Hot to Kill

by Linda Coles

  “You look done in, Hun. Tough night?”

  “Yeah, you could say that. But I wanted to say hi before you left, which is why I’ve come round. And get a hug. I need a hug.” She stretched her arms out like a needy child.

  Ruth looked at her tired face and stood to embrace her. “I’m still sweaty though. I’ve not had my shower yet. You sure you want one?”

  “Hell yes, I’m sure. Come here.” And the two of them stood in the warm kitchen embracing like the friends and lovers they were.

  “Do you want a coffee or are you headed for bed?”

  “No thanks, just needed that hug. I’m off home for a shower of my own, then bed for a few hours. I’m back on again at six pm unless anything happens in the meantime, and I bloody well hope it doesn’t. So I’ll see you tomorrow, perhaps? You in the office all day?”

  “Yes, today and tomorrow, so if you get lonesome, we could grab a bite to eat somewhere, sometime?” It was a favourite saying of theirs; neither of them ever knew what that time and place might be until the last minute. They’d lived like that for months now and it suited. Others found it hard to cope with a lack of firm arrangements but that, Ruth decided, was their lookout. She and Amanda didn’t have a conventional relationship, at least not in some people’s eyes.

  “Sounds good,” Amanda replied, and gave Ruth a quick peck on the cheek. “I’d better get going. Thanks for the hug,” she called over her shoulder as she headed back out the door. Ruth stood in the doorway smiling and waving at her retreating back, then went back inside and upstairs to a hot shower.

  An hour later Ruth was on the train headed into London Victoria, then it would be a short tube ride round to Green Park and her office. She loved working in the city itself rather than in the suburbs; everything was just so handy. Her favourite weekday coffee shop with the lovely barista George was nearby, the drycleaners and a grocer’s were only a couple of minutes’ walk from the office, and some great restaurants fought for custom nearby. It certainly beat having to go into Croydon itself to do her errands – even though it was local, it was a bit of a detour.

  Ruth also loved her job. Though she’d started out making and designing websites, over the last two or three years the team had been building more and more apps, some custom-made for individual business needs and some for commercial resale. Her favourite niche was intelligence, or spyware. Not the virus type of spyware, not things that did any damage, but more the safety feature sort of spyware –checking what your kids were up to, that sort of thing. Everything was available to be made for the right price, as long as it wasn’t illegal. Some things they’d been asked to build had definitely crossed that line, but while the money was always enticing, she preferred her own bed to the striped sheets on a horsehair-filled prison mattress.

  She stepped off the packed tube and rose up to the surface of the street, stopping for a moment to feel the sunshine kiss her skin before she crossed the road to the coffee shop.

  “Morning, George,” she called as she entered through the old polished front door.

  “Morning, Ruth. Usual?”

  “Yes, please, and a cinnamon roll too. They look divine. You make them?” she asked, already knowing the answer was definitely no, but she liked to tease the young guy. He knew she was gay, but that didn’t stop him from flirting with her, like he’d made it his mission to somehow ‘turn’ her back to heterosexual again. She’d lost count of how many times he’d asked her out and she’d politely declined. Still, she enjoyed the fact she could still pull, even if he wasn’t her type. Or sex.

  She watched him put the cinnamon roll into a bag and finish making her coffee. He handed them both over with a smile, and she gave him her best flirty wink as she left, knowing it would make his day. And it did.

  “So what you got going on today?” she asked Marcus, the head developer at McGregor and Co. as he stood next to her desk. “Pull up a chair.”

  Marcus dragged a nearby chair across the wooden floor. The legs screeched across it like a small jackhammer bobbing up and down. Ruth winced. Marcus didn’t notice. He squeezed his rather large backside in and pushed his glasses back up his nose.

  “Still trying to figure out a way to give the Burnwood account what they want and stay this side of the law, so we’re on hold with that one until legal tells us we can go ahead with it. We’re just working on finishing the job on hand at the moment. Any news on Liberty Investments? Have they decided whether to go ahead yet? We need to plan the workload in because it’s going to be terribly involved. May even have to get some extra help in.” He pushed his glasses up again.

  “Should know by the end of the day for Liberty, and the same for Night Rider. Who’d have thought you’d call it Night Rider? Didn’t we have a TV show called that some years ago?” Ruth asked.

  “We did, though it was spelled differently. It was in the eighties, a bit before our time, though I believe there was something reborn a few years back. Not my thing really, talking cars. I guess it was quite futuristic back then, but not anymore. Everything talks to you now, even the damn fridge. Which reminds me, did you manage to get the correct accent that Spaghetti wanted for their voiceover?”

  Ruth knew the client well. They had wanted a Liverpool ‘chick’s’ voice, which had caused some headaches, but they had got there in the end. Spaghetti were sailing down the Mersey a very happy bunch. “Of course, and they’re thrilled to bits with it. Took some doing, but at least we have the knowhow for when we need it again. Not everyone wants a soulless voiceover, and particularly when the roots of your business are set somewhere like Liverpool. Their dialect is almost a whole new language all on its own. They all talk like Cilla up there. It was Pete who actually managed to find the answer. That lad has worked out well.”

  “Yes, he has. Good of you to give him a chance with his background,” Marcus said, though not maliciously; that wasn’t him. Glasses.

  Pete had started working with Ruth after a stint on the wrong side of the law. She’d given him a chance, and so far, he’d proven he was damn smart with the techy stuff. Young and keen, he’d quickly adapted to creating rather than breaking. He’d just needed something to fill his life with, something he enjoyed and was good at.

  “Okay, I’ll leave you in peace. Just keep me posted about Liberty when you hear, and I’ll look at getting some extra tech students in to help with the hard graft.”

  “Righto. Speak later,” she replied, and turned to her monitor, clicking another browser window open as he left her office. She picked up the familiar URL of The Daisy Chain and clicked the site open. There were a few new comments on the recent spate of car damage in shoppers’ car parks nearby but nothing that needed her attention or moderation. Looked like Benjamin, another moderator, had been in ahead of her and done what needed doing. She closed the browser and went back to her email program, and work.

  Chapter Seven

  Tuesday

  It was Tuesday, and that meant Madeline could put the second part of her plan into place – Operation Grey Man. The weekend had been as hot as a barbeque grill and the one time she’d been into the little garden shed for a plant pot, the stifling heat had nearly bowled her over. It had certainly been enough to bring sweat droplets to the surface of her ample cleavage. Now she was in the shed again, this time to retrieve the little plastic bag she’d stashed away last week. She slipped it into her handbag for later, closed the clasp and headed back out towards the garage, and Sally’s. On the drive in she rehearsed in her mind what she was going to do and the best way to do it so no one got into trouble. That was, apart from one person – he was going to have a truckload of trouble.

  The morning flew by, the scones’ quantity dwindled downwards, and that meant one thing – lunchtime. At 12 pm, she knew she had just five minutes to wait.

  “Tuna mayo roll and tea.”

  Madeline mentally rolled her eyes, though he’d have to look up at her to even have a chance of seeing her do it in reality. She was safe with her thoughts.<
br />
  Hell, this guy really is something else.

  She took the change he passed her and put the money in the till drawer, not even bothering to count it anymore. It was always exactly right, spot on, much like his dull routine. Dull with a capital D.

  “Take a seat and I’ll bring it over to you.” As usual, nothing in return, just silence and that sickly-sweet onion body odour smell that seemed to cling to him all the time. And now it was clinging to Madeline. Again. Gross.

  Slipping into the kitchen to prepare his pot of tea and make up his roll, she was ready for the next part of the plan. Luckily for Madeline, Grey Man was a creature of habit, so a few minutes ago she’d taken advantage of that knowledge and gone to her bag and slipped the little zip-locked food bag with tuna in it into her apron pocket so it was good and handy for when she needed it. The plan had been circulating around her head for most of yesterday and all of this morning. She’d made good and sure she’d covered enough details off so no one got into trouble, apart from a certain person, or more precisely, his stomach. This plan was going to work, and if she’d calculated the whole thing correctly, neither Sally’s nor Madeline would be blamed.

  A quick look around confirmed her colleagues were all busy with their own tasks, so she rapidly squeezed the bag’s contents into a bowl, then added some fresh tinned tuna on top and mixed it up with a good dollop of mayonnaise. She zipped the empty plastic bag back up and put it back into her pocket to dispose of later at home. She had wondered if it would smell really strong, but it just smelled a bit extra fishy, a bit like the local fish market, and mixed with some fresh tuna he wouldn’t notice anything different. He’d certainly feel it later, however.

  She filled his roll with the tuna mix as usual, poured boiling water on the tea bag in the pot and took his order over to him. He didn’t say a word, just as expected, so she went back to wiping the counter down and surreptitiously watched him eat. Then watched him drink. Then watched him leave. She smirked with that deep-down feeling of satisfaction you get when you know you’re right about something and that you’ve won. She rationalised her actions in her mind: People need to have manners, because if they don’t they’ll undoubtedly piss people off. And some people, people like me, won’t stand for rudeness.

  Thursday would be the next time she was due to see his miserable face again, but she didn’t suppose he’d be in for lunch the next day, and maybe not even the next. Instead he’d be having some quality toilet time. Alone.

  “I hope he has some good quality soft toilet tissue hanging on his holder. He’s going to need it,” she mumbled.

  “What was that?” asked Margaret as she passed the counter.

  “Just remembering that I need to grab toilet roll on the way home. God knows how we get through so much of it,” Madeline replied, and dried off the counter she’d been wiping down with a tea towel.

  Chapter Eight

  Amanda was looking forward to dinner and some girly time with Ruth. Their schedules had not been in tune so much over the last week or so. Apart from that quick hug after Amanda’s evening shift, they’d hardly spent any time together; she was getting withdrawal symptoms from lack of contact. In her kitchen, just a couple of miles away from Ruth’s place, she stirred Bolognese sauce in the pan. Fresh spaghetti was ready to go into boiling water, and the garlic bread was ready to pop in the oven when Ruth arrived. She poured a top-up of Cab Sauv into her glass and took a healthy mouthful, holding it in her mouth for a fraction of a second longer than usual before letting it slip down her throat and relax her insides. Her stomach rumbled at the lack of food so she tore a piece off the end of the garlic bread that was waiting to go into the oven. The raw garlic was a little strong but she was hungry and swallowed it down, barely chewing it – no one would miss a single slice anyway.

  Amanda checked her watch again. Ruth should be here any minute, all being well. She took her wine, the bottle and an extra glass outside onto the little back patio to wait for her. Knowing Ruth, she’d want a glass of wine to unwind with before dinner, and there was no rush. No, tonight she was determined there would be no rush, just relaxation. A car door slammed on the road out front and she heard the familiar clackety-clack of heels on the pavement, then a key in the front door. She smiled to herself but stayed put.

  “I’m out the back,” she yelled through from her spot outside. “I have wine for you.”

  “Oh boy, do I need that,” Ruth groaned. She placed her bag on the floor by the sofa, kicked off her heels and padded barefoot through the kitchen and towards the back door. The coolness of the floor on her hot feet was bliss.

  “Mmm – something smells delicious,” she said, bending to give Amanda a peck on the side of her neck. “And I think it might be you. I can detect garlic. Have you been stealing raw garlic bread again?”

  Amanda turned, caught her lightly back with a quick peck on the cheek and said, “Are none of my sins secret anymore? I made your favourite, but come and chill out a bit first. We can eat when you’re ready.”

  “Your secrets are all mine anyway. I just don’t know why you nick raw garlic bread, weirdo,” Ruth said, and slipped into the chair beside her.

  “Tough day at work?” Amanda knew Ruth had some big projects landed and about to land.

  “Yes, but not so bad. You?”

  “Not so bad either, actually, as it happens. Some of my smaller cases are getting tidied away and it’s been a few days since we’ve had another groper issue, so perhaps he’s buggered off someplace else. We can but hope, though not all the working girls tell us what they get involved with. They just tell each other, so we never really know how often and where an incident might have taken place. That said, the last incident wasn’t with a working girl. Did you know about that one?”

  “Yes, I’d seen something about that. Someone had posted it on The Daisy Chain. Maybe he’s seen it, or seen the light and realised he’s an arsehole. God only knows what he gets out of it.” She took a mouthful of wine and set her glass back on the table. “Did you ever get any firm leads on him? The gossip online is just ‘mid-fifties balding male,’ but they’re ten-a-penny. That’s half of the Croydon male population. Rather a big pot of people to pick from.”

  “Not much more from the girls. He takes them by surprise and then he’s out of there quick-smart. And because the girls don’t work the streets the same anymore –it’s all done via apps and online now as you know, so they just meet at the designated spot, like a park toilet if they’re low-end girls – and he bursts in, does his thing, and then goes. And doesn’t bother paying either. I guess he gets something from it, but like any of the weirdos out there, only he knows what that is. And the working girls aren’t that bothered by him. They’re more bothered about him wasting their time when they could be meeting someone a bit more ‘productive,’ shall we say.”

  Ruth nodded thoughtfully. “Well, let’s just hope he stays away or, better still, stops doing it.”

  “Let’s drink to that.”

  Ruth raised her glass and they clinked them together.

  Amanda took a sip, then set her glass on the table and got to her feet. “I’ll go and pop the garlic bread in. You pour some more wine. Enough shop talk for tonight. Let’s enjoy some quality down time for a change. I’ll be right back.” Amanda patted Ruth’s shoulder lightly as she moved past her towards the kitchen.

  Chapter Nine

  Wednesday morning

  Gary smiled as the smell of his last fart drifted slowly around the interior of the van, seeping into his nostrils and making him gag at the same time. Even by his standards, it stank. That vindaloo he’d had last night with the boys after a few pints at the pub was repeating itself, this time from the other end, and it smelled rotten. He belched to add to the stinking odour and opened a window to let both smells out, the stench of last night’s alcohol on his breath amplifying things tenfold. He wrinkled his bulbous red nose.

  “Hell, that was a good’un!” He smiled in appreciation of his effo
rts.

  Gary had left in rather a rush that morning, having overslept from his skinful the previous night and getting in late and then spending a good seven minutes on top of his sleeping wife. She was used to his demands; she just willed him silently to finish and couldn’t care less anymore. He was almost comatose afterwards, quiet for a while before the snoring, and that’s just the way she preferred him – asleep and half dead. One day, she figured, he’d actually go too far and kill himself with drink, or kill himself driving home drunk from the pub. She could only hope. Gary, of course, was oblivious to his wrongdoings: in his opinion all blokes acted the same – if they were real men, that was. And he’d been married a while and had spawned four kids from his fertile seed. Nobody could say he had a limp dick or no lead in his pencil. No, he was all man, and she was lucky to share his bed with him. He farted again.

  But it was nearly lunchtime now and he’d missed breakfast because the bitch had gone to work and left him in bed, and there’d been no bread in the house to even make a couple of slices of toast. He’d have to have a word later, but right now he needed something to eat to stop his stomach rolling. He pulled off the road and onto the garage forecourt, parking in front of the car wash, thinking he might as well get the van cleaned while he ate his sandwich. He headed out into the stifling summer heat, walking towards the chill of the cashier’s glass box inside. The air was refreshing as he entered through the door and went over to the cold cabinet to get what he wanted. He chose a sausage sandwich, a packet of ready salted crisps, a Mars bar and two cans of Coke. He was always thirsty these days and the heat wasn’t helping, so he pulled the ring open on one of them and took a long drink, trying unsuccessfully to hide the belch that followed. The loud gurgling sound turned heads from those waiting to pay. The queue was longer than he’d have liked, but he joined the back of it anyway, opening his sandwich and taking a bite while he waited. The cold sausage tasted delicious.