ABEL'S REVENGE_A gripping serial killer thriller like no other

by Ross Greenwood

  ‘The nightclubs don’t shut at two like they did in our day. These kids will still be going at six. As will we!’

  ‘Nightclubs, yuk. Six o’clock in the morning. No chance.’

  My interest wanes somewhat. Ian smiles. He thinks I’m joking. I can do without the drugs, too. The payback would be awful in my vulnerable state.

  ‘Is it the four of us again?’

  ‘There’s two others going. Blokes unfortunately. They’ll no doubt be trying to cut our lunch.’

  That’s one of Ian’s favourite sayings. He used to find it amusing when we travelled that blokes attempted to move in on other men’s women. If you were chatting up a girl and left to get her a drink, by the time you returned another fella would be giving her full patter. It might well have been Ian.

  ‘Did you bring that Kathy back to this place?’

  ‘Yeah. She’s dead keen. I hear you had a little visitor.’

  I try not to think of Olivia’s face as Charlotte left. Charlotte’s bra burns a hole in my pocket. I wondered whether I should wrap it up or something. I’ve been out of the game too long to remember the etiquette for such things.

  ‘It’s all right for you. I’ll have to rent a room in a shared house after I move out. At my age. You know what that entails.’

  ‘Yeah, that’ll be revolting. Eight other bedrooms and only one bathroom. Someone sneaking a slice of your ham and a drop of your milk. Then many others doing it until you have none left. Everyone denies it and looks at you as though you ate them yourself and forgot. Margarine becomes a valued commodity. People steal it with gay abandon. You walk past bastards with so much on their toast it drips on the carpet.’

  ‘Cleaning it will come out of my deposit. The atmosphere is dark. People form cliques. Except me, I’m too old and become ostracised. The weirdo in the basement plays Nick Cave songs dead loud and at strange hours. Oh no, wait, I’ll be that weirdo.’

  ‘Someone’s been in your room, even though you’re sure you locked it. Nasty. I don’t envy you that at all!’

  ‘Funny, isn’t it? I wanted to live like a youngster, and I shall. I will have come full circle. Indeed, it was me who used to steal the others’ food.’

  ‘Life bites you in the arse once more.’

  ‘It’s not fair. House prices have rocketed in the last few years. If they hadn’t, I wouldn’t be living at Olivia’s, we’d have bought a home together. That way, my name would be on the deeds, and now we’re splitting I’d get half the equity. I wouldn’t be rich, but I’d be a damn sight more comfortable than my current situation.’

  ‘Life’s not reasonable. You know that. Let it go. Think of it as security for your children.’

  I wanted him to agree with me, not blow my argument out of the water. It’s better if I change the subject.

  ‘I’ve never heard of this bar? Is it new?’

  ‘No, not especially. It’s next to El Hornero. You remember, that Argentinian place you considered going to until you found out the price of the steaks.’

  ‘Yes, I remember. We joked it was called the horny one. They were outrageously expensive. I could get a week’s shopping for the same amount as their porterhouse.’

  ‘You always miss the point with that kind of thing. It’s not just the food, it’s the experience. Soft lighting and excellent service are included in the bill. I wouldn’t pay that much for a steak if they threw it at me in a polystyrene box.’

  ‘I understand that, but travelling has ruined me. We used to pay ten baht for Pad Thai in Thailand, fifteen if you wanted egg in it. Here you pay twenty times that price and it isn’t as good. Talking of money, I haven’t got much. You still thinking of going with these young’uns to Brazil?’

  ‘Yeah, definitely. I said something would turn up, and it did. We’ll have fun, and it’s cheap there. You won’t believe the size of the bonus I get in a few weeks. I’ll pay your way if necessary. It’ll be my pleasure. I want to live life again.’

  His enthusiasm is catching. Although, I’m not sure going on a booze cruise around South America counts as living life.

  ‘I have a bit of cash in a bond that matures next month, and those shares you made me buy have done brilliantly. I was keeping them for something that escapes me. Now I have kids it doesn’t seem right to be spending my savings on happy pizzas and skydives. Saying that, I’ve already cashed in some of them.’

  I should have taken Olivia for that steak. When was the last posh meal we had? One we could remember and look back on. I suspect we wouldn’t have had sex afterwards as we’d both have been too full, but that’s a benefit of being in a secure relationship. You don’t need to as there will always be another time.

  I was saving the money for the future. I know that much. Was that to make our lives more comfortable? To enable us to pay for experiences together. There’s great pleasure watching kids’ horizons broaden. I want to be there when they see their first real pig. Or deep down did I think we’d split up and I’d need a buffer?

  ‘I’m ageing by the day here, Dan. Let’s drop this country and get sun tans. Think of the carnival and the beaches.’

  ‘Don’t you consider yourself an impostor? Do you remember being underage and sneaking in pubs and fretting over getting served? That’s how I feel now, except this time I’m too old. That someone will come over and shout, “Good try, mate. But you need to leave”.’

  ‘No. I don’t think like that. They’re lucky to have me. To have us. We’re older but we’ve got spending power. In the end, it’s all about money.’

  ‘Easy for you to say, seeing as you have a load. I can’t drink the way I used to, and nor can you. Admit it. You take days to recover from a big one, and I’m sleepy by nine-thirty.’

  ‘We don’t have to get up the next day. There’s no nine-to-five. What’s really bothering you?’

  The answer is immediate.

  ‘I’d miss the kids.’

  Ian locks the door and gives me a hard look.

  ‘They aren’t going to be here though, are they? There’s nothing in this place for you now. In this country even. You said to start with she was leaving for a year. That’s a long time. You might as well face facts. If you wanted family life, you’d have tried harder.’

  Chapter 52

  Dan

  Ian’s words stay with me on the walk to the restaurant. I stifle a yawn, and he follows suit. We cross the road and sure enough, there is the bar next to El Hornero. The Blue Brick Bar looks like a goldfish bowl full of Christmas lights. There’s a queue outside which we join. I roll my eyes at Ian, who shrugs. We aren’t the oldest in the line, and, even though it’s one in, one out, it is moving at a good pace. That makes me feel better.

  We line up along the windowed frontage of El Hornero. I point out the astronomical prices and raise my eyebrows in mock shocked surprise. Most of the menu is in Spanish. I learnt a fair bit of that language on our travels. I could have impressed Olivia with my linguistic skills. Although it would be rusty as I was never fantastic.

  I often got words mixed up. I remember ordering two chamomile teas in one place (Manzenilla) after a mad all-nighter. We’d found it the most soothing thing for hangovers. The waiter gave me an unusual frown but thought it best not to question the wild-eyed gringo.

  He came back less than a minute later with a grin and two pats of butter (Mantequilla). Ian said at the time the only way we could save face was to rub it on our faces. Good times. Man, I used to laugh so much. Why are there only things to moan about nowadays? I need to change my method of thinking. Be more optimistic. Expect little and celebrate the smallest wins. I should take onboard Olivia’s advice and look to people’s strengths as opposed to highlighting their weaknesses.

  I peer between the menus on the window and can make out that weasel neighbour of ours, Mike.

  He is grinning and laughing as though he’s on drugs. His expensive dentistry glows in the subdued lighting that Ian mentioned earlier. I can’t see his date but I hope she’s ugly,
or better still a blatant escort. I suppose it would be too much to wish for it to be no one, and his mind has gone.

  Ian is peering through, too. I grin as we resemble a pair of peeping children.

  ‘Here, isn’t that your neighbour? The git with the flash car?’

  ‘Yes. Mike, el rich bastardo. I can’t see who he’s with, can you?’

  At that moment, the queue moves. We shuffle forwards like old men collecting their pensions. And there, highlighted under a spotlight, is Olivia.

  She has her hair up and wears the purple dress I bought her before she got pregnant with Charlie. It was for her Christmas party. She looked stunning with it on, but by the time the party arrived it no longer fitted. She always joked she’d never be thin enough again to wear it.

  It’s one of the great truths about break-ups. The emotional trauma women go through causes them to stop eating and they lose weight. While the men can’t cook and therefore eat takeaways. They search for oblivion in belly-enhancing beer. Hence, they look awful and their exes look fantastic.

  Something looks amazing on Olivia, and judging by the direction his gaze keeps dropping to, I have a good idea.

  She often moaned I didn’t pay her attention, yet I always told her I loved it when she wore her hair up. Especially if she wore glasses. I must have a secretary fantasy. I saw her in both on rare occasions. I told her I liked her in high heels, and she only ever wore them when she partied with the girls. She has a dangerous looking pair on tonight.

  I expressed a desire to have sex when she had full make-up on, like before she left for the office. She snapped she was too busy. Get up fifteen minutes earlier then, I said. Or five minutes if you put your glasses on. I’m not in the mood at that time of the day, she said. Would once have killed her? How about when you return? No, too tired.

  Modern life is a barrier, children a cage. Work can take everything and leave nothing for home. She’d come back exhausted, scrub off her lipstick and foundation, and try to cuddle when I slept.

  All the time and effort invested in our relationship will be wasted with our impulsive decisions. We discard our pasts because making something new is easier. Maybe we shouldn’t ask why people split up, instead only exclaim surprise when they stay together. She and Mike have recreated the special bond we had with no bother. Their dinner has no baggage or regrets.

  I’m glad I had little to eat myself as it would be everywhere. Instead, my mouth fills with bile. When did she last laugh in that manner with me? He offers her a morsel of food on a fork. She nibbles it off but it drops on the table. He leans forward, and whispers. She throws her head back and I recognise the signs. I loved her most when she was drunk. I saw the girl she left behind. That scene was us before responsibility held the reins.

  I watch him top-up her wine when she’s talking to the waitress. Ian elbows me and beams.

  ‘Look at that weasel. Very low. Filling her drink up when she’s not looking.’

  Everyone knows wine oils the wheels of romance. The line moves again and we move out of sight. Ian places his arm around my shoulders.

  ‘You can’t complain too much. Think what you’re queuing up to do.’

  He’s right. Yet, why do I yearn to lie on the pavement? I want to turn back the clock. There’s a ruckus up front and they eject six men from the club. One goes to throw the bottle he’s still holding, but sees the size of the bouncer and thinks twice. We smile as that’s enough bodies leaving for us to enter the premises.

  It’s three deep at the bar which is discouraging. Ian can’t see the others so we stand together and after ten minutes of being jostled and bumped, we get our drinks and move to the side. We scan the horizon like meerkats for hyenas. I see them first. The four of them appear how you’d expect two attractive young couples to look.

  I glance at Ian who doesn’t look his best. He’s moist and harassed. The man who’s chatting to Charlotte is focusing on trying to cut my lunch. And my dinner. She grins and giggles at his vigorous face. I sense defeat. I note Kathy’s bloke is more forward. He could have stepped out of a rowing boat and has a meaty arm draped over her shoulder. Ian will be pleased.

  I watch them in their innocence and know we’re interfering. Ian spots them, and his eyes narrow. He sees the danger.

  ‘They’re over there. No way, those toads are all over our chicks. Game on.’

  He’s a snake in long grass as he cuts through the crowd and beats me there by a good half minute. Ian knows the rules. I watch a master in action. He introduces everyone, manoeuvring people into space to shake hands. When the dance is over, he has Kathy in the corner with him blocking her in. Charlotte finds herself jammed against the wall by me, and the two goons stand together with jumbled expressions.

  Ian delivers the coup de grâce by handing his victim a credit card.

  ‘There’s a tab behind the bar. Get the drinks in and you can have what you want. Shots, you name it. The night is on me.’

  Rowing must not pay well as he’s pleased with the trade. I suspect, looking like he does, free drinks are rarer than keen women. My foe is not so easily vanquished. A song I’ve never heard before starts to play. He takes her hand and cheers.

  ‘Come on, let’s boogie.’

  She doesn’t even pretend she’s not interested. I watch in horror as they sashay to the edge of the revellers who have succumbed to the beat. No hiding behind others for this guy. Brilliant. My enemy dances. It’s the ultimate trump card. The sound of a guillotine sliding into a thud echoes in my mind.

  Ian gives me a shrug and shouts over the din.

  ‘You’ll have to ask if you can have the next dance. Hopefully it will be something from Dirty Dancing and not YMCA. Failing that, use my gloves and slap him around the face a couple of times and demand satisfaction.’

  ‘I’m going for a piss.’

  I take as wide a route from them as I can, suspecting Ian is laughing. No one wants to see that. I walk through the crowded bar and don’t see a single person who looks as lovely as Olivia did tonight. I doubt I would, even if I stayed in here for a whole year.

  As always, the toilets are the first place to show the effects of a busy establishment. They’re on the edge of disaster. The floor will be tiptoe only within the hour. The urinal overflows as I pee into it. I have to stand back and can see how the problem started. Another bloke is urinating into a cubicle from a metre away.

  The soap has run out, but I rinse my hands. The towels are long gone. The face in the smudged mirror that returns my stare is worn-out. What am I doing here? I must have been dreaming. I’m not up to the challenge of Ricky Martin out there.

  My heart isn’t robust enough for this lifestyle. It’s hard to recall after so many years how merciless the dating game is. People are ruthless with your heart, and you with theirs. You forget how difficult it is to discover someone similar. How rare to meet a person who can tolerate you and your idiosyncrasies. To find a person who loves you more than your weird behaviour irritates them.

  I used to think Olivia and I were the same kind of crazy. Maybe she altered, and I didn’t notice, and she hoped I’d change, and I never did.

  Both Ian and Olivia were accurate concerning travelling, and they were both wrong. Ian is right, I’m not too old for long term travel. Sure, I can’t do three nights in a row or live off local beer and noodles anymore, but that’s about knowing your limitations. On the other hand, Olivia is correct too, because a traveller is not who I am now. I’m past it because of my commitments. If I go to Brazil, every experience I have will be blackened by the knowledge I didn’t do the right thing by my children. Or at the least, attempt to.

  Why haven’t I tried harder? What am I doing here? She will leave without me, and I’ll be on my own. My children countries away, and even Ian is leaving. The old adage is true; you appreciate nothing until it’s missing. I must talk to her, and I need to sort myself out.

  I exit the toilets and stare at the sea of animated faces. I don’t belong here. Not
anymore. Ian catches my eye as he scans the room. We’ve been together in a thousand bars in a hundred cities. Our eyes meet and that’s enough. He will know I’m leaving. I surge toward the exit. It’s as though I’ve fallen into dark water and only now, just before I drown, can I see the light and how to escape.

  The clear air makes me gasp in relief as I step out the doors. The bouncer looks at me and shakes his head.

  ‘Too much for you in there, is it?’

  He turns his back and laughs to his mate. He’s loud and cocky, and pleased with his local accent. A knee to the balls would wipe off his smile. A girl in the company uniform walks by and he slaps her arse. She shrinks away from him. I slip Charlotte’s bra in his coat pocket as I leave and hope it costs him dear. The rain is torrential as I walk into the open, but I’m unaware.

  Should I approach Olivia now while he’s there? I can’t imagine accosting them when they’re both loaded would end well. One’s thing for sure, I’ll never be eating at El Hornero. A terrible thought rips through my mind. What if they fell in love? Perhaps she wouldn’t leave the city. Mike moves into my house and becomes a father to my children. I’d have to knock on their door and wait for him to open it.

  A surge of panic makes me turn towards the restaurant. I must talk to her now, even if I don’t yet know what to say. It needs to be immediately while my mind is focused. The restaurant’s neon sign flashes outside and I see an employee leave. He doesn’t lock the door so I stride over to the entrance. A suited man pulls a bolt across his side of the glass as I approach. I rap my knuckles hard enough to bruise. He mouths ‘We’re closed,’ and disappears into the gloom.

  I strain my eyes to penetrate the streaked windows. I can’t make out if anyone is still there. A flash of lightning reveals the place is shadowy and empty. I’m too late.

  Chapter 53

  Olivia

  Mike and I stumble through the expensive hotel entrance. The doorman tips his hat to Mike. They know each other. I wonder if that’s because he brings all his dates here. Am I the most recent of many? The carpet is thicker than our duvet at home. That and the wood panelling make the atmosphere subdued and I feel cloth-eared. My heel snags but Mike catches me before I fall and links his arm with mine.