Tuesday, 17 March 2015

Iron Dogs - Chapter Three

Book Title: Iron Dogs
Genre: Fiction: Thriller / Suspence
Author: Cliff Robertson 

…When the officers had taken Peterson back to his boat he had sworn to himself that he would stay on board until the situation had been sorted out one way or another. He did not believe the authorities in Ottawa would allow him to be prosecuted but they would most likely move him away from St Johns. He needed a change anyway and he needed to sort his drinking problem out. He was sick of being in constant trouble but it had got to be a habit that was hard to kick.
He had meant it about staying on the boat when he had first come back aboard but after four days and nights of being cooped up he was getting itchy feet. The boat was beginning to feel like a prison cell. Finally giving in to temptation he slipped off the boat on the evening of the fifth day as soon as it was dark. He convinced himself that he only wanted to stretch his legs. There was a wooded pontoon along the length of the mooring measuring about seventy metres. It gave access from the quayside to the boats. He stepped it out several times back and forth along the length of the pontoon. It was a warm evening and he was beginning to feel better already. There was no harm in doing this surely? It was unrealistic of them to expect him to stay on board, and unreasonable. If he had been living in a house with a big garden to wander around in he could have understood it but a boat? How could anybody stay on a boat twenty-four hours a day without going mad? It was their fault; they had forced him to break their stupid rules.

His boat was moored in the centre of the pontoon and for all of the two years he had been on the boat he had used the newly installed ramps and steps to gain access to the road above the harbour.  Now however, each turn of his walk took him to the end of the pontoon that he had never seen before this evening.  For the first time since he had been here he noticed a set of old iron rungs set into the harbour wall.  Presumably they had been the only way of getting down to the boats in the old days before the fancy pontoons with their safe to use ramps had been installed.
Every time his walk took him to the iron rungs they looked more inviting.  Inevitably, he stopped beside them and put one hand on a rung as if he was only feeling it.  He stood motionless for half a minute.  He put his left foot on the first rung and now there was no going back, but he did convince himself it was only curiosity.  He only wanted to see if anything was going on in the street above.  His head came level with the road and he paused, he searched the darkness but he could not see anybody at all.  It was not till he looked towards the end of the quay where he would normally have come up from the pontoon that he saw any sign of life.  His eyes were tuned to the poor light now and he could see a man standing there.  He was unmistakably a policeman.

Ebook | Kobo | Google Play | Amazon Kindle | Apple iBook | Nook