Byker Books

 

 

 

The seagull had been eyeing it for ages and so had Quincy Connelly-Cole ex-Major in her Majesty’s forces. Some well paid bastard had left the sandwich in its half opened wrappings on the bench. It was five yards from Quincy, just to the left of platform 10.

Quincy’s cover had been blown and he hadn’t eaten for two days. He did a quick recce. No one looked like the owner of the sandwich. No one was sprinting back explaining they’d ‘left it’ or ‘forgotten it’.

Quincy felt his salivary glands respond to the heady scent of ripe tomatoes and mature Cheddar. Pity there wasn’t any pickle, but you can’t have everything.

His stomach growled loudly as he grabbed it. He took off what was left of the wrapping. His training kicked in. Always check and check again. No one. Reverently holding the crusty, moist softness of it, he breathed in its juiciness.

 

He opened his mouth anticipating the first wonderful bite; it was the seagull which snatched it from him as the 8mm bullet bit into Quincy’s brain.