‘How do you know so much about me?’ Hector enquired.
‘I know everything Hector.’
Hector cursed to himself.
‘You would have beat that guy up if I hadn’t intervened. Have you not heard of AIDS? Your wife may have contracted the virus because of you, your kids could even have it. All the people you have had sexual contact with may have contracted the aids virus from you. You, Hector, may be responsible for all their deaths. Do you give a fuck? No you fucking don’t.’ Greg stopped abruptly, as he felt an overwhelming power of dominance.
‘You’re going to kill me aren’t you?’ Hector blurted out in panic.
‘No, I’ve already told you I’m not, that’s the job of the person you’ll be meeting tomorrow. That’s if he decides to do it. We’ll have to leave that for tomorrow.’ Greg stopped speaking and walked away. He felt like a giant, no more than a giant, a god.
‘Where are you going?’ Hector’s fears grew.
Greg returned a couple of minutes later, holding a bottle of vodka.
‘Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? What is that for?’ Hector rambled.
‘It’s for you Hector – I’m going to help you drink it,’ Greg decided to only answer Hector’s last question.
Greg then broke the seal on the screw cap on the bottle. He grabbed Hector’s head, pulling it back sharply. Hector opened his mouth, gasping for air in order to soften the shock. ‘Drink up,’ Greg said whilst pouring the transparent liquid down the South African’s throat without concern. The liquid oozed from the corners of Hector’s mouth. Hector desperately fought for air, swallowing the alcoholic spirit seemed the only answer, but the more he swallowed, the more the burning alcohol flowed. Greg forced Hector to finish the whole bottle – a whole litre of vodka was now racing its way around the South Africans bloodstream.
‘Stop, please!’ Hector choked, before vomiting.
Greg did not reply. He quietly stepped back, avoiding the substance that had projected its way from Hector’s intestines. Hector’s eyes glazed over, his head throbbed; the pain from the rest of his body had diluted. His vision wobbled, his surroundings shook and everything seemed to vibrate. The back of his throat stung; the acid contained in his vomit stuck. Coughing, he tried to clear his airways. His eyelids started to feel heavy. Unconsciousness followed.
Greg crouched over the unconscious South African and rolled him over onto his stomach. Greg removed a small tube of Super Glue and emptied the contents along the crease that ran down the centre of the seat of Hector’s jeans. Rolling Hector’s completely limp body onto his side, he placed the empty vodka bottle in the crevice, forcing the crease into Hector’s anal crack. The Super Glue served its purpose. Greg smiled, deciding not to replace the duct tape, in case Hector was to vomit again. The South African choking to death on his own vomit was not part of the plan.
***
Greg arrived home carrying his sports bag. He quickly had a shower. Sitting in the living room he checked the time. Almost five-thirty, time had escaped him; he was exhausted. His bed begged for his company.
Chapter Eighteen
Greg stirred from his less than restful sleep. Tossing and turning, his mind was unable to relax, filled with thoughts of Sharon, Brian, Hector, and now Martin had found his way in. He decided to get up in order to shake away these intruders.
As he walked into the kitchen he checked his mobile phone; Karen had sent him a text.
Morning. Hope you had a good evening. Have fun 2nite.Looking 4ward 2lunch 2moro.xxx
Greg did not have too much to do today. He had arranged to meet Martin for a boys’ night out though that was not for a good few hours yet. With trembling hands, Greg made himself something to eat. He was starving. He tried to navigate his way around his kitchen, his heart continued to race as the flashbacks blurred his vision. The moment soon passed as soon as his taste buds were engaged, his thoughts drifted elsewhere.
***
Uncontrollable shivering woke Hector. The concrete slab he lay on acted like a block of ice. His head pounded with a sharp jabbing needle-like pain. His sore ribs made breathing difficult and he felt a burning sensation from his groin. Something did not feel right. He rolled over and shuffled his left hand down to feel why he had a tearing sensation from his anal crevice.
‘What the fuck?’ His sense of touch informed him that a large bottle had been stuck to the area. It was at that moment that everything started to flood back. Tears filled his eyes and he sobbed without control. He knew this was going to be the last place he would ever see, there was no escape. Coming to terms with his reality was too much for him and he urinated on himself.
Hector looked around to try to understand his surroundings, but could only see a vast open space. He noticed a lone table, it looked steel. The table was located around twenty feet away, with a few items sitting on top. It was then he remembered what he had been told. ‘Who else is that fucker bringing here?’ he asked himself, as he desperately tried to formulate a means of escape.
***
Greg had a lot to do. Firstly, he had to pick up a package from an agreed meeting point – no questions asked. Greg’s shady internet portfolio was escalating by the day. One dodgy contact led to another, and so on. Greg had decided that he was going to drug Martin once he had lured him back to his flat. His extensive research had given him the best possible drug, a date rape drug named Rohypnol. This particular drug, which has been readily available for many years, is intended for use as a surgical anaesthetic and muscle relaxant. However, with a strong enough dose, it would be possible to be used as a sleeping pill. The effects are almost immediate, starting within fifteen minutes of consumption and can last up to twelve hours if taken on an empty stomach. Martin’s stomach would be almost empty, with only alcohol in his digestive system.
The effects of Rohypnol consumption are: sedation, difficulty with concentration, dizziness, poor balance and walking difficulties. When taken with alcohol, the cocktail proves much more potent – there is an increased nervous system depression, with symptoms such as confusion, loss of memory and thinking difficulties.
During later years, and because Rohypnol has long been used as a rape drug, a blue dye was added in order to make the drug more obvious and slower to dissolve. However, the blue dye cannot be seen in coke, red wine, or in coloured beer bottles. Rohypnol and other of its forms are readily available on the street, so the blue dye does little to limit its use as a drink-spiking drug.
Greg knew Martin well enough to know that Martin would not be able to resist an offer of more beer, a free curry, and a pornographic movie – which Greg would use to lure Martin back to his flat at the end of the night.
Chapter Nineteen
Walking at an almost leisurely pace, Greg listened to the passing traffic. ‘The busier the better,’ he told himself. Greg knew nothing about the person he was going to meet – only that they would know him. He had been instructed to carry a pink umbrella. He had purchased the umbrella en route. A French bar in Camden Town was where the rendezvous was to take place.
Greg arrived and checked the time. He was early, though not too early, only ten minutes which was good.
From the outside, La François looked like a pleasant, friendly establishment – modern with a hint of a yesteryear in the background. The furniture was very trendy, with leather and chrome armrests that matched the tables – immaculate. The paintings looked expensive, most displayed nude or scantily clad females.
Greg sat at an available table and tried to visually locate his contact.
‘Hello, sir. What can I get for you?’ a waiter enquired, with a hint of a French accent.
‘White coffee please, mate,’ Greg replied.
‘One moment please, sir,’ the waiter replied, before scuttling off.
As Greg turned his head back, away from the waiter, he noticed that a young woman had sat at his table.
‘Sorry love, that seat’s taken,’ Greg said, smiling.
‘Yes, it’s taken by me. Nice colour, your umbrella,’ the woman replied. Her accent was not easy to place.
The woman looked like she was lost, but only lost in a sense that she was dealing with a novice.
‘I have something for you and you have something for me,’ she said, returning a smile.
The waiter returned, delivering Greg his coffee. ‘Can I get you anything madam?’
‘Yes, coffee – white with sugar – brown sugar.’ Her accent was more prominent; Turkish seemed like a safe bet.
‘Thank you madam, one moment,’ the waiter smiled, scuttling off again.
The woman looked at Greg, not leaving his eye-line; she placed a small Jiffy Bag on the table in front of him.
‘Go to the men’s and check the contents. Don’t try to leave without paying, if you do I will fuck you in your head,’ she smiled.
‘You can’t fuck what you don’t understand,’ Greg replied, returning a smile. ‘Try ripping me off and I’ll cut your tits off!’
Greg stood up and made his way to the men’s toilet, once inside he locked himself in an available cubicle and checked the contents of the Jiffy Bag – it was all there. He went back to his table.
‘Your turn,’ the woman said.
Greg slid an envelope across the shiny table top. ‘It’s all there,’ he told her firmly.
‘I like to count – It makes me feel better,’ she told him.
Greg looked at his coffee, his mind was now suspicious. He watched as the young woman openly counted the money. It was then that Greg knew that someone else in the bar was linked to her. He did not care who, but almost automatically he was planning his attack, should the occasion turn sour. He had become very organized lately.
‘Everything is in order,’ the woman told Greg. ‘I don’t have to fuck you in the head and you don’t have to cut my tits off,’ she laughed. ‘Join me in a brandy?’
‘I don’t have time,’ Greg told her.
‘What a pity,’ the young woman replied. ‘OK, I’ll buy your coffee then, Goodbye.’
Greg nodded his head politely and stood up, not bothering to pick up his umbrella – he was occupied surveying his surroundings. It was clear that he was not out of the woods yet. There was at least one other wolf in La François. He made his way to the exit and left, glancing back through the large panelled window. Greg was right to be suspicious; the waiter that had served him joined the woman and kissed her passionately. He thought it had been suspicious that the waiter had not returned with her coffee. Greg made his way back to the tube station – full-steam ahead…
Chapter Twenty
Greg had arranged to meet Martin in a pub called The Blackbirds on Blackbird Hill – halfway between Wembley Park and Neasden. That said, the meeting place was a little out of Martin’s way as the pair were planning to move on to wherever the mood took them. Greg made sure that he had a dozen bottles of beer in the fridge, ready for when he and Martin returned. Putting on a generous amount of aftershave, Greg checked his hair, wallet, mobile phone and keys before leaving.
He was going to catch the number fifty-two bus which would drop him off outside The Blackbirds. The bus arrived, almost on time. Greg stepped on, paid the driver and found a vacant seat. To make the journey more pleasant, he decided to phone Karen.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Blimey… Hello stranger?’ Karen replied, sarcastically.
‘Sorry, I know that I haven’t been in touch all day, but…’
‘But?’ Karen snapped.
‘But I’ve been busy!’ Greg snapped back.
‘You couldn’t see me last night and you can’t see me tonight because you’re too busy.’
‘Fucking hold on a minute, I didn’t say I was too busy to see you…I said…’
‘Save it Greg.’
‘Save what? You know I’ve had this drink with Mart arranged for almost a fucking week now.’
‘And?’
‘And fuck all. I’m taking you out for lunch tomorrow aren’t I?’
‘I hope that you’re not keeping me away at evenings for some other bird?’
‘Don’t be so fucking stupid.’
‘I’m stupid now am I?’ Karen giggled signifying that the danger was over.
‘Saying rubbish like that, you are!’
‘You on your way to meet Mart now?’ Karen enquired, softening her tone.
‘Yeah, I’m meeting him in The Blackbirds.’
‘You blokes,’ Karen laughed. ‘You really know where to go, don’t you? I was only pulling your leg babe.’
‘Just because we’re meeting there, it doesn’t mean we’re going to stay in there all night.’
‘A tenner says you do.’
‘Make it twenty and you’ve got yourself a wager my dear lady,’ Greg smiled warmly.
‘You’re on, my dear fellow.’
‘Here’s my stop. See you tomorrow,’ Greg announced.
‘Have a good night – Love you.’
‘You too,’ Greg replied feeling slightly uncomfortable.
He stepped off the bus and checked the time; he was early for the second time that day.
The Blackbirds was not an impressive building to look at. The history of the building was, in fact, dull. Thirty years previously, someone had decided to purchase two of the neighbouring houses and join them making one single building. It had unimaginatively been named after the road the building was located on, Blackbird Hill. Inside, the building was completely different. You would be forgiven for forgetting where you were.
The open plan idea gave the impression of vast space. The bar was circled in the middle, almost like an island. There were no hanging optics, no unsightly mirrors. It was as though the place had been morphed from another time, a future-proof time.
Greg walked up to the bar and ordered two pints of lager. Once the drinks had arrived, he paid the barman.
‘Has Mart been in?’ Greg asked, on receiving his change.
‘No, but I’ve not been on long. Do you want me to find out?’ the barman replied.
‘No, thanks anyway.’
‘No problem.’
Greg left the bar and stood by a games machine, resting both his drinks on the top of the machine.
‘Is that one for me?’ a voice enquired.
Greg knew the voice. ‘Course it is.’
‘Cheers, mate,’ Martin said, taking a large gulp, ‘You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.’
‘Tell me,’ Greg relied.
‘Fuck me, where do I begin? You know that dickhead brother-in-law of mine, Hector?’ Martin began, ‘He never went home to my sister’s last night… we all know where he goes on a Friday night.’
‘Or, where he tells us he goes,’ Greg interrupted, ‘We all know how full of shit he is Mart!’
‘Well, he never went home and no one’s heard from him. His mobile is switched off, and, well, he’s missing.’
‘What do you mean “missing”?’
‘I know what a wanker he is Greg. But it’s my sister… The Old Bill have told her that he’s gotta be missing for twenty-four hours before she can report him missing and, even then, they’ve told her not to hold her breath. Listen, mate, I know that he’s a fucking loser but, at the end of the day, he’s never stayed out all night. Alright, he may not get home till the early hours, but he’s always got home.’
‘What do you think’s happened to him?’
‘I think someone’s beat the shit out of him and he’s dead in a gutter somewhere.’
‘Is that what your sister thinks?’ Greg said, shrugging his shoulders, ‘He’ll be OK, mate, he’ll turn up soon enough.’
‘She’s gone off on one, mate. She’s between a rock and a hard place at the moment. I wish I could do more, you know?’
‘You’ll find him, I guarantee it Mart,’ Greg smiled, secretly finding the whole thing amusing.
‘Same again?’ Martin enquired.
‘Yeah, you downed that quickly, mate.’
‘I needed it, mate, believe me.’
The two men continued talking, with Hector being the main topic of conversation. Time ran away from the pair of them.
‘Listen Mart, I’ve had a great idea,’ Greg said, placing his arm over Martin’s shoulder. ‘Why don’t we move to a pub closer to mine – I’ve got plenty of beer in the fridge, a porno that I haven’t watched, and we can grab a curry on the way. What do you think?’
‘It’s further for me to get home, mate,’ Martin replied, slurring his words slightly. The background noise, along with the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed hampered his hearing.
‘Fuck it, you can stay at mine.’
‘But we’ll get a taxi from here, pick up a curry on the way, then it’s beer, curry, and porn all the way!’ Martin said, getting a little too vocal.
The pair continued to laugh and joke about times gone by, getting louder as the evening progressed, singing along with the jukebox, swearing at the fruit machine and telling adult jokes. A couple of times, the pair come close to causing more than an argument with some of the other customers. This is exactly what Greg wanted, he needed the attention – after all, they were friends on a night out.
‘Get some shots in,’ Martin told Greg. ‘We’re celebrating.’
‘What we celebrating?’
‘Friendship, being mates,’ Martin slurred.
‘Not a chance. That’s it for tonight,’ the barman announced.
‘But it’s not even ten o’clock,’ Greg said.
‘You two have had enough for one night, come on lads,’ the barman replied.
‘Never mind, there’s plenty of beer at mine,’ Greg told Martin, as he laughed.
‘You phone a taxi and I’ll nip for a piss,’ Martin slurred.
‘No worries,’ Greg replied.
Greg stood waiting for Martin to return from the toilet, so they could leave the pub. He seemed to take forever, though he eventually appeared. He looked unsteady on his feet, swaying slightly as he walked.
‘Come on. Our taxi’s outside,’ Greg told Martin.
The two men swayed together as they left. Once in the taxi, Greg encouraged Martin to sing along to a song that was playing on the taxi’s radio. The driver did not seem to mind.
The Ultimate Selection: Be Careful Who You Talk To Page 13
