THE SENTINEL

AWAY WITH WORDS 

By Tessa Harvey

    Tony Smith looked up with a smile expecting release from his holding cell. The smile vanished as he realised the man facing him was Detective Superintendent Alistair Sutherland, a trio of constables flanking him.
    They looked grim and alert. His first reaction, to make a run for it, vanished. Still he knew that there never was a charge against him able to stick. He tried bluster, putting on a fake Irish accent. "Sure, now aren't I the lucky one to have such great visitors as yourselves." It was wasted. Silence was all there was in answer.
    "Okay, what is it?" Tony tried to affect nonchalence.
    Alistair spoke clearly. "Some of your mates have turned against you." Smith laughed, trying to think. His stupid saintly mother often said, "You have a way with words, son. Perhaps you will be a priest or even a missionary! Wouldn't that be grand, now?"
    He had never answered. But he had thought: maybe I can get away with words. Until now. Tony felt as though the sand in his mother's old egg-timer was al most spent.


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