Page 1 of No Saint

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My fingers curl at my side, the only emotion that’ll show on my body. Rain falls heavily from the heavy thick clouds above, the noise of it echoing in the quiet area beside the water. Shipping vessels float idly on the horizon, bringing in container loads of goods, and ahead of me the crane creaks and groans as the chains turn, spinning on the rotator as the first view of the car breaks the surface of the turbulent water.

The black sedan was barely a car anymore, the body crumpled and crushed, water filling the inside and spilling out the broken windows the higher it is lifted from the water.

There were no bodies inside, but I didn’t need to see them to know that they were dead. We would be lucky if we even found a corpse. These waters surrounding the city were deep and turbulent in weather like this and the likelihood of his body still being in this area was slim. He was likely somewhere at the bottom if there was even anything left of him.

Shouts and orders come from the crew as they maneuverer the car towards the yard, lowering it slowly to ease the burden on the already weakened vehicle.

I watch, nails biting into the palms of my hands. The rain has soaked through my suit, wetting the expensive material, and causing it to stick to my damp skin beneath. It runs down my face, over my eyes and mouth but I do not move or seek shelter from the storm.

Footsteps to my right have me turning my head to the visitor, a man, dressed in a long, beige trench coat jogs towards me, a large umbrella sheltering him from the rain though it does nothing for the spray kicking up from his feet to wet his pants.

“Mr Saint,” he greets, drawing in a breath. I note the brown folder clutched in his hand, held to his chest to protect it from the weather.

I hold out my hand without a word. Hesitantly, the investigator hands it across to me, keeping his fingers curled at the edge as if he didn’t want to hand over the information to me.

Interesting.

“Before I hand this to you, Mr Saint, I’m sure you can understand my worry for the family.”

“They are of no concern to you,” I tell him sternly. I don’t yank the folder or snatch it away, he’ll give it to me, “I trust this has everything I requested and the confirmation I asked for.”

“Yes, sir, they are who you suspected them to be.”

“Good.”

He finally lets go and I tuck the folder into my jacket, holding it there with my arm.

“Walk with me, Mr Garrett.”

The investigator swallows but steps with me, keeping stride as we walk towards the edge of the yard where the water crashes against the concrete blocks beneath. White spray leaps into the air, some crashing onto the ground and running across the concrete, merging with the puddles of rain and sea water already on the ground.

The gravel crunches beneath my shoes as I walk silently to the edge, stopping only when my toes touch the lip of the concrete block. Mr Garrett stops besides me.

He fidgets nervously, his grip on the umbrella handle tight enough that the skin across his knuckles has turned white. The man was scared. As he should be.

“Did you discuss the case with anyone but myself?” I ask.

“No, sir.”

I nod, knowing it was a lie. I hated liars.

He swallows, fidgeting.

Behind me, the car has touched ground, the remaining water inside rushing out and flooding beneath my shoes, bringing with it debris from the ocean, soggy seaweed, and a few small fish flapping uselessly in the shallow water around my feet.

“I…” Mr Garrett stutters, “I wish to terminate our arrangement, Mr Saint.”

“Is that right?” I smirk, casually reaching around to the gun tucked into the back of my pants. He doesn’t notice the move, instead choosing to watch the vessels slowly coming into dock.

“Yes, my wife and I would like to retire. Travel some.”

He wanted to run with the money he received for selling the information within the folder. He’d been in my employ for several years now, he knew how it worked, how I knew everything,saweverything. He wasn’t the only investigator on my payroll after all.

I silently click the safety off, raising the gun to the side of his head.

“Mr–” he doesn’t get to complete his sentence before I pull the trigger, silencing him. Blood splatters across my face and over my white shirt but I don’t move to wipe it away while I watch his body tumble lifelessly to the ground, thumping into a puddle, the water turning red.

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