Deadly Choice

by Jack Parker

"It is," said Linda, "if it wasn't then you'd have listened to me."

  "Alright, I'll… leave," said Kim, "I'll leave, I'll hand my notice in tomorrow, I'll go back to tattooing full time, I'll do anything you want. Please… tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it."

  Linda stared at her. Her eyes looked a little misty.

  "I want you to want me," she whispered.

  Kim almost choked. That was the one thing that she didn't think she would be able to do. She felt a tear fall from her eye as she whispered a lie.

  "I do. More than anything."

  Linda stared on. She swallowed nervously.

  "Maybe we should get some counselling," she whispered, "call Relate."

  "Oh, not Relate," said Kim, "I knew someone who worked there, they had an infestation of ants."

  Linda sighed.

  "Somewhere else then. Somewhere with no wildlife."

  Kim gave the tiniest smile. She nodded.

  "Alright," she said quietly.

  Linda stared at her again. She still wasn't convinced of Kim's sincerity but this wasn't the time.

  "I have a back piece starting at ten," she said quietly, "I've got to go. We'll talk about this tonight."

  Kim nodded and tried to smile.

  "OK," she said.

  Linda definitely looked tearful now.

  "It only hurts so much because I love you," she whispered.

  Kim didn't know what to reply to that. She didn't feel that she could say it back so she used her tears as an excuse not to speak and the two women shared an awkward and hesitant embrace before Linda had to leave for work.

  Staring around the walls of the now empty house, Kim felt hollow inside. She was making a choice that was only going to make her unhappy. And although she felt she was doing it for the right reasons that didn't stop her feeling regret before she'd even started.

  * * *

  Kim spent the day doing all her wifely duties. After calling in sick to work she cleaned, she tidied, she cooked, she threw the burnt meal in the bin, she started again and she showered and tidied herself up. She made as much of an effort as she could, spruced herself up, made herself look as alluring as possible even though in her heart she knew that she made far more effort the night before for Robin.

  There was one more thing she had to do. Well, apart from proving to Linda that she shouldn't swap her for a dildo. She picked up the phone, checking the clock to make sure Linda wasn't due home and called Robin's number. Her heart was fluttering as she waited for what she presumed would be the inevitable voicemail but instead Robin answered.

  "Hello?"

  For a moment she was struck dumb. She wasn't sure what to say. Eventually she cleared her throat and stammered,

  "R-Robin? What are you doing there?"

  There was a stony silence as Robin recognised her voice. It took a few moments before he replied,

  "Because this is my flat?"

  "I thought you'd be at work," Kim said nervously.

  She heard Robin sigh a little.

  "I took the day off," he said quietly.

  "Oh," Kim said.

  "Spent the night throwing up a quarter of a bottle of brandy and half a bottle of scotch," Robin told her.

  The guilt started to grow inside of Kim, choking her terribly.

  "Oh Robin," she whispered.

  "What do you want, Kim?"

  Robin sounded as hollow as Kim felt. She swallowed and tried not to cry as she began,

  "I was going to leave you a message," she said quietly, "I wanted to say I'm so… just so sorry." She choked back tears as she lied, "it was one of those things… I'd had too much to drink and I didn't know what I was doing."

  "Oh, bollocks, I've seen you drink five times that and still be more coherent than I am when I'm stone cold sober!"

  "I was upset, and we'd been drinking –"

  "Please Kim, it's bad enough that you're so disgusted by me…"

  Kim felt her heart sinking.

  "Rob, I never meant…"

  "…Don't try to make me feel worse by labelling me a drunken mistake," Robin sounded distraught.

  "I… I didn't mean that…" Kim dug herself in deeper.

  "I remember what you said last night, Kim," Robin whispered, "I remember you said you were falling for me."

  Kim closed her eyes and gave a loud sob that escaped from deep inside of her. She couldn't stop it. She couldn't hold it back.

  "Rob –"

  "You never let me tell you how I felt."

  "Robin," she breathed deeply to try to get her emotions under control, "I'm going to go now. I… I'm so sorry for everything that happened. I..." she closed her eyes. She what? She wanted to see him? Wanted to explain but didn't know how? She was scared? She was confused? "I've got to go." She couldn't face telling him any of those things. She took the easy option. "Bye, Robin." She whispered and put down the phone before her broken voice could tell him far, far too much.

  * * *

  The clanking of the door woke Nick Nailer from slumber. He didn't like that. Slumber was one of his favourite things.

  He'd had a good run. He'd put in decades of hard graft, building up his empire. He'd slipped through the hands of the law more times than Kim had been to get something pierced. It was all over with a honeytrap; the beautiful redhead who he thought was the one but turned out to be an undercover detective who loved the good stuff more than she loved him. One night with something impure floating through her veins and his call for an ambulance finally sealed his fate. Incarceration soon followed.

  But there was something that Nick Nailer hadn't been expecting. He really quite liked life inside. He finally realised that he was just too old for that lifestyle now. He was sick of all the running and the hiding, the backstabbing, the double dealing. For a criminal he was a pretty damn honest one and the sneaky little scrotums, the Arthur Laytons of the world, turned him away from the life he used to lead. There was no honour among thieves any more. He was tired of all the betrayal.

  Life was pretty nice in jail for Nick Nailer. With friends in high places there was always a little something getting through that he used to keep the other prisoners happy and brought him in many favours. He had all his creature comforts. Three square meals a day, a big TV and a bloody nice pool table. His bed was alright and lights out meant he got a decent sleep every night and no longer woke up like a bear with a sore head every morning.

  Well, most nights, at least. This one was the exception.

  "I have told you before," he yawned rubbing his eyes, "If it's before eight o clock then I don't care which family members have died, I ain't taking calls."

  "Nailer, you're shipping out."

  Nailer sat up straight as the two prison guards came into his room. He felt confused and bewildered, unsure what the hell was going on.

  "Shipping out?" he repeated, "to where exactly?"

  "Moving you to another prison," one of the guards told him.

  "Give me some credit, I figured that much!" Nailer protested, "I know I've done a few substances over the years but I've still got my marbles!"

  One of the guards cuffed Nailer to his wrist.

  "We'll send for your possessions later today," he said.

  "I just want to know where I'm going," groaned Nailer, "and why. I was supposed to be playing pool later. Got a league going. I'm top three!"

  "Move it," the guard told him.

  As the guards walked him from his cell and along many corridors to a waiting van Nailer began to have his doubts. Something didn't really seem right. He couldn't put his finger on what it was – it all seemed so professional, so authentic, but there was a little nagging thought in the back of his heads that led him, just before they closed the doors, to say,

  "You're not legit, are you?"

  The guard gave a sly wink.

  "Welcome home, Mister Nailer," he said.

  Nailer closed his eyes. He shook his head and groaned.

  "If I wanted out I'd have sent up
the balloon!" he complained, but it was too late. Nailer might have been pleased to be leading a quieter life on the inside but his empire couldn't cope without him. Nailer was back on the streets – if he liked it or not.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Nailer left the prison grounds at five a.m. this morning," DI March began, "The paperwork was genuine, the instructions were genuine, Nicholas Nailer was due to be transported to Fairfield prison because Arthur Layton was due to be moved to HMS Fenchurch. The clash between them was anticipated to be deadly. Layton supplied the drugs that killed Victoria Stone," he pinned up a photograph of Victoria's lifeless face taken on the slab before her autopsy, "DI Stone was undercover but Nailer had developed what he thought to be a deep relationship with her. He was considered a suicide risk directly after his arrest but psychological evaluations have since demonstrated that this is no longer a probability."

  He pinned a still from the CCTV footage from the prison on the board.

  "Here we see a genuine prison van collecting Mister Nailer this morning. There are two guards, one has been working for sixteen years in the prison service and is squeaky clean. He was found gagged, bound and unconscious three miles away from the prison. The second guard is this man," he pinned up a close up, "William Huxley, also known – in slightly less respectable circles - as Billy Hocker. He started working for HMS Prisons four years ago. At the time all his credentials checked out. This morning one of our snouts identified him as being part of Nailer's outer ring. Not one of the main men… One of his men's men."

  "Sounds like a bloody gay orgy to me," some smart-alec DC commented to mutters of amusement from some of the team.

  "Looks like Huxley's been in place for some time in case the worst came to the worst," said March, "someone who can give our friend Nailer his direct route to the outside."

  "If he's been in place all that time," Kim spoke up quietly, "then why has it taken this long to get Nailer out?"

  "Lack of opportunity," March suggested, "or Nailer waited to get the word out. He's not been in the news lately. He'll have more chance of hiding away than if his face was all over the place."

  Kim nodded. That was true. She sighed distractedly as she stared at the board. She was doing her best at home, she really was. Linda had been impressed with all her efforts when she returned home the night before. She'd even been impressed with Kim's performance in the bedroom, although Kim almost spoilt it when she was a whisker away from calling someone else's name.

  She tried to pay attention to the case at hand. She knew Nailer. Well, she knew of him, from two time zones. Time hadn't treated the man all that well, she observed as she looked at his mug shot. In 1995 he'd been a fairly dapper looking gentleman. Not handsome but he had the kind of look that she could imagine people warming to. Now he had a fair bit of extra weight, stubble and bags under his eyes, although still there was something about him. That rare breed of charming criminal. If he'd put his mind to any other job he could have done brilliant things. Could have been a pilot. Talk show host. Member of the panel on Dragon's Den. But he'd chosen a different lifestyle.

  "Stringer."

  Hearing her name brought Kim from her thoughts.

  "Yes, sir?"

  "I want you to represent CID in the manhunt that uniform are organising," March told her.

  Kim nodded.

  "Yes, sir," she said.

  "Since you and Chief Inspector Thomas work so well together you'll be sure to get it off the ground efficiently."

  Pow. Those words were like a bullet. They struck her in the heart. Her eyes opened wide as she stuttered,

  "S-sir?"

  "Don't worry, there's no stuffy bloody protocols about not working with your mates," said March, "you've worked well as a team, mistake we made with Layton's search was splitting you up. He'll be here shortly and you can discuss where to begin with the dogs."

  Kim swallowed and tried to protest but as March was already heading away from her and talking to another colleague she didn't have much of a chance. She closed her eyes and gave a groan of frustration. How? How could this be happening? It wasn't fair, of all the people….

  Why did Nailer have to bloody escape anyway? It was like he'd done it on purpose, so that she had to spend the day working with Robin, trying not to look at each other, or talk to each other, or breathe the same air as one another. It was as though life was so beautifully planned out by some silly little man who lined up these perfect little quirks of fate.

  Bloody fucking typical.

  * * *

  "We've assigned you someone to guide you through CID's action plan and for you to discuss the benefits of the canine assistance during a manhunt with," DS Fullerton told Robin as he walked him quickly through the corridors, "and we think your unit will prove very useful for tracking what happened to Nailer when the van went out of sight."

  "Right," Robin said a little breathlessly, trying to keep up.

  "Feel free to help yourself to coffee," Fullerton offered.

  Robin rolled his eyes a little.

  "Because that's going to put Nailer back in jail, isn't it?" he mumbled.

  As Fullerton led him into CID he felt a little strange. He always did when he had to go there. Seeing the office to one side without Simon's name on the door always sent a cold feeling of sadness trough his bones. This time was no exception. He took a very deep breath and tried to push past that feeling. He had to focus.

  "And here's who you'll be working with," Fullerton told him as someone pushed Kim in their general direction.

  Robin froze. He hadn't even thought… hadn't considered…

  "Oh," he said quietly.

  All at once he found himself encased in his worst nightmare. It was too dreadful to comprehend. The day before Kim had more or less said her goodbyes to him and passed their almost-night together off as a drunken mistake. His pride couldn't take spending the day in her company. More than that, neither could his heart.

  Kim and Robin looked at one another, then turned their eyes away. Both their faces were dark and cold. Neither wanted to go through this. It was just too much for them to deal with. It would be too much for anyone to cope with in this position. But then again, who the hell else had ever been in this position?

  "You can use DCI Huston's office to brief the Chief Inspector on the areas we are focusing on," Fullerton told Kim.

  Kim's eyes flashed to Robin for a second, then away again.

  "Yeah. Sure," she mumbled.

  Robin's face took on a pained expression as his eyes moved to the doorway on which the name 'DCI Shoebury' had once been emblazoned. Was this really a day constructed to torture him in every way possible?

  "Thanks," he whispered.

  Fullerton walked away and left the two of them alone. Their eyes briefly met for one torturous second before they both looked away again. They stood in silence for several moments, neither looking at nor talking to each other. Robin realised this was possibly not the most mature he'd ever been in his life. The same could most likely be said of Kim. Eventually he decided to be the adult in the situation, indicated the office door and said quietly,

  "We'd better…"

  "Yeah," Kim nodded, clutching her papers about Nailer. They walked slowly to the office together and sat down. Once again silence descended. This wasn't getting any easier at all. All Robin could hear ringing through his mind was Kim saying that it was a drunken mistake and all Kim could see was the memory of Robin's trouser lump. Eventually Robin looked at her and said quietly,

  "Look… Kim… neither of us want to be here. Can we just make it as painless as possible and get on with it so we can find this twat and get back to our own jobs?"

  Kim looked at him. She'd never seen his face look so pale or haunted before. It cut her up inside to know that she was responsible.

  "This wasn't my doing, Rob," she said quietly.

  "I know.

  "They assigned me because March saw us working well as a team.

  "I know. It
's fine."

  "It's not though," Kim said quietly, "is it?" she looked at Robin and he finally met her eye. "It's horrible."

  Robin shook his head slowly.

  "This isn't the time to talk about this," he said "let's just get on with it." He began to spread Kim's papers across the desk but Kim didn't move. All she did was to stare at Robin, watch his hair flopping over his features, see the lips she'd kissed just two nights earlier. There was a part of her that wished she was still all curled up in that warm duvet, and in his arms. Something started to build inside of her, a rush of words that she wasn't sure how to express.

  "Robin," she breathed. Just the sight of his eyes rising and meeting hers made her stomach do flip-flops. She'd been trying to deny that fact. She'd been trying to block out all of those things, the parts of the whole crazy situation that made it impossible to ignore. She reached out quite suddenly and placed her hand over his. "You don't disgust me." He stared at her. She watched his tongue run nervously around his lips His eyes looked scared and wounded as he remembered her words. "I know that's what you think… maybe that's what I said but it came out wrong. And before you start going back to stupid territory it had nothing to do with your scars" she stared at him seriously, "OK?"

  Robin stared back. Her intense gaze rendered him powerless to speak for some time until he finally nodded his head slowly.

  "OK," he whispered.

  She looked at him, starting to shake. The words stuck in her throat and she had to force them out. She felt stupid… it was embarrassing to say and she hated herself for it but she had to speak the truth.

  "It's not you… it's… it's men, all men, Robin. I'm a lesbian and I'll always be a lesbian. I like women, and the thought of men… being with one… a man's body…" she gave a visual shudder. "I wish I could stop it but it makes me feel…" she shook her head. "If I liked those bits I'd be bi, wouldn't I? If I wanted to be with men as well as women then I'd have been bisexual. But I don't. I like woman. I don't… can't stand…" she felt as though she was making it worse. She swallowed, took a deep breath and then looked him in the eye. "I freaked out," she whispered, "because I'm scared."

  "Scared?"