Big treat, and all for you. Oh, you’re going to love it.’

Jake heard the door close behind him and the turning of a key in a lock. ‘What…’ he turned, looked up into Darcy’s grinning face. Tricked. Tricked and trapped. Easy game for a young man of Darcy Pearson’s devious skills.

‘Said I got a little treat for you,’ he nodded. ‘You’re really going to enjoy this. We both are.’

On the concrete floor was a cardboard box. The contents were fully apparent; a litter of half a dozen squirming, crawling and mewling kittens, about four or five weeks old.

Jake knelt down. ‘Kittens,’ he said, and stretched out a finger to stroke one.

‘My word, you’re a bright one. Yes, indeed. Six of the little bastards, all ready and waiting.’

‘Waiting for what?’ he said dumbly, emptily. But Jake already knew.

‘Waiting for you to come along and give them a good home? No, not that, Pongo. These dear little kitties are waiting for you to kill them, you stupid little runt. And guess what? That’s exactly what you’re going to do while I watch. Torture them and kill them.’ Darcy was thoroughly enjoying himself, a broad, self-satisfied smile never leaving his face. He folded his arms and leaned against the door. ‘You’re going to kill them. Every last one,’ and happily drawing on his cigarette, he blew a splendid smoke ring.

‘Where’s their mother?’ Numb now.

‘God knows. Probably getting some old tom up her so she can make some more. Come on, Pongo. Get to work. I’m going to enjoy this.’

‘I’m not going to kill the kittens,’ said Jake, firmly.

‘Yes you are.’

‘No I’m not. You can kill me first but I’m not going to kill them. Go on. Kill me.’

‘I’m not going to kill you. Well, not yet, anyway.’ Darcy stretched. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’d like to, but not when I can get this sort of fun out of you first. Tell you what, I’ll let you do them any way you like.