Pop Goes the Weasel (22 page)

The caravan stood alone on the open wasteland. Framed by the gypsy fires that burned nearby, it looked almost beautiful. Inside it was less pleasant, mildewed and rotting, the detritus of drug use littering the floor. Still, it would do for tonight – a mattress was slung down on the floor, ready for action.

‘You a soldier then?’ she asked.

‘Was. Afghanistan.’

‘I love soldiers – you killed any ragheads?’

‘A few.’

‘My hero. I should give you one on the house.’

Simon Booker shrugged off the suggestion. He didn’t want her pity. Or her charity. That wasn’t why he was here. He pulled some notes from his wallet, laying them on the stained Formica breakfast bar. As he did so, he noticed his wedding ring and began to tug at it.

‘Don’t worry about that, love. I won’t tell if you don’t. It’s thirty for oral, fifty for straight, hundred for anything else. And I’m going to need you to use a condom, love. Don’t want any of the diseases you picked up from those foreign whores, do I?’

Simon Booker nodded and turned, bending down to
retrieve his condoms from his bag. He couldn’t find them at first and had to rootle around, before eventually locating them. As he stood up, he was surprised to see Angel standing by the door.

‘You stay the fuck away from me!’ she spat at him.

‘What? I was just getting the –’

‘What’s the iron bar for?’

Shit. She’d obviously spotted it as he’d rooted through his holdall.

‘It’s nothing. Just for protection. But I’ll put it outside if you like.’

He moved towards it.

‘Don’t you dare touch it. If you do, I’ll shout. I’ve got mates over there. People who look out for me. Do you know what gypsies do to the likes of you?’

‘All right. Keep your hair on.’

Simon was irritated now. He wanted to have sex not a full-blown slanging match.

‘You put it outside then. I don’t want any trouble,’ he said.

She looked scared but slowly edged her way to the bag, keeping an eye on him the whole time. Picking up the bag, she lobbed it outside – it landed with a dull thud. She breathed out, composing herself.

‘Right then, shall we start again?’ she said, her smile wide but forced.

‘Sure.’

‘Come and give me a kiss then. And once I’ve got to know you better I’ll put your big dick in my mouth.’

That was more like it. Simon crossed the floor. Hesitantly at first, he put his hands on her waist. She responded by lacing her arms round his neck and pulling his mouth towards hers.

‘Let’s get this started, shall we?’

As Simon Booker closed his eyes, Angel brought her knee sharply up into his groin. As Simon froze, stunned, she did it again and again. Crumpling to the floor, he gasped for breath. He wanted to puke. Oh God, the pain was horrible.

He looked up to find Angel standing over him. The smile was gone now and in her hand she held the iron bar from his bag. Without warning, she brought it crashing down on his head. Once, twice, three times just to make sure. Then she paused, crossing the floor to shut the caravan door. Locking it from the inside, she paused to catch her breath. Staring down at her victim, she could feel her excitement rising.

It was time for the fun to begin.

Heads turned as she marched through the office towards Emilia Garanita’s office. In the wake of her eye-catching work on Marianne, Emilia had been awarded a corner office from which to plot her next exclusive. It was airless and poky but it was one in the eye for the other hacks, which is why Emilia liked it so much. And it afforded her a good view of the newsroom and of Helen Grace, who was now striding towards her.

Helen Grace had never set foot in the offices of the
Evening News
, so whatever it was it was going to be good. Was this the first counter-move in their battle or a very public capitulation? Emilia sincerely hoped it was the latter. She would
try
to be gracious.

‘Helen, how nice to see you,’ she said, as Helen entered her office.

‘It’s nice to see you too, Emilia,’ her guest replied, closing the door behind her.

‘Coffee?’

‘No, thanks.’

‘Quite right,’ Emilia replied, ostentatiously opening up her laptop. ‘We’ve got a lot to get through. We’re too late
for tonight’s edition but if you give me everything you’ve got now, we can sort out a killer spread for tomorrow. If you’ll pardon the pun.’

Helen regarded her quizzically, then leaned forward and pushed the laptop back down, closing it.

‘We won’t be needing that.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I haven’t come here to give you any news. Just a warning.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I don’t know how you know what you think you know about me and to be honest I don’t really care. What I do care about is a journalist at a respectable paper attempting to blackmail a serving police officer.’

Emilia eyeballed her – the temperature in the small room had just dropped considerably.

‘So I’m here to give you a clear and simple message. Print what the hell you like about me but if you
ever
attempt to bribe, blackmail or intimidate me again, I will see you in prison for it, understand?’

Emilia eyeballed Helen, before responding:

‘Well, that’s your choice, Helen, but don’t say I didn’t give you fair warning.’

‘Do what you need to,’ Helen replied tersely. ‘But be ready for the consequences.’

She turned to leave, but as she got to the doorway, she paused.

‘We
sink or swim together on this one, Emilia. So ask yourself how much you hate me. And how much you value your liberty.’

Emilia watched her go – anger and adrenalin pulsing through her. Should she break her or back down? Either way Emilia was about to make the biggest call of her life.

Tony slammed the car door shut behind him and slumped down into the driver’s seat. How could he have messed up so badly? And what was he going to say to Helen?

This was his big chance to be back on the front line again, to prove that he’d still got it – and he had completely ballsed it up. He could try and contact Melissa again, but what was the point? Now she knew he was a cop, it was game over. The only thing he could do was confess all to Helen as soon as possible and start formulating a new plan. Some of the other girls must have seen Angel. It was inconceivable that she could ghost in and out of these flesh pots undetected. What he had to do –

He jumped as the passenger door opened. He had been so caught up in his own little world he hadn’t heard anyone coming. He turned to confront the intruder … and was surprised to see Melissa climbing into the passenger seat. She didn’t look at him, simply saying:

‘Drive.’

They drove in silence for a full ten minutes, before Melissa indicated an alleyway adjacent to a derelict restaurant. It was quiet down here, not a soul around to disturb them.
As he turned to look at her, Tony was surprised to see that she was shaking.

‘If I tell you what you want to know, I’ll need money. Lots of money.’

‘Not a problem,’ Tony replied. He’d figured out on the way over that it could only have been the prospect of financial gain that induced her into his car.

‘Five grand up front. More to follow.’

‘Agreed.’

‘And I’ll need somewhere to stay. Somewhere she can’t find me.’

‘We can offer you a safe house and round-the-clock protection,’ Tony replied without hesitation.

‘Round the clock – you promise?’

‘I promise.’

‘Shake on it,’ Melissa demanded and Tony obliged.

Melissa let out a deep sigh – she looked exhausted by the evening’s events. Then without looking up at Tony she whispered:

‘The girl you’re looking for is Lyra. Angel’s name is Lyra Campbell.’

Cold. Freezing, freezing cold.

Simon Booker’s eyes crept open, briefly flickering closed once more as the harsh light of the naked bulb assaulted them. His head was so foggy, he was so confused. What the hell had happened to hi—

There she was, watching him. Angel. With the iron bar. Now it slowly came back to him, jagging sharply as the memories flashed through his mind.

He was weak. His face was sticky with blood, his mouth horribly parched. But still he tried to get up. Only to find he was held firm. Looking around he saw his arms were tied together with thick green wire and secured to the wall behind him. He was naked and stretched out on the mattress, his clothes nowhere in sight. He tried to shout at her, only to become aware of the tape stuck firmly over his mouth.

‘You pathetic little shit.’

Simon Booker jumped as her venom broke the silence.

‘You sad little lowlife.’

She was walking towards him, the iron bar still in her hand. She tossed it from hand to hand.

‘Did you think you could
trick
me?’

Simon
shook his head vigorously.

‘You did, didn’t you?’

He shook his head even harder.

‘Trick me, then attack me?’

She swung the bar down as hard as she could on to his kneecap. He screamed, the duct tape enveloping his agony, making it hard to breathe. Now she brought it down on his other kneecap, the bone crunching on impact. Simon howled once more, trying to turn his body from the blows that rained down on his legs, his thighs, his chest. Again and again and again. She paused briefly, shouted something unintelligible, then swung the bar between his splayed legs to connect with his groin.

He screamed fit to burst, as tears flooded his eyes.

‘What the fuck did you think you were doing?’ she bellowed at him before laughing. ‘Oh boy, you are going to pay for that. I’m going to send you back to your frigid wife in pieces, right?’

The tears were pouring down his face now, but they seemed to have no impact on her. She raised the bar to strike his face, then suddenly paused, reining in the tempest of violence that threatened to overwhelm her. Breathing heavily, she turned and put the iron bar in her rucksack.

The respite was brief, however, as she now drew a long knife from her bag. Feeling its blade with her gloved finger, she turned to her victim. Marching over, she held the blade to his throat. He prayed for her to do it, to end his
suffering right now. A little more pressure would sever his carotid artery and that would be that.

But Angel had other ideas. Raising the blade, she crouched down, rocking back and forward on her haunches. A smile danced around the corners of her mouth.

‘You’ve paid for a whole hour, so we might as well have a little fun, mightn’t we?’

And with that the butchery began.