Sangre De Toro (Old Draft - Now Published!)

Chapter 32 - Hairless Mammals

'That was an excellent shoot, a truly rich diversity of waterfowl,' Lord Owenstoft said as the members of the Taurine Club returned to their villa. While Henry owned a majority share, the property, conveniently placed next to a Spanish hunting range, had been gifted to the club by one of the original patrons.

'Hopefully there are a few left over for the next instalment. We did bag rather a lot,' Henry laughed, striding alongside the other members and eyeing their takings.

'Eloise, you nabbed a pink footed goose. Congratulations, that's quite a rarity,' he smiled.

'I did, and I'm going to take it to the taxidermist you recommended,' Eloise grinned, clutching the unlucky bird upside down by its feet. She had been quite preoccupied at the previous few afternoons' entertainment, but she seemed to be calmer and back in good spirits this morning. Being out with a gun in the warm weather had done her the world of good.

'Just a pity there was no bigger game to retrieve,' Henry said. It had been a wonderful morning in the field, but the ducks and geese he'd bagged couldn't fully quench his thirst.

It had been weeks since he'd taken anything bigger than a pheasant. Those idiotic birds couldn't stave off the compulsion he neither wanted to control nor could any longer, the urge that now possessed him and occupied his every thought.

He had to kill a human.

He had to do it soon.

He unlocked the door to the villa. Like his British properties, it was decorated with animal heads, stuffed birds, pairs of horns and antlers. Controversial exhibits were saved for his favourite English mansion – while substantially large, it would be difficult for any prying eyes to ascertain the Surrey property's true ownership, concealed as it was by shell companies. At the bottom of the stairs was a glass case of woodland birds he'd shot one summer's day, frozen in time on fake branches for Henry to gaze at, savouring the memory again and again.

Eloise excused herself and went upstairs. 'I'm meeting a friend; going to get changed.'

'Did you see, Pepelito is on his way to Javier Castella,' Lord Owenstoft said once she was out of earshot. A wide smile spread over Henry's face at his friend's words as the two entered an airy drawing room, filled with even more hunting trophies. This news was most welcome after the stress of the last few days.

'Is he?' Henry grinned.

'Yes, so I'm told. There will be a corrida in the next few days at an undisclosed location, as some silly, badly brought up Spanish teenagers have got rather fond of him.'

'Not just teenagers, Rupert.'

'Quite so.' Lord Owenstoft nodded, and the two men exchanged a knowing glance. With disgust, Henry pictured the video of the bull walking beside people who adored him, showing them nothing but innocence, trust and love.

It made him sick.

Animals existed only for the pleasure of humans.

Humans like him.

And since he was packed off to boarding school at age 5, no animal or human had ever, or would ever look at him that way.

'I do like to view the bulls, where possible, before the action happens. What say you, old bean?' Lord Owenstoft said.

Henry also liked to see fighting bulls, observing the impressive, fearsome beasts before they were brought low by the sword. Maybe he'd even get to punish Pepelito again for his insolence.

Would he remember him?

Henry hoped so.

'Let me round up George, and I'll join you with pleasure.' As Henry spoke, Lord Owenstoft looked curiously at his phone, then back to him.

'Dixon? There's a strange message doing the rounds on the Tory WhatsApp chats, and it concerns you.' What? He felt on edge, jumpy. The news about Valero's arrest and Tegan's overturned conviction had unnerved him. This ominous comment filled Henry with an unfamiliar, unwelcome emotion.

Fear.

Did Rita think he liked living like this? Had she any notion of what he experienced – hunted and pursued, at the mercy of this ravenous hunger and thirst, this beast inside him demanding blood? Did Heather? Did Robyn?

Caroline certainly hadn't; nor any of those trolls and sentimental do-gooders. Did Tegan?

Did fucking Pepelito?

As if he understood the lot of a predator!

'What sort of strange message?' he stuttered, as Eloise waved a cheerful goodbye, her mind clearly on other things. Henry wished he could be in such a jovial mood.

'This morning, Interpol has issued an arrest warrant for the Tory peer Lord Henry Dixon, wanted in connection with at least 7 murders. The public are warned not to approach him, as he is described as extremely dangerous. What's this about, old chap?'

'It's a misunderstanding, I haven't murdered anyone, the powers that be have just uncovered a series of unfortunate coincidences.' A shiver ran down Henry's spine. Visions of a maximum-security Spanish jail cell came to him unbidden. He tried to laugh in as unforced, natural a way as he could. The grouse moor owner looked strangely disappointed. The building was registered in Henry's name. He had to leave now; staying here would be a fool's errand.

Especially if the police dug up the garden.

'I'm sorry to hear of these troubles,' Lord Owenstoft said quietly, but his voice was anything but light hearted. Surely a fellow Taurine Club stalwart wouldn't turn him in?

'I do confess to a certain...curiosity on the subject of homicide. I've spent my life shooting game, pheasants, ducks, stags, the odd rhino. And of course, as an 'aficionado practico', I did attend that course in Guadalajara and learn to finish off my own bull. I hoped, and I'm sure I speak for many of our friends, that you could tell me how it feels...with our own species of hairless mammal.'

'You'd like to know what it's like, you mean?' Relief and excitement flooded through Henry like a wave.

'Yes,' his friend said, with a knowing look.

'Let's discuss this in the car,' Henry said, hardly able to contain himself.

One couldn't be too careful. Would-be blabbermouths were everywhere, even among those who shared his passion for Spain's greatest export. Then again, if things did become dire, he could make himself scarce in Castella’s extensive grounds.

In any case, given her bond with Pepelito - and Henry found himself salivating at the thought – Rita would surely turn up. That bull was not only useless and mediocre, but cowardly, a toro manso who deserved the worst. Nevertheless, she would, Henry was sure, make a valiant effort to save the beast.

He'd seldom looked forward this much to anything.