The sword grows restless in the small dark confines of the drawer, and call to be let out.
Sam opens her eyes. The knives can see it is afternoon by the colour of the light. There is a dull thud outside the front door. She is sent to investigate. The afternoon-paper. Picking it up she goes back inside.
Taking the paper into the kitchen she unwraps it, spreading it flat on one of the benches. Taking the knives from the drawer she places them next to it.
She stares blankly at the front page.
‘Read.’
“Gangland Style Execution Outside Brothel.”
“The body of a thirty-five-year-old man was found dead in what appears to be a Gangland style killing.
His body was discovered slumped in a back alley near the brothel when one of the workers left to go home at five this morning. The worker, who preferred to remain anonymous, said the man was a regular client and had visited earlier that night, but had never given his name.
The police are treating the death as suspicious as it may be part of an ongoing turf war between rival gangs. But unlike other victims in this gangland war, this man is unknown to police.
No further details are being released.
The police are appealing to anyone in the public with information to come forward.”
‘Stop.’
Sam falls silent and stares blankly at the front page. The knives have listened carefully. The use of the word ‘war,’ sharpens their interest. Keen to use their edge again, they consider their next move.