As men slept, a glittering array of stars sat on the bare chest of the sky. Stanford Sullivan, a retired policeman was yet to put the day behind him. The lively man who had little money but was content was reading a novel. On the stroke of midnight, evil men struck and quietness disappeared into the thin air. Gunshots filled the air as Sullivan’s face looked pale in the lamplight. He pushed the book aside and rose from the table. He turned off the lamp and his pair of legs carried him to the window. He pulled up the window blind and saw some men. They were robbers and the poor soul that they had just shot in the leg was in the pool of his blood. After the few minutes of assault, all his belongings were placed in their pockets.
Sullivan was red with rage as he pulled down the window blind.
Thames Street had received several blows and had become a shadow of its self. He sank into his favourite chair with hand to the chin. He wanted to call the police but the thieves would have gone before they arrived. As the robbers moved into the shadows, Sullivan could hear the victim cry. He was a man with a big heart, and he could not stand to see the unfortunate soul in such a sorry state. Then he jumped to his feet and wiped his face with the back of his hand. He grabbed his torch and flashed it beside his bed where he kept his cutlass. He grabbed the cutlass and ran out of the house. He faced the street with good speed, shining the torch in the direction of the man. Anger shone on his face as he ran.
“I came to help you!” Sullivan said as he stood over the man in the pool of old age.
“Thank you,” the man groaned, “I have been shot in the leg!”
“Yes, I heard the gunshots. This street is not safe for the night. We must leave now!” Sullivan stated. He dropped the cutlass and went for the man.
Glancing down the road as Sullivan helped him to his feet, the man lamented, “They took my money and briefcase. Can you help me get them back?”
Sullivan sighed, “There is no guarantee that I can get them. Can I take you to my house to give first aid?”
He looked at Sullivan with his sorrowful eyes, “Oh, I will be grateful.”
Sullivan carried the man on his shoulder to his house. He made him comfortable on his bed and quickly gave first aid. When he was through, he turned to the man and his mouth twisted into a wry smile, “Rest, while I go after the thieves…”
Sullivan grabbed his torch and cutlass. As he turned to go, the man raised his head and posed a question, “Sir, how long will you be gone?”
He looked back over his shoulder. “I will return shortly to take you to the hospital,” Sullivan replied and faded into the dark night to embrace the uncertainty in the outside world.
The thieves were trying to enter a building illegally when Sullivan arrived. Since a single blow could send him to the silent world, he avoided open confrontation and stood with his back to the wall pondering the best way to attack the men. It was not long before an opportunity strayed into his path. One of the men walked briskly to the side of the house where he could have a good view of the beautiful earth. The foul toad was mean. His lips were hidden under a heavy line of mustache, and his head shaven like an egg. He looked in every direction to make sure that no eye was watching. Satisfied as things were, he breathed the air of relief and faced the way he had come.
The man had barely moved when Sullivan crossed his path. He knocked off his gun and hit the thief in the face. And they began to share blows from one end to the other. Sullivan’s blows were like a knife piercing a chicken as he descended on the thief. It was only a matter of time before advantage shifted to one side. The thief lost his balance. His pair of legs betrayed him after a blow landed on his neck. Before he could regain his footing, Sullivan had pounced on him. He pinned the unfortunate soul to the wall. Without wasting time, Sullivan had his hands tied behind his back and a piece of clothing over his mouth to prevent him from crying out. He tied the man to a tree, grabbed the pistol he got from him and approached the house.
It was dark outside and the thieves couldn’t see much. Sullivan was close enough to see one of them holding the briefcase. The other men had broken into the house and left the man that held the briefcase outside to keep watch. Then Sullivan decided to take his chance. He cocked the gun and ducked along in the dark. The man had just snatched a breath when he realized he was under a threat. Sullivan buried a blow into his side and he yelled and fell to his knees. “Don’t move! You are under arrest!” Sullivan thundered as he pointed the gun at him. “Where are the money and the briefcase?”
“Please don’t kill me…” He could not help the quiver in his voice as he placed the briefcase at his feet.
Sullivan wore a frown. Immediately he grabbed the briefcase, a deep angry sound made by someone in the house drew his attention. The thief took advantage of the distraction. He pulled a dagger from his boot and stabbed his ankle. Sullivan yelled and lost his balance. The thief jumped to his feet and bolted.
The other men were alarmed by the disturbance and they disappeared through the back door of the house. Sullivan got the briefcase but the injury had left him devastated. With the robber he tied to the tree, there were chances that he could get his cohorts. “I must take him to the police station now,” Sullivan said to himself, making a face. “Then I will return to my house to take the poor man to the hospital. Let me be off at once.” He rose to his feet and limped away.
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