The man with the grubby clothes and woolly beanie stood looking down at the dead man and smiled.
He considered this was a good night’s work. It was late and the streets were empty. The lowlife had it coming. He was a suspect in at least two murder cases. He’d never been charged, for a lack of evidense. He was with the dead man in the club, earlier that evening. He and his cronies were gathered in the private room at the back. He had been very drunk, bragging about how dumb the cops were and how he’d run rings around them. He had reckoned that the lack of evidence had them beat every time.
The man glanced around, the place was still deserted. He walked back to his car and climbed in. He sat thinking for a while before moving off. He drove a short distance to a public telephone and made a call. He then drove to the other side of town where he pulled to the curb, leant across and cracked opened the passenger door. He dropped the switch blade through the grid of the drain cover. He then made his way, slowly back to the scene of the crime. When he arrived, he pulled the old, battered car over. He sat for a moment watching the blue lights flashing.
He got out of the car and strolled across to the scene. Seeing a detective he knew, the undercover detective in the grubby clothes and woolly beanie asked what was going on.