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<\/a><\/span><\/p>\nMichael Croucher has been selected as the winner of the Say WEN<\/em> Fiction Contest announced in the October, 2012 newsletter. Congratulations Michael.<\/strong><\/p>\n MICHAEL was born in England and has lived most of his adult life in Canada. He\u00a0has been writing fiction for over thirty years. <\/span><\/p>\n He is a former Toronto police officer who served seven years investigating organized crime with the Combined Forces Special Enforcement Unit. An avid reader of crime, suspense, and historical novels, his first book, Bravo\u2019s Veil was self- published in 2010. A second release through Friesen Press of Victoria is scheduled for January. <\/span><\/p>\n Michael and his wife live in a small town on the Niagara Peninsula. They have two married daughters and four grandchildren.<\/span><\/p>\n Here is the winning entry, titled\u00a0\u00a0 Night Wagon.<\/strong><\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Broken glass was scattered over the shop\u2019s floor. It lay in piles near the front door and in trails of smaller bits and shards that reached to the back wall. A cold draught washed in through jagged openings in the glass panel and carried a curling ribbon of snow that coated the door frame and the wall beside it.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n A stream of cold air reached the small man in the second barber\u2019s chair but it didn\u2019t bother him. He felt warmer here than he had outside. He turned the chair towards the street and waited in the dark with a brick clutched in his hand. Both of his hands were speckled with blood from small cuts and with small pieces of glass.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cSeasons Greetings<\/em>\u201d banners draped from the top of the two huge shop mirrors beside him and a \u2018Johnny Walker\u2019 clock hung on the wall between the mirrors. Reflected street light caught the clock\u2019s face; it was three fifteen. The man watched the steady movement of the red second hand and listened to its distinctive click. <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n His words were slurred and he spoke as if someone occupied the next chair. \u201cIf nothing happens by three thirty, I\u2019ll give \u2018em another tweak.\u201d<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n A few moments later, he became drowsy in his new found comfort. His chin dropped to his chest and he dozed off. <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n When he came to it was three fifty-five. There had been no response. He clambered down from the chair, took the brick into his right hand, and moved towards the front of the shop. <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n He swayed on his feet, staring at the main window and the loops of plastic garland and tinsel that decorated it. \u201cThis oughta bring the god-damned boys.\u201d <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n He wound up and hurled the brick. It crashed through the window and scuttled across the street, carrying huge wedges of disintegrating glass with it. <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n He grinned, nodded and climbed back onto the chair.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n Within five minutes flashing red lights were reflecting around the shop and off of the mirrors. A flashlight beam probed through the circus of light and settled onto the man\u2019s face. A Smith and Wesson revolver was trained on him through the broken window, another from the combative squat of an officer who was now inside.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t f\u2026ing move,\u201d said the closest officer. He sounded young.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n A gun barrel was pressed behind the man\u2019s ear and he felt the chair being turned away from the street. <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n The second cop was now inside; he was older. <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n His flashlight scanned the man\u2019s face for a closer look. \u201cSo it\u2019s you again, Freddy. I guess you\u2019re thinking it\u2019s time to get back inside, is that right?\u201d<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n Freddy\u2019s nose was flat and grotesquely twisted. One side of his face was covered in ancient scar tissue, the eye socket just a blackened crater. <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n His tongue flickered across his dry and badly cracked lips. \u201cYeah, it\u2019s getting cold officer; too f\u2026ing cold.\u201d<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n Freddy was pulled from the chair roughly by the young one. His arms were brought together behind him and the cuffs snapped on.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cEasy Bobby, loosen those cuffs, son. Old Freddy\u2019s just going home for the Holidays, isn\u2019t that right Freddy?<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cYeah, those stockyards are freezing man.\u201d<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cWhat a damned stench.\u201d The young cop grimaced as he removed five small empty bottles from Freddy\u2019s pockets and checked him for weapons. \u201cHe\u2019s covered in shit. Jesus, what a mess.\u201d<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll call from here. If we use the radio, a wagon could take an hour.\u201d The older cop picked up the shop\u2019s phone and dialled the duty desk at his station.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cStaff, it\u2019s Sid O\u2019Hara on 125, we\u2019re on location; the barber shop at Keele and Mulock. We\u2019re holding one for an entry. It\u2019s old, one-eyed Freddy. Mother of God, he\u2019s ripe. We can\u2019t put him in the cruiser; it\u2019ll stink for a bloody year. He\u2019s covered in all kinds of slop\u2026 shit his pants. Looks like the old bugger drank about a quart of vanilla extract. Could you send the wagon down here for us?\u201d <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n He hung up and looked at his prisoner.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n Spray flew from Freddy\u2019s mouth. \u201cIt\u2019s Sunday, right Officer?\u201d<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cYeah it\u2019s Sunday, Freddy; Christmas Eve, old son.\u201d<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cNice bean soup at The Don on Sundays.\u201d Freddy grinned, three blackened stubs on his gums shined grotesquely in the flashes of red light.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n The Paddy Wagon arrived and its rear door swung open. The cuffs were removed and Freddy climbed awkwardly up the wide steel step and into the hold. He was short enough that he could stand up straight in the aisle between the side benches. He looked back at the cops, drooling as he spoke. \u201cYou taking me to Twelve first?\u201d <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cRight, Freddy,\u201d O\u2019Hara replied. \u201cYou\u2019ll be processed in no time; by noon you\u2019ll be eating Christmas cake and wearing a nice little party hat at The Don.\u201d<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n Freddy clapped his hands and laughed. \u201cThere you f\u2026ing go, boys. And here comes ol\u2019 Santa and his bag full of gifts.\u201d He turned and slapped noisily at the seat of his soggy pants. <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n The young cop closed the heavy steel door and the wagon pulled away, grinding bits of glass as it went. Freddy\u2019s gnarled face grinned back at them through the tiny barred window.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n The two cops walked back towards the cruiser. <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n O\u2019Hara got in the passenger seat and took off his cap. \u201cStop by The Queensbury on the way in, lad. I\u2019ll pick us up a couple of special coffees.\u201d<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cAh\u2026 alright\u2026 sure, Sid.\u201d<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cAnd I\u2019ll get a stiff one for the Staff Sergeant for helping us out. After all, it is bloody Christmas\u2026 Will you have o<\/a>ne shot of rye or two, Bobby?\u201d<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cWell, I don\u2019t normally drink on\u2026\u201d <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n O\u2019Hara gave him his best \u2018come on now\u2019 stare.<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n The young cop glanced back at his partner who was now loosening his Sam Brown belt.\u00a0 <\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n Bobby sighed, put the cruiser in gear, and headed up Keele Street. \u201cAh, just one\u2026 thanks, Sid.\u201d<\/span><\/strong><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/span><\/em><\/p>\n by Michael Croucher<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Michael Croucher has been selected as the winner of the Say WEN Fiction Contest announced in the October, 2012 newsletter. Congratulations Michael. MICHAEL was born in England and has lived most of his adult life in Canada. He\u00a0has been writing fiction for over thirty years. He is a former Toronto police officer who served seven … Continue reading April 20, 2013 Michael Croucher Wins Say WEN Fiction Contest<\/span>