Kim & The Hitman

by Sandie Baldry

  ‘Only been one day,’ I mouthed, as dad strolled back into the sitting room with his paper, making himself comfortable in his favourite armchair. He wouldn’t move now for at least an hour as he studied the paper. Every line, every word. Then he’d declare, nothing much worth reading!

  With a quick check to see he wasn’t looking, I helped myself to his orange juice, washing out the glass after so he wouldn’t know.

  ‘When are you getting back with Harry,’ he called?

  Oh, for god’s sake? I could scream. Why did I have to repeat this? Popping my head around the kitchen door, I looked at him, hoping my face would answer his question. But all I could see was the top of his thinning, grey hair beneath the paper. And I knew, he knew it wasn’t Harry. It was Paul.

  Moving over to the sideboard and grabbing a pen and paper I’d been using to communicate with him. I wrote. Again, not getting back with Paul. Paul had ended it, his loss. So, there I was back home. I’d told dad it just hadn’t worked out. He was too annoying. I didn’t say I’d come home from work yesterday to find my bags packed outside the flat door. The locks changed, and a text ending it. The man couldn’t even face me. Shouting through the door, using the F word, Paul knew I disapprove of swearing.

  I added to the note for dad, going out, be back about fiveish. I held it over the paper, waiting as his eyes flickered over it before glancing up with a nod. He was a man of few words. I added, let me know if her next door is coming round, warn me. And hung it in front of him. His eyes lifted, then flicked to me with a scowl.

  The girls were already at The Fat Meow coffee bar when I arrived. And I was already thinking of a story I could produce about Paul and me that didn’t have me humiliated. I decided I wouldn’t mention anything about him unless asked, flexing my texting finger since that was the only way I would be communicating. I would say it ended at our mutual agreement. And if I were honest, we were way more interested in other people’s businesses anyway. So, a low profile it was. I smiled as I walked to our table.

  Introducing Linda, she and I went to college together. We’re the same age, twenty-four. My oldest friend we had gone to the same school, then college. I did her hair, which she kept short. She was a natural dark blonde, which I lighten for her. A round face, with large, blue eyes. The same height and size as myself, we used to share clothes, not so much these days.

  Then there was Alex, a tall girl. She had to be at least five feet eleven, with ebony skin and raven hair down to her back which she kept straightened. Her most striking feature, her nose piercings; she also sported several cool tattoos. I particularly liked the tattoo of a bird silhouette on her shoulder. Alex was loud, a voice that could slice through anyone else talking. Though I admit, she told a good tale if you could believe everything she said. Apparently, her partner of five years announced he was gay and asked if it would be okay if his boyfriend moved in with them. She did what I would have done, said yes, and split the rent three ways.

  And last, Paula sitting next to Alex. She only moved into the area a few months ago, meeting Alex when she joined the same gym. At odds with the cream doughnut, she scoffed. She was happy to go natural with her face with an unremarkable appearance, other than the eyelash extensions. However, it was always interesting to see what colour her eyes would be. Paula wore those contact lenses that could change your eye colour. Sometimes her eyes were brown, possibly her natural colour, then again could be blue. And one day, she had one eye blue, the other a cat-like green. No one mentioned it to her, but we all thought she had muddled them up that morning. Her reddish hair she kept cropped short with a natural curl. A bit of a know-it-all reckoned she’d met Ed Sheeran. Apparently, a vegan. Hope she checked the ingredients of the doughnut. And I suspected she was gay; she showed no interest in the men we discussed. And we always sat near the window so we could watch the talent walk by. I caught her eyeing me from time to time. Smiling when I met her gaze. It wouldn’t matter, just would be nice to know one way or the other, then at least we could admire the girls for her.

  They looked at me as I took my place next to Linda. Alex called over to Ron for a coffee. I shook my head, holding my phone for her to read a text. Lost my voice, lol, just diet coke, thanks.

  The other two examined the message before eyeing me. Linda shunted up as if I were contagious.

  ‘You poor thing,’ she smiled, exchanging glances with the other two.

  Have you seen a doctor? Not catching, is it? Fuck, I can’t afford to be off work,’ said Paula. Yeah, forgot to mention, Paula always swore a lot.

  I texted a reply, thinking bloody cheek. It’s a strain, not a virus, and there was no need to use that language.

  I sent it to Alex since she was holding her phone. In fact, didn’t think I’d ever seen her phone out of her hand. She read the message.

  ‘Strain?’ she said.

  ‘Talking too much?’ Linda suggested. Then answered her question. ‘Yeah, makes sense.’ Then, meeting my outraged gaze, added, ‘Suppose talking all day to your clients.’ A titter went around the table. Then, hardly drawing breath, she changed the subject. ‘Do you remember Ben? You know, the guy we used to go to college with. He’d give us a lift in his car on condition we show him our knickers; we used to call him the knickers man. A bit weird but cute as hell.’

  I remembered and nodded but still sulking over her last remark.

  ‘That good-looking guy at the pool last week?’ said Alex. ‘Wasn’t he a Ben?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s him. Kim and I would squeeze into his…?’ she looked at me for an answer. I went to mouth, ‘Citron.’ But she’d already turned back to Alex. ‘Looked well fit, didn’t he? Must be at the gym most days and have muscles everywhere.’ There were giggles all around.

  The pool? What pool, and where was I? I tapped the question out on my phone. But the conversation moved on, and they appeared to not be in the mood to read my text. Not to be ignored, I opened my mouth. Nothing but a wheeze emerged, and Linda shunted further away from me.

  Linda continued, ‘He asked me for my number and then texted me afterwards, wanting to know if I was seeing anyone.’ Letting that hang, eager eyes waited for her to continue while I was still wondering why I wasn’t there. I knew Ben. The guy I remembered was as thick as two short planks.

  ‘And?’ encouraged Alex.

  ‘Said I was just out of a relationship.’

  The conversation went on. I was invisible and losing interest in life, and I still hadn’t got my coke. It was strange listening to them and not being involved, surreal. Did I sound like that? With the sound of their voices becoming white noise, I stood to go to the ladies.

  I’d been in this loo more times than I care to remember. So, imagine my surprise to see the urinals. Had they merged the ladies and gents, had society come to that? And the smell! A second later, I realised I’d got distracted and walked through the wrong door. But before I could correct my mistake, the outer door opened. Mortified, I hurried into the nearest cubicle and pushed the door too. Lifting my feet on the toilet, I was ready to give my best interpretation of a male grunt if they tried to enter, throat allowing.

  A man with light footsteps walked in. I peered through the gap of the door, not quite closed, watching the figure. Becoming aware if I were caught, I would be considered a pervert. I caught my breath, praying he would get on with it and leave. My eyes flicked to the door. Would others walk in? I could be stuck there all day. A thumping in my chest vibrated in my ears, and I felt sick. I wondered what Alex would do. Probably walk out as brazen as anything, giving the guy a wink as she left. Could I do that? My hands were trembling.

  The man stood by a sink, checking himself out in the mirror, running a finger over his eyebrow. If I left now before he started having a wee, it wouldn’t look so bad, would it? But I was frozen to the spot. I continued to watch the figure, praying he would get on with his business and leave.

  He was a tall man, thin with a face that said, I’ve seen life, suffered pain, but I’m
still here. Taking a mobile from his mac, he turned from the mirror and looked around, stooping to check the loos for shoes, ensuring he was alone. Satisfied, he rested back on a sink; his fingers hit the screen of his phone. My interest piqued.

  I could make out a male voice answering but not hear what the person was saying.

  ‘Who the fuck do you think it is on this number calling you back? What is it? I thought we’d settled the arrangements. This isn’t convenient, not secure,’ snapped the man, with a glance at the door. ‘What do you mean, a change of plan?’ He cracked with a look to his watch.

  ‘You said 3.30, not 3.15,’ he paused, listening. ‘Hold on, slow down. Let me get this straight.’ His fingers drummed on the sink. ‘That’s something. She’ll still be at the Economy insurance building,’ he said with an air of sarcasm, another glance at his watch. ‘Anything else I need to know? Is the woman still driving that ridiculous mini with the headlights decorated in bits of rubber?’ He huffed. ‘Deserves everything she gets.’ Another pause. ‘I know her name, Jenna whatever. All I needed was the picture you sent, and I got it.’ He paused, stretching out a hand to examine his fingernails, as a voice from the other end ranted. ‘Oh, she’s a blonde this week. Yes, that’s important information. Listen to me, I will only tell you this once; get rid of the phone, and under no circumstances, contact me again. By 3.20,’ he glanced at the door lowering his voice. ‘You will be a widower.’ He hung up. ’Fuck, the idiots I have to deal with.’

  Taking the sim card from the phone, he tossed it into the bin and dropped the sim on the floor, crushing it with the heel of his boot. He checked himself in the mirror, running his fingers through his thick, grey hair, then left.

  I let out a breath I’d been holding. Had I heard right? This man was going to kill someone called Jenna. I went for my phone to text the girls, but I’d left it on the table. This was big. I needed to tell someone. I peered out of the loo door. It was clear, no sign of the man in a rain mac, so I dashed back to the table. Sitting, I snatched my mobile and typed, my hands shaking. I couldn’t exactly call 999. I had no voice, and do the police accept texts?

  I typed the message and waved it under Alex’s nose until she took it. Alex read it. Then burst out laughing.

  ‘Listen to this, ‘ she said, with a smug smile and a glance at me. ‘Titman going to kill Jenna in a car with lashers.’

  They all laughed. I mouthed, ‘HIT man,’ making a gesture with my hands of holding a gun which made them laugh even louder. With a check on the time, it was 2.15, and my mind made up. I grabbed my bag and left, almost falling over in my new shoes, Ron having to catch me. Now he brings my diet coke.

  ‘Oh, Kim, don’t be like that,’ Alex called after me.

  4

  Letting a breeze cool my face, I Googled ‘police station’ on my phone. I’ve lived in Ipswich all my life, but I could say I’ve never visited the local constabulary. And besides, with the developments of late, it wouldn’t have surprised me if it had moved.

  According to Google, it was ten minutes on foot. I got a move on, which wasn’t easy in my heels. What had started as a breeze was turning into a wind, the sky overcast. Since I hadn’t brought an umbrella with me, I prayed the rain would hold off.

  As I walked, I could see the tall, black glass insurance building where this Jenna worked. I didn’t understand the panic rising within me. I didn’t know the woman. Why should I care? But I did. My feet were sore, and I was breathless; it was now 2.30 as I stumbled into the reception area of the police station. The desk was empty. Then a sergeant popped up from behind the counter.

  Catching a reflection of myself in the glass cabinet behind the desk, I shuddered. My hair, usually perfectly smooth and straight, had developed a frizz—but no time to worry about that now. I pointed to my throat.

  ‘Can’t talk, lost my voice,’ I mouthed. I got a blank expression from him. I mouthed the words again, this time slowly so that he could understand. My heart was racing. Even if I had a voice, perhaps I wouldn’t have made sense. I had the urge to run out and burst into the insurance building or take the sergeant by the throat and shake him. The latter, I was sure, wouldn’t end well for me.

  Then I thought the penny had dropped, as he gave me a big grin.

  ‘You’re in luck,’ he said, with a smile showing stained, crooked teeth. ‘I was made to take a fingerspelling course last year. Now let’s see if I can remember.’ He started to sign with his fingers and talked slowly at the same time. He thought I was deaf.

  My head hung for a second before I lifted it again. I had to get through to this man fingerspelling his name. Even though I could see it on the id around his neck. I grabbed his hand to make him look at me while I made a gesture with the other hand like I was writing. His eyes showed understanding and disappointment at the same time. Retrieving a sheet of paper and a pen, he laid it out in front of me.

  The clock on display read 2.50. I wrote an outline of the problem. A hitman will kill Jenna at… the name of that insurance company was? I stared at the sergeant, who looked bemused. Cheap jack insurance. Close enough. I spun the sheet around. He read it, then eyed me with a look my mother used to give me when she thought I was lying. He glanced at the calendar behind him, blowing out a breath. It was April 1st.

  ‘You realise we can charge you with wasting police time.’

  I stared at him with an opened mouth and threw my hands up in a gesture.

  ‘Your name?’ he tapped the paper.

  Kimberly West. Please get the police at the building. Only twenty-five minutes left. Again, a deep breath.

  ‘Kimberly West,’ he said, looking at the sheet-like he had all day to study my handwriting.

  I nodded.

  ‘I’ll see if Detective Inspector Hampton has time to interview you.’ He checked the clock behind him and had the look of a man thinking, sucking in his lips with a frown.

  The man was an idiot. Panic bounced around my chest like a pinball, and my eyes danced between the police officer and the door. I ran out with the clock ticking. I couldn’t trust the police to get there in time. The building was ten minutes away. I would warn the girl myself, and with hope, the police would follow.

  It was 3.00 o'clock when I arrived outside the insurance company, and my shoes were killing me. Flattening my hair with my hands, I walked into the reception area, doing my best to look in control, when all I wanted to do was scream. The receptionist looked up at me, her eyes wandering down my body. Funny how a snotty receptionist could make you feel self-conscious. The heat, despite my efforts to control it, crept up my neck.

  I motioned to my throat and mouthed, ’Can’t speak.’ Getting very monotonous. I decided not to waste time again asking for something to write on and got my mobile to text a message. Then showed it to her.

  ‘Do you have a lady working here called Jenna?

  I decided not to mention the whole assassin thing after what happened at the police station.

  ‘Sorry, do you know which department she works in? Surname?’

  ‘She has a car with eyelashes, I typed out.

  A burly security man escorted me out then waited at the entrance, watching until he was happy I was limping away. I could feel the liquid on my heels where a blister had burst, trying not to think of it as I looked for the insurance building’s car park entrance.

  5

  Finding the entrance, I made my way towards the elevator. I knew I wouldn’t want to walk far in this dark, damp, poorly lit place if I worked there. My breath pierced the cold basement air—the only lighting, flickering fluorescent tubes. I hobbled around the vehicles until I spotted one fitting the description, bits of rubber on the headlights. I knew what he meant. And there it was, close to the elevator, a white mini, with the headlight fitted with lashes, a cool feature. I took up my position and waited.

  I could see why the hitman chose this place, a lonely basement car park. Half the bays were empty. Others towards the dark corners looked like homes for abandon
ed vehicles. The newer cars parked where the light was brighter or closer to the elevator.

  The office block above was mostly empty, as the signal in this area was poor. I found that out while checking my phone. Even if I had a voice, there was no way I could make a call for help. So, the car park was an ideal location for a murder. Who would hear a scream? A cry for help?

  My throat burned; I needed more lozenges. And I wished I’d put on my fur-lined hoody this morning instead of the white Allsaints jacket and matching shoes. But then, when I woke up this morning, I didn’t know I’d be hiding behind a cold concrete pillar waiting to save the day.

  It was 3.15, and my heart was hammering. I was beginning to feel sick; even my legs were shaking. My eyes flickered to the lift, watching the numbered lights above counting down the floors, headed this way. Then a glance to the fire escape. Would he come in that way? Or the exit? Or was he already there, waiting in a car? I could not make out if anyone was sitting in a vehicle in the poorly lit area, not without giving myself away. I stayed behind the pillar shivering in the cold.

  The lift doors opened, and two men in suits marched out in silence. The taller and elder-looking of the two gave the other a curt nod before parting to their respective cars and drove off.

  Gazing at Jenna’s mini, my legs still shaking, and now I was there; I didn’t know what the hell I would do. My sore throat wouldn’t allow me to scream a warning, but a plan was forming in my head. Pick the poshest car and bounce on it to set off the alarm. My hope, it would frighten the hitman away. It was a stupid idea, but my brain wouldn’t work. And there was no time left to figure it out. A storm was erupting in my chest as my eyes searched for a fire alarm button, nothing.

  I had no idea what I was going to do. If I didn’t know what was to happen and heard it on the news in the morning, I wouldn’t have given it a thought. But there I was, even if it got me killed. Which led me to imagine what my ex-Paul and friends might say at my funeral. She was a hero, stupid but brave. Dad would have me cremated; cheaper. I contemplated options for my coffin, thinking wicker, but then a bit of a waste if burned, or did you think they slipped you out and saved the box for the next corpse?