Yesterday, I invited my old friend Winston Ramsey to meet me in Chicago for some fine dining. We fetched a fine meal in a nice restaurant tucked into a side street. A lovely plate of chicken chasseur for me and a grand old helping of veal for Winston. He paid, kindly.
Afterwards, we went for a drive beyond the city, in the great nowhere of America. I described the scenery to my blind companion as we moved. Eventually, we came across a forest and I started driving towards it. Winston got nervous and started asking to leave. I turned to him with a smile.
“Happy April Fool’s Day, Winston.”
And then I stabbed him in the leg with a syringe full of sedative.
He awoke sometime later, firmly tied to one of the thousands of trees in that vast forest. I was sitting a few feet away in a chair with my laptop plugged into his satellite phone. He heard the clacking of my keys and ask me what I was doing. I told him that I was accessing all his child pornography back in England and emailing it to Scotland Yard using his own email address and that, once I was done, I was going to leave him tied to that tree with a bound set of files from Marcus’s study detailing his many sexual transgressions at his feet. I would put some distance between myself and the forest, then call the nearest police station and have them come collect him and the evidence.
He started screaming while I was explaining this, begging me not to leave him in the forest. It amused me somewhat. He must have felt so certain that he could get away with all the rest of it as long as I didn’t leave him in that forest, where the Tree Walker could get him. He didn’t get to see my smile as I looked up at is wrinkly old face and said, in the sweetest of tones;
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”