He brought unrelenting misery to my life, and fifteen years on I was now staring him in the face.
The stout, withered figure of Ernest Pludnik bobbed into view on the monitor, his face sallow, his eyes darting like flies around a carcass. He was wearing a ridiculously oversized gold monocle over a watery grey eye, folds of skin collecting under heavy eyelids. His hair was the still the same, slicked back with pomade, only now premature grey snaked from his roots.
The camera zoomed out to show him standing in the street, clutching a mobile phone to his enormous ear. A plume of smoke billowed from a cigar, two thick lips trapping it like a vice. His hands had withered like fruit, lined with deep wrinkles, yet adorned with many thick rings to convey his wealth and power.
'Is he the guy?' i said, my eyes never leaving the monitor.
'Yes. We have visual from the hosting point. It's your call.' Sarah was calm, her voice bearing a thin, soft quality.
I chewed on my lip, watching him waddle past a homeless man. His face, smeared with grime, bore an expectant gaze as the wealthy man plodded past him, but his face sunk as the man waddled past. The man pulled a sheet of soiled cloth around his frail body, shivering violently in the wind. Ernest pulled his cigarette out and threw it into the air, not even looking as it landed on the cloth. That did it.