ruined by yellowed teeth and sadness. Little did he know that the innocent snap shot would weigh heavily on the events of his near future.

      Perfect. Cheered the photographer as he stuffed a five dollar bill in his subjects hand.

      Perfect for what? Thadeus muttered but his words wisped away with the breeze and the mist. But what does it matter. He thought as he jammed the bill into his pocket. It was five bucks he didn’t have to beg for.

      The old bum, The Gastown Beggar, he was known to by the locals, moved slowly from his leaning perch shuffling south bound on Cambie St. At Horner he stopped, quickly glanced about and, finding he was alone he pulled a bottle of amber fortitude from the pocket of his gray, stained and worn trench coat. A mouthful to

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