The Seven Corporal Works of Mercy

When his boss telephoned him with a job to do, Brad was getting dinner ready for himself and his wife. She’d soon be home from work. Brad got changed, and sent a text message to her. She’d have to eat by herself. He’d have dinner when he got home.

An hour later Brad and his work-mate, Rev, were in the van and close to their destination. The autumn dusk had turned to night in the time it had taken to drive there. The streetlights were inadequate. The two middle-aged men cruised slowly, both peering at the dark buildings to their right.

“There they are, at the end of the block,” Brad said. He was driving, and pointed at the police vehicles, a paddy-wagon and the forensics’ van, partly obscured by other parked cars.

They turned into the driveway.

“Dingy, old flats,” Rev said. There were eight fibro and brick units in one continuous line. Some had their front door open and inside they looked very basic: one bedroom, a small lounge room and kitchenette. No garages or…