Seven Deadly Sins

by K D Grace

  “Oi!” he shouted, lunging forward and grabbing that hair, hefting the young guy up so he was a sitting, blinking-eyed mess of puzzlement. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing in here?”

  The man raised his hand to his head, pushed Kevin’s grip away, and rubbed the spot that clearly hurt from Kevin’s assault. He winced then straightened up, levelling his shoulders and puffing out his slender chest. Kevin reckoned he was about twenty-five if he was a day, wet behind the goddamned ears and dense to boot.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Kevin asked. “Or are you fucken deaf?”

  The man squinted, and realisation seemed to widen his eyes. “’Ere, you’re that fella! The one in the photos downstairs. Blimey, mate, you’ve aged a bit, ain’t you?”

  That London accent came straight out of Oliver Twist, and Kevin bridled at the man’s audacity, ignoring his question as though he hadn’t even asked it.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Kevin asked.

  “I’m George, and I’d ask who the fuck you are, except I already know.” He got out of bed, breezing past Kevin to grab a pair of dark blue jeans. Putting them on, he said, “Well, you’re either Robin or Kevin, one or the other. Never did work out which face matched which name.”

  Anger threatened to pitch Kevin over — have him lashing out, grabbing the little git by his hair again and tossing him out on his ass.

  “So how come you’re back then, after all this time?” The man shrugged into a black t-shirt and pulled it down so the hem reached his crotch. “I mean, I’ve been living here nigh on two years now. No sign of anyone. So why the sudden return?”

  It seemed nothing fazed this character. Not the filthy look Kevin was giving him, Kevin’s hands clenched into fists, or his heavy breathing. Nothing at all.

  “This is my fucking cottage,” Kevin managed. “And you don’t belong here. Get your shit together and get the fuck out.”

  The man — George or whatever the hell he’d said his name was — stared at Kevin, his full lips parted, his green eyes wide. “Hang on a bloody minute, chap. I’ve kept this place all clean, like. Made sure it was safe from people breaking in. You can’t just tell me to sod off!”

  “I can — I did — and you are sodding off. Now.”

  Kevin turned away, went downstairs to distance himself, because if he’d stayed where he was, he’d have done the guy some damage. He wanted to punch something, hurt someone, and had to put space between them in case that someone turned out to be the man upstairs.

  Or the man who now stood behind him, breath hot on Kevin’s neck.

  Kevin turned to face him. “Look, pal, I appreciate you looking after this place and all that, but you’ve got to go. I won’t ask how you got in, how you’ve managed to stay here without anyone noticing, or where you plan on going next. You just have to leave. You don’t belong here. No one does.”

  George cocked his head. “What, not even you?”

  “No, not even me.”

  “So why are you here? Come to get it ready for sale or something?”

  Kevin found himself wanting to answer, even though it was none of the little turd’s business. “Because I’ve got no where else to go, if you must know. Once I have, yeah, I reckon I’ll be selling it.”

  George nodded knowingly. “I see. Can I claim squatter’s rights?” He widened his eyes at Kevin, must have seen the anger on his face. “Or not. No, maybe not.” He lifted one hand as though to ward Kevin off. “It was just a joke, all right? I’ll go. But do me a favour, yeah?”

  Kevin almost laughed. “Do you a favour? Hit the road, now!”

  “No, no,” George said, flapping one hand. “I just want you to answer a question, that’s all. It’s been bugging me for fucking ages. Is that you who’s been paying the electric bill, the water and whatnot? Only, it never goes off, and the only bills that have come through the past two years are to say not to pay anything and that the monthly payment plan is still adequate — their word, not mine.” He rolled his eyes and moved over to the kettle, taking it from its base and filling it at the sink. “Want a cuppa?” he asked, turning to look at Kevin over his shoulder.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Kevin stared, seeing how much this guy wasn’t kidding. He was going to make a damn cup of tea before he left, no doubt about it.

  “Nope. I’m thirsty, thought you might be an’ all.” He smiled brightly. “So, d’you want one then?”

  Kevin turned away, mind whirling, feet unsteady. He had to go and sit the hell down before he fell down. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, walking out of the kitchen. He sat on the couch in the living room, propped his elbows on his knees and glared at the floor, bringing his hands up to clasp them behind his neck.

  There was a person in his kitchen — in Robin’s kitchen. A man in Robin’s house. One who shouldn’t be here but who didn’t seem in any rush to leave.

  “D’you have sugar, or what?” George called. “And if you do, how many? Hope it isn’t more than two, because we’re running low.”

  We’re? We’re running low?

  Kevin lifted his head. Let go of his neck to drag his hands down his face. Wondered why the fuck he was about to answer but answered all the same. “One’ll do.”

  “Good stuff!”

  George wandered in, placing a cup of tea on the coffee table in front of Kevin then curling up in the chair opposite, one that matched the couch. “So, you going to do that favour for me, then? I mean, I’ve had a long time to think about it, and when you’ve got time on your hands, there’s nothing to do but think sometimes, know what I mean?”

  God did Kevin know what he meant. He nodded.

  “I have no idea who’s been paying the bills.” Kevin assumed Robin must have had money in his account — must still have it. He wondered why it hadn’t been seized or whatever the hell happened to people’s cash when they died and no one claimed it. Decided he couldn’t cope with the thought and shrugged.

  “Oh, right ho.” George took a sip of his tea. Swallowed. Smiled again. “So you don’t fancy a lodger then? Not that I can pay you much rent or anything. On Jobseeker’s allowance, me. Been trying to get a job for ages. Nothing doing. No one wants a queer working in their bar. Only thing I’m good at, see. Well, that and the other. Although...” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Although I do a bit of moonlighting at this club. You know, a bit of this and that.”

  Kevin didn’t know, didn’t care. Instead of answering he gave a quick nod then lowered his head again.

  “One of those clubs,” George went on.

  Kevin decided to bite. “What clubs?” he said on a sigh, ruffling the back of his hair.

  “You know!” George said. “A gay club.”

  “Oh right.” Like I give a fuck.

  “There’s this guy there, sees me regular. Says his name’s Tommy Steel but I reckon he’s pulling my leg. Anyway —”

  Kevin snapped his head up. “Hang on. Say that name again.”

  George obliged.

  “Where is this club?” Kevin asked.

  “In the city. Handguard Road. Know it?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know it.” Kevin narrowed his eyes. “How often does he go there?”

  “Often, by all accounts. I only ever see him on a Friday night, though. Hey, that’s today, isn’t it?”

  “Will you take me?” Kevin asked.

  “I would,” George said. “But some bloke burst in here and said I had to leave. I’d better be going after my tea.” He smiled.

  “You don’t have to go. Not yet, anyway.” What the hell are you playing at?

  “Oh, right. Can I have that in writing?” George winked.

  “You can if you’re not bullshitting me and Tommy Steel is at that club tonight.”

  “Oh, he will be. Loves my kinky ass, that one.” George sipped some more tea, then said, “K
now him, do you?”

  Kevin shook his head. “I know of him. Need to speak to him.” Need to rip his fucking head off.

  “You ought to be careful, unless, of course, you know what he’s about. A right rough one, him. Likes hurting me, slapping me about a bit, know what I mean?”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He won’t be slapping you about for long.

  Kevin stood, wandering out of the living room and into the kitchen. His heart hurt, beating too fast, and his body felt weak. A bit of a shock, that, hearing Tommy’s name so soon. Oh, he heard it in his head, a mantra, nearly always there, but for someone else to say it... Odd.

  He opened cupboards, finding some canned soup, half a loaf of bread, and an unopened block of butter in the fridge. “Mind if I help myself to some food?” he called.

  “Nope.”

  Kevin jumped — George was right behind him.

  “You don’t want to be coming up on me like that,” Kevin warned. Not when I’ve been where I’ve been. Seen what I’ve seen when people sneak about.

  “Hey, chill out!” George said, looking indignant.

  “No.” Kevin dashed out one hand and gripped the man’s wrist. “You chill out. Stop being so hyper. I don’t need it, don’t like it. I need...some peace and quiet.”

  “Okay, I get it. I’ll fuck off for a bit, all right? I have to go into the city anyway. Tommy wants me to wear this eye mask tonight. Very specific as to what it must look like. I’ll have to go Cupid’s Cupboard and pick one up, but what the fuck, eh?”

  “How do you get there?” Kevin asked.

  “By using the car in the garage. It isn’t taxed or insured, but I’m careful. Park it out of the way. Drive at a steady pace. No bugger takes any notice of it.”

  Kevin beat back irritation that this man had also bagged use of Robin’s car. “Right, well, off you go then.”

  George swilled his cup out and placed it on the drainer. “I usually climb in through the living room window, leave it on the latch, but now you’re here... You will let me in when I get back, won’t you?” He eyed Kevin warily.

  “Yes. Just...just fucking go, all right?”

  George scuttled out, leaving Kevin to finally have a bit of time to call his own. Time to process the fact that his plan had almost come to fruition far quicker than he’d intended.

  Chapter Three

  ♦♦♦♦

  Kevin stood at the bar in the club, still wearing the clothes he’d left prison in. He hadn’t expected to be out and about so soon. He’d anticipated having to bide his time and thought that maybe, maybe life had decided to give him a lucky break. Let him get all his anger out by confronting Tommy Fucking Steel and enabling him to move on. What he’d be moving on to he didn’t know, but he had a long time — providing he didn’t go too far — to find out.

  George had disappeared through a door at the back after waving to a burly, brown-haired guy standing in the far corner who reminded Kevin of Jean Claude Van Damme in his early days — as much out of date as Kevin himself. The man’s suit, all two-tone purple with that sheen so loved in the ‘80s, looked good on him — he pulled it off despite it being what some might consider hideous. Kevin suspected the guy was the owner or at least the manager — he had that air about him, one of don’t-fuck-with-me malice that had the hair rising on the back of Kevin’s neck. He’d have to watch out for him later after he’d seen Tommy.

  Kevin nursed a lager, bought with some of the money the prison had given him when he’d been let out. Not much, but enough to get by until he signed on or found a job. Providing he did so within a couple of weeks. He wouldn’t be able to handle anything stronger than lager. He’d nearly ordered a whisky before he remembered he hadn’t taken a drink in so long it might go straight to his damn head. The cool liquid tasted so good, all coppery with an acidic bite, and he mused on how he’d gone without for so long, how he hadn’t hankered after a pint or two over the years.

  I had other things to hanker for.

  After about ten minutes of Kevin surreptitiously gazing around at several men knocking back drinks as they would in any other bar on the planet, George breezed out of the door again, coming to stand beside Kevin as though the get-up he was in wasn’t anything to write home about. Kevin had never been the type to go for leather or rubber, but here George was, standing with his hip cocked, wearing nothing but a PVC cock pouch with braces, a pair of knee-high biker boots, and a leather choker.

  “You like?” George asked, doing a pirouette.

  Kevin didn’t but decided not to say. If that was the kind of thing that got George off that was his business.

  “I see you don’t.” George reached out for Kevin’s glass, prised it out of his hand, and took a large gulp. “Just borrowing a little bit, before, you know... He can be a bit scary, can Tommy.”

  “I’ll bet he can,” Kevin murmured.

  “What was that?” George gulped some more.

  “Nothing.”

  “You can watch, if you like,” George said. “I don’t mind if it helps you get hold of Tommy quicker. There’s this little room off the one I normally use. There’s this picture on the wall, looks like one of those old-fashioned mirrors that pubs used to have years ago. You know the kind? With saloon-type wording on them? It’s two-way, if you catch my drift.”

  Kevin dragged his lager back, took a long pull on it. Grimaced at the fizzy burn. “Yeah, I’ll watch until you’re done, but I want you to keep that Tommy fucker in the room after, understand?”

  “Yeah.” George leaned on the bar, easing closer to Kevin. “So what do you need to speak to him about? You never did say.”

  “Nothing much. Once I walk in the room you can fuck off out of it. Better that you do.”

  “I don’t know about that.” George frowned. “Mr. Benson there might not like it.” He nodded at the man in the two-tone.

  Kevin glanced at him then back at George. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, all right?”

  George nodded, the light of excitement in his eyes. “All right. But I’m only doing this so I can stay in your gaff, okay? I don’t enjoy people perving or anything.”

  “Couldn’t give a fuck if you do. What you enjoy is your concern.” Kevin pressed one hand to his temple. A headache was starting. Stress building. “What time is he due?”

  George glanced at the clock behind the bar, a digital effort that splashed the time in neon green. “About ten minutes. You might want to get yourself into position, so to speak.” He grinned.

  “Is everything with you an innuendo?” Kevin said, smiling despite trying not to. “You’re absolutely something else, you are.”

  “So I’ve been told on more than one occasion.”

  They lapsed into silence for a while until Kevin had drained his glass and George looked at the clock again.

  “You’d best get yourself into that room,” George said. “I’ll show you where it is. Then I need to get myself into position.”

  Kevin frowned. He’d never been to one of these places, didn’t know what the hell went on in them other than what played out in his imagination. Robin hadn’t been into kink, and it hadn’t really bothered Kevin either. It was good to try new things, but the kind of shit that probably went on here? He wasn’t sure.

  He followed George through the doorway, conscious of Mr Benson watching them pass, and wondered why the man didn’t want to know why Kevin was going with George.

  As though reading Kevin’s mind, George called back, “This is my new protector, all right?” then pushed open a door to their left and walked into a room.

  Kevin tailed him and stopped short. Stared at the equipment inside.

  What the fuck?

  He’d heard about this kind of thing, but seeing it was another matter. Steel bars, long metal chains. A slender leather bed with a shiny contraption over it where, Kevi
n assumed, people could be cuffed or tied. Whipped. A rack on the wall, designed to look medieval, complete with an iron mask hanging beside it. Of all things a tall black filing cabinet, the kind with doors, stood in the corner. What the fuck it held was anyone’s guess. Toys? More outfits like the one George had on? Soft-glowing red lights were dotted around the walls, creating a mysterious feel, keeping everything in dusky pink shadow. It was alien, and Kevin was out of his comfort zone.

  “Don’t stand there staring!” George said. “He’ll be here any minute.”

  George ushered Kevin through a doorway to his right and shut him in. Kevin stretched his hands out to feel the walls and found himself in a room no bigger than a closet. It was dark — no lights on the walls here, red or otherwise — but a dim shade of rose shone through a rectangle beside the door. He stepped over to it and peered through. Yeah, it was a two-way mirror, all right.

  He gulped, took a deep breath, and asked himself how he felt about watching some young fella he’d only just met going at it with Tommy Steel. Then he reminded himself he wasn’t here to see the show but to wait it out until they’d finished. He didn’t have to watch, not properly, just keep an eye out until the festivities were over and go out there and confront the man he’d hated for too many years to count.

  George strolled around the other room, putting his new mask on so it sat on his forehead, ready to be slipped down once play began. The pat-pat-pat of his footsteps filtered through, and Kevin lifted both hands to feel the wall either side of the mirror. There was no telltale metal grid as he’d expected, nor any holes, so he surmised there must be hidden speakers somewhere or the wall was paper thin.

  The main door to George’s room opened and a man stepped inside. Kevin couldn’t make him out so he squinted, straightening his spine with a little anticipation and a whole lot of anger. The door swung closed by itself, and the man walked further into the room. But he was still wasn’t quite clear enough for Kevin to make a positive identification. Kevin recalled Tommy as being broader, taller, unless he’d diminished with age and become the decrepit, shrunken little shit Kevin wished him to be.