Shortcut Shaw by Harcourt Tendhall
9 March 2021 { Crime/Thriller }
I was given the nickname when I was still at school. I knew my neighbourhood like the back of my hand. I lived close to my school, unlike most of my classmates, so I was able to guide them around the locality.
A bunch of us used to go cross-country running, as an alternative to playing football, because we were rubbish at our national sport. When all the other kids ran onto the football field, we tucked a few coins into that little pocket just below the waistband inside our shorts and ran out of the school grounds, heading for the River Mersey. Or so the teachers believed.
The first few times, that’s exactly what we did, accompanied by a teacher who would rather be refereeing the other kids playing football. His first error, a few weeks in, was to stop when we got to the Mersey. He told us to run to the first bridge, two miles downstream, turn round and run back, as we had done previously.
Once we were out of sight, I said, ‘This way, guys, I know a short-cut.’
The Mersey snakes through this area in large loops, so going in a straight line on the local roads saves hundreds of yards and a lot of time. Besides, there was a chippy on the first road, so we simply stopped there, enjoyed whatever we could afford to buy and then carried on, turning back earlier. After a couple of weeks, we just lingered longer, then simply jogged back to the waiting teacher.
After a few weeks, our teacher decided he could trust us, so just let us run off on our own. I guess he thought that since we were in running gear, we couldn’t really do much else.
Once out of sight and well before we reached the Mersey, I said, ‘Not that way, lads; I know a short-cut.’
I took them down an alley, along a back street, through a ginnel and we emerged at the chippy. We couldn’t have jogged for more than four hundred yards. That’s when the nickname was born, and it stuck with me well after my schooldays. Whenever we went anywhere, the lads would always get Short-cut Shaw to lead the way. This was true for outings into the countryside on our bikes and, as we grew older, pub crawls round the town. Short-cut Shaw always knew the best route to take.
As I matured, I applied it to every aspect of my life. Those slanderous stories of skilful avoidance, cutting corners at work, dodging paying for things, or taking the easy option, were totally unjustified. Although, every now and then, someone else had to pick up the pieces, or the bill. Taking short-cuts in life is, for me, the way to quickly achieve the things I want. Sometimes, you have to trample through or over others in your quest to get where you want to be. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there and you have to realise some people are simply not up to the task and will fail anyway. In a way, it’s doing them a favour. I achieved a great position in the company, with a brilliant salary. I always feel my reputation is that of a high achiever to be admired and, maybe, feared - just a little.
I had purchased a fine house, having short-cut the system, doing the deal directly with the old lady who owned the place. She told me she had relatives, but I never met them and certainly didn’t encouraged her to involve them. After all, they didn’t own the place and the old dear thought I was wonderful. I had the refurbishment done in record time by handling most of the design work myself, only paying for professional help where it was essential. It was the same with the project management; I did that and didn’t let the contractors get away with anything. I wasn’t bothered that they were unhappy, I wouldn’t be likely to need them again, and there are plenty more out there if I ever do.
I was living the high life, great home, great car, great job. I also found meeting girls had been easy. I was blessed with good looks and, with my early Short-cut Shaw reputation, I was popular. I had even developed my short-cut skills in that part of my life as well. If a girl didn’t like the way I was treating them and left me, I could quickly find another. As they say, there’s plenty more fish in the sea.
All the lads from those early days drifted off; either moving away, getting married, or just settling for what I consider to be a hum-drum existence. These days, I don’t see any of them anymore, but I don’t care. Most of them weren’t ambitious like me and I’m still going places, whereas they’ve settled for the toil and hard work of their boring lives, bringing up kids and managing on a pittance. Sometimes, I wonder what I ever had in common with them.
So, there I was, having a meal at a Michelin-starred restaurant with my latest flame, Jessie. She’s a stunning-looking singer. Harry, the senior producer at Peardrop Records, had introduced me to her at a party the night before. Jessie seemed really interested in me and we spent most of the evening together. Harry left early, before I could ask him about her, but she explained that she was his latest signing and was about to hit the big time. Her debut single’s due out next week, and she’s off to London on Monday, to start the promotional visits to radio and TV stations, before kicking off a UK tour. I like to be seen with the best people in the best places, so she’s the perfect catch for me, hence I invited her for this meal before she leaves. At first, she hesitated, so I suggested she check with Harry and give me a call in the morning. Then she relaxed and agreed, saying since Harry had introduced us, I must be okay.
I always remember to pay attention to the girl in these early dates. Getting them talking about themselves, rather than me, is the best approach. Also, make them laugh; they all like a guy who can make them laugh. We were getting along brilliantly. Jessie isn’t used to the high life, so I guess she was lapping it up, along with the champagne. I suggested we go to a nightclub after the meal; there’s an exclusive venue a short walk away. She agreed, so we left the restaurant.
We had walked no more than a hundred yards when she stumbled a little.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, it’s just these ridiculous heels. I know they’re perfect with this dress and look great, but they’re killing me. Is it far?’
‘Not really, and I know a short-cut.’ I smiled at her.
She grinned back at me, took my arm and we walked slowly on. As I rounded the corner into the alley, I scanned ahead cautiously. I wouldn’t normally use a short-cut like this at night, so it pays to be careful. It all seemed clear, though, so we carried on. We were only about fifty feet in when I heard a rustle ahead, followed by footsteps behind me. Looking round, I saw this big guy in black jeans and a dark hoodie walking towards us. I turned back as this other guy emerged from behind some large wheelie bins. Jessie pulled away from me.
Fight or flight? Who looked the weakest? I had just made my mind up to tackle the guy in front of us when he pulled out a knife. Not just a flick-knife or sheath-knife, this was a shiny-bright, eight-inch chef’s knife. I hesitated and looked back at the other guy. He was at least six feet three and clearly muscular but might be a bit slow. I turned to make a run for it when Jessie grabbed hold of me.
‘Oh, don’t you go heading off when the fun’s about to begin.’
‘Wha, what are you talking about?’
The two guys grabbed me. The big one bent my left arm up my back until it felt like it was about to snap. The pain was intense.
‘I’ve laid on this little party just for you. You said the meal was on you, well, this is on me. Meet my two brothers. I won’t bother with formal introductions, except to say our surname is Jenkinson. You remember that name, don’t you?’
It rang a bell, Jenkinson, Jenkinson? Then it dawned on me. ‘The only Jenkinson I know is Gladys Jenkinson, an old lady I bought my house off. Is that who you mean?’
‘Yes. She was my Grandma. She passed away last month. That’s when we found out what you’d done. How you ripped her off, you bastard. She could have got another hundred and fifty grand for that house on the open market. You conned her, with your smarmy charm, just like you were doing to me in that restaurant. You thought you’d be getting your end away tonight, didn’t you? DIDN’T YOU?’
Big brother twisted my arm a bit harder. I was almost on my tiptoes now.
‘No, no. I’m not like that. Your Gran was pleased with the deal she got, and I really respect you,’ I replied, then realised how lame I sounded.
I wasn’t doing myself any favours here and I was in real trouble. I couldn’t see any short-cuts out of this.
‘We’ve been looking a bit deeper into your life, Short-cut Shaw.’
How the hell do they know my nickname?
‘And we don’t like what we’ve found. A friend of ours has suffered as you’ve taken your short-cuts; he lost his job and he’s using a food bank to feed his family now. Everyone hates you at work. They’re all scared of you; you’ve trampled on so many over the years. Even your fellow directors don’t trust you.’
‘But that’s just work, it’s nothing personal.’
‘Nothing personal? You’ve lost ten people their jobs. Ten families wrecked by you, each time leaving some guy trying to rebuild his career. That’s all you are, a wrecking ball! Even your old schoolmates hate you.’
I was stunned and replied, ‘No, none of this is true. Look, if it’s money you want, I can make this right. I’m not really like that.’
Deep inside, a knot twisted tighter, and I knew that I really was.
‘Enough of the talk,’ said the brother with the knife.
He plunged it into my stomach, and I gasped at the searing pain. They let go of me. I looked down, held the wound, blood oozing through my fingers. My knees buckled and I fell to the floor. One of them kicked me in the head and I rolled onto my back. Things were turning hazy, but I saw Jessie, leaning over me, one of her shoes in her hand.
‘I said these shoes were killing me, but it was worth it, so they can kill you.’
She brought the stiletto heel down, straight into my left eye. It was the last thing I saw or felt.
I died right there, halfway along my last short-cut.
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