Advice on new PG Fic needed...
Nov. 23rd, 2007 09:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
r_scribblesHubs isn't sure about this and now neither am I.
My Alternative Episode to Windfall - Chapter 1.
Tell me honestly, because I don't want to start off a story that is shit, since I'd feel obliged to finish it and then I'd have a big shit story that I'd spent ages on - is this all right or is it actually crap?
‘Darling? I’m home.’
Lady Eunice Cromley hung her coat up on its usual peg in the lobby and listened for her husband’s voice from upstairs. There was only silence in the house. She frowned to herself and walked through to the kitchen.
‘Dear?’ She called, ‘Charlie?’
She gasped. The back door was wide open. She ran to shut it, quickly, and nervously grabbed the biggest carving knife out of the block.
‘Charlie?’ She reiterated, slowly creeping back to the staircase. ‘Are you there? Who’s there?’
There was still no sound.
‘I know somebody’s here,’ she cried out. She grabbed the phone out of its cradle. ‘I’m calling the police.’
There was a soft thud and a creak from upstairs… from the bedroom. Her thumb hovering over the ‘9’ of the phone’s keypad, Eunice hesitantly climbed the stairs, holding her breath.
‘Charlie? Charlie, is that you?’
She pushed the door gently so that it slowly opened onto the bedroom.
She saw the bed.
She saw the body swinging gently from the wooden posts.
She dropped the carving knife, and screamed and screamed.
-x-
Raquel was a waitress. Raquel was more than just a waitress. The café she served at was more than just a café, hence her being more than just a waitress. The owner, you see – her boyfriend – had Connections. Lucrative connections. Shady connections. Highly illegal connections. They were connections that every now and again lead to the tiny, dingy basement rec room being home to more than a beaten up settee and boxes of assorted nick-nacks.
Tonight was one of those occasions.
They had, Raquel mused as she nervously changed the coffee filter, certainly chosen the worst possible timing for it. It was a bitter, dark October night, and Raquel worried that the freezing gale blowing outside could encourage windswept strays to seek refuge in the café. The last thing she wanted that night were possible witnesses. And with her boyfriend away on another job and all… she really, really didn’t want to have to deal with this herself. She just wanted this over and done with as soon as possible.
That was probably why she was so hasty to believe that the man carrying the pager was really the one who had been sent to do the Job. With hindsight she did wonder… he looked nothing like the photo and seemed to be making things up as he went along. Not to mention that he seemed far too young – barely out of the teenage years, and too small to boot. She wandered whether he’d be one of those little Kung-Fu types like in the Bruce Lee films, all fast and focussed, but his general demeanour gave her the impression that this probably wasn’t the case. Still, she was desperate to pass The Problem on to someone – anyone – else, so she showed the young man downstairs while the girl that had come with him (why he’d bought a girl with him, Raquel didn’t dare to imagine) waited in the café. Her little Problem in the basement was dozing – she’d made sure of that – and the young man seemed to be in a world of his own a he wandered over to the sofa. There was only one more thing that Raquel had to do before her part in the agreement was over. She quietly picked up a set of handcuffs, slipped one cuff over the wrist of the youth and the other around the arm of the sleeping Problem. She stepped back a little as the young man looked down at his manacled wrist.
‘What are you doing?’ he yelped.
Raquel folded her arms. ‘It’s all part of the deal. The key is in a locker.’
He gazed at her, confused. He had no idea what was going on. He couldn’t be the right guy! Still, whether he was or not, it was his Problem now. Not hers.
‘In Kiev,’ Raquel added.
The young man paled further. ‘The city?’
‘No,’ Raquel replied, ‘the garlic stuffed chicken fillet. Of course the city!’
‘But… that’s in Russia,’ stammered the man.
‘It’s in the Ukraine,’ Raquel corrected. She shook her head. Didn’t have a clue. ‘They’ll pay you once you deliver the goods.’
‘The goods?’
Raquel pointed at the sleeping person on the couch. ‘Yeah. The goods.’
She watched as the youth gave the sleeper a very slow, trepid once over. He looked up at her in panic.
‘I’m not Him,’ he admitted with a frightened gasp.
Raquel just took another step back. ‘It’s done now.’
‘But I’m not Him. I can’t go to Kiev with… with this handcuffed to me!’ He tried to approach her entreatingly, but the chain around his wrist tightened, jerking the sleeper slightly, causing the young man to suddenly halt. ‘You’ve got to uncuff me,’ he hissed.
‘I can’t,’ Raquel told him. ‘I don’t have the key.’
‘What?’
‘Like I said,’ repeated Raquel, ‘the key’s in Kiev.’ She took another step back. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Don’t leave me here,’ begged the man.
‘Got to see to the customers,’ Raquel answered with an unapologetic shrug.
‘But…’ tried the man.
But Raquel wasn’t listening. She closed the door behind her and trotted up the stairs. It wasn’t her Problem any more.
-x-
It took about three minutes for Julie to get bored of waiting upstairs in the café. She had started off convincing herself that whatever Colin was up to it was going to land him in a heap of trouble and that she wanted no part of it, but as she sipped her rapidly cooling cup of tea she came to the conclusion that if Colin was indeed getting himself into a heap of trouble, there was no reason why she couldn’t amuse herself by bearing witness to it. She was after all still sorely in need of payback for her missing dove and murdered goldfish. Karma demanded it. With that in mind, she nodded to herself, got up from her table and slipped through the back door she had seen the waitress lead Colin through.
Julie was surprised to collide with the waitress on the stairs. More surprising still, the waitress didn’t stop to reprimand her or demand that she went back into the café. She locked eyes with Julie, nodded her head at a half open door at the bottom of the stairs and speedily continued on her way upstairs. Julie shrugged and let herself into the basement room.
She stopped.
She stared.
She laughed her head off.
‘Ssssshhhh!’ Colin hushed her desperately in an overloud Stage Whisper. ‘Don’t wake her up!’
‘Why?’ Julie giggled, ‘Think you can get lucky as long as she stays asleep?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Colin swallowed hard. ‘I mean, look at her!’
‘It’s difficult not to, Colin.’ Julie grinned. The sleeping woman at the other end of Colin’s manacles was indeed… well… “striking” was an understatement. She had to be at least six feet tall, although the platform soles and spike heels of her thigh length boots added at least another 8 inches to her stature. The little that she was wearing seemed to be made of black rubber. Well… mostly rubber, anyway. Black mascara and dark red lipstick were thickly smeared across her face, sticking to the nylon strands of a long black wig. There was absolutely no shadow of a doubt in Julie’s mind what it was this woman did for a living. ‘Dare I ask why it is that you’re handcuffed to Julia Roberts?’
‘That’s not Julia Roberts, Julie. I don’t know who she is.’
Julie cocked an eyebrow at him.
‘It’s that bloody pager,’ Colin added. ‘We’ve managed to get ourselves caught up in some sort of People Trafficking thing.’
‘What do you mean “We”?’ Julie asked. ‘I don’t see any corset clad prostitutes shackled to my arm.’
Colin shook his head. ‘Julie. Please. You’ve got to help me. I don’t know what to… Oh God.’
‘What?’
Colin pointed with his free hand at the muted TV set in the corner. ‘Look, Julie. It’s her!’
Julie looked at the silent screen. The woman in the photo-fit being shown on the flickering box was indeed the same one that was gently snoring on the couch. On the television, her broken, strangely proportioned image glared directly at them with a moody, intimidating expression, as if daring them to be the first to blink.
‘Where’s the remote?’ Colin was searching the unoccupied seat of the sofa frantically. ‘Turn the sound on.’
Julie glanced over at a shelf. The small rectangle of black plastic was lying right in front of her. She picked it up and unmuted the TV.
‘…TO BE STILL AT LARGE,’ blared the set suddenly.
The snoozing hooker snorted in her sleep and shuffled a little.
‘Not so loud!’ Colin hissed through knitted teeth.
Julie jabbed the volume button and the newsreader’s voiceover quietened to a murmur.
‘The woman,’ continued the newsreader, ‘thought to be of Eastern European nationality, was seen by several witnesses making her escape shortly after the time of the attack. Police fear that she may have already fled the country.’
‘She’s an immigrant?’ Julie asked.
‘I’m supposed to be taking her back to the Ukraine,’ Colin replied.
Julie snorted. ‘Chernobyl’s got a lot to answer for.’
‘Funnily enough, Julie,’ Colin whispered, ‘”immigrant” wasn’t the word that set my alarm bells ringing. Can I hear a bit more about this attack, please?’
‘…flooding in for the victim of the brutal attack,’ the newsreader continued, ‘including a statement from the Prime Minister. Mr Major described Sir Cromley as “a respected Peer, a devoted family man and a good friend who will be sorely missed”.’
‘Oh my God,’ Colin breathed.
‘Police are advising that if anybody sees a woman fitting the description they should phone the Hotline, and should not approach her under any circumstances, as she is believed to be highly dangerous.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘Stop saying “Oh my God”, Colin. You sound like a 12 year old at a Take That concert.’
‘But I’m shackled to a big bloody murderer!’ Colin squeaked.
‘We don’t know that for sure…’
‘Oh, come on! You saw the thing.’ Colin tried to pace a little in his agitation, but the manacles prevented him taking any more than a couple of baby steps in any direction. ‘And the guy she murdered was a Member of Parliament. Isn’t that Treason or something?’
‘How could it be Treason if she’s not even from here?’ Julie bit down a cruel smirk. ‘She’s probably just a KGB Assassin or something.’
‘Oh my God…’
‘Helping her escape though… now that probably would class as Treason.’
‘Oh my God…’
‘Isn’t that still a hangable offence?’
Colin swallowed hard, instinctively holding his free hand up to his throat. ‘I’ve got to get out of here, Julie.’ He proffered his shackled arm to her. ‘You hold my hand steady, I’ll gnaw through my wrist.’
Julie rolled her eyes. ‘Relax, Colin. I’ve got a hacksaw back at my flat.’
‘Right,’ Colin nodded in a panic. ‘Yes. That’ll probably be more efficient at sawing through the bone.’
‘Well, I was going to suggest using it to cut through the chain,’ Julie replied, ‘but your idea would probably work too.’
Colin’s eyes lit up at Julie’s suggestion. ‘Cut through the chain! Of course! Julie, I could kiss you.’
‘You most certainly could not!’ Julie folded her arms. ‘If you wanted to thank me, you could start by replacing my fish and putting up a reward for my dove. Then we’d be able to talk about compensating me for the emotional trauma of tonight…’
‘Could we possibly discuss this when I’m not chained to Hell’s Valkyrie?’
‘Fine.’ Julie took a step towards the door. ‘I’ll go and get the saw. I’ll be as quick as I can, but it’ll probably still be about an hour or so.’
‘An hour?’ Colin began to shuffle in panic again. ‘What am I supposed to do stuck like this for a whole hour?’
‘Have a rest,’ shrugged Julie, opening the basement door, ‘watch a bit of TV, breathe quietly.’ She lifted her fist in the air with a mocking smile. ‘Solidarity, Comrade.’
She slipped out of the room before Colin could reply, and hurried up the stairs and out of the café.
-x-
There was a very, very long silence in the basement.
Colin sighed, and sat down, and then sighed again. He took a long look at the chain around his wrist and contemplated whatever sadistic universal law it was that had wound him up in this situation. You cuff a guy to a briefcase, you end up cuffed to a killer bondage queen. You fritter away a flirtatious relationship with a pretty girl in your teens, by the time you’re twenty and have decided you’d like a proper Relationshippy Relationship with someone she’s been driven to the point where she’d sooner hike through a gale to get a hacksaw than spend any more than the bare minimum of time alone with you. You put possessions over people, what are you left with? A soggy £100 note, a horrible trenchcoat and cold, dark, empty night after cold, dark, empty night in the dingy basement of the soul. Karma. Yeah. That’s what it was called. Mentally, he began to award himself a slow, sarcastic hand clap.
The woman next to him groaned, suddenly. He froze. Her eyes still shut, she brought her manacled hand up to her brow, pulling Colin’s hand along with it.
‘Mihre’n…’ she muttered in a thick, deep voice. ‘Vyno. Layno.’
The woman sat up, screaming. ‘Isus!’
Colin yelped with panic. The woman turned her head, gazing in horror at him and the chain that bound them together. ‘Ne!’ She leapt to her feet dizzily, dragging Colin off the sofa as she groped for a nearby shelf. ‘Idy’do bisa!’
‘Miss?’ Colin pleaded, ‘Miss! Please, calm down…’
The woman grabbed a half empty wine bottle and brandished it at him. ‘Da’ty spo’kiy!’
‘I don’t speak Ukrainian.’ Colin winced, his hands out defensively in front of him. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t speak…’
‘I not do it!’ the woman cried. ‘I no kill him! I not murderer!’
‘OK…’ Colin stammered. ‘I’d find that much easier to believe if you weren’t threatening me with a bottle, but…’
‘Bitch drug me!’ Railed the woman. ‘Said would call help. Only drug and call Police.’ The woman sniffed. She seemed to be… was she… crying? ‘Not murderer. Innocent. I am innocent!’
Colin paused for a moment, unsure of what to do next. The woman let out a loud sob, the bottle trembling in her hands.
‘I’m not the Police,’ her told her, quietly. ‘Nyet Poliski.’
The woman stopped crying. She seemed to relax a little. ‘You really are come to help?’
‘Um…’ Colin tried to think of a better idea, but found none. ‘Yes.’
The woman relaxed a little more. She gave him a critical once-over. ‘You?’
‘Yes.’
‘On your own?’
‘Yes!’
‘Huh.’ The woman set the bottle down. ‘Ukrainian money really does not stretch so far these days.’
Colin was too busy watching the bottle to notice the insult. ‘Right. So. What’s the situation, then?’
‘Did not kill him!’ The woman insisted.
‘Yes,’ Colin replied, ‘so you keep saying.’
‘Police wants me,’ she told him. ‘Big, big trouble.’
‘But if you’re innocent…’
The woman chewed her lip a little. ‘Looks bad. Looks very bad.’
Colin shook his head, confused. ‘I’m not catching your drift.’
‘Sir Cromley… Charlie… he was client,’ explained the woman. ‘Died in middle of session. Heart attack maybe…’ she shrugged, unhappily. ‘Too scared to call 999. I here illegally, my work forbidden. So I run. People see me run away. I leave him as he died. And now Police come in and see Charlie hanging there…’
Colin swallowed. ‘Hanging?’
The woman nodded. ‘From four poster. By ankles. Gagged and bound, many cuts and bruises… they think I am psychopath!’
‘Right,’ Colin gulped. ‘They’ll think you’re psychotic for hanging him by his feet over his bed, but you’re not, because…?’ He trailed off, hoping she’d finish his sentence.
‘Is my job!’ the woman cried. ‘Was only doing job. Is what he wanted.’
‘”He”?’
‘Charlie.’
‘He asked you to do that to him?’ Colin pulled a face. ‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘Is what Dominatrix does. He likes.’
‘You’re a…’ Colin gave the woman’s rubber-basque-and-boots getup another quick, wary once-over. ‘So you’re not a…’ he lowered his voice to an awkward murmur. ‘A Prostitute?’
‘Is little like Prostitue,’ the woman admitted, unabashed. ‘Is technically Sex Worker. Only, Prostitute is paid by clients to be nice to him, Dominatrix paid to be very nasty. I am big favourite in this town, because of height. Also, don’t hold back like British girls…’ The woman trailed off, her brow darkening with a frown. ‘Why should you ask this?’ she asked. ‘You already know what I do. My brothers tell you!’
Colin still blinked at her, nonplussed. ‘Your brothers?’
‘When they hire you! When they call you to get me out!’
‘Oh!’ Colin turned on a grin of fake confidence. ‘Oh yes, of course they did!’
‘They did?’ The woman arched a painted eyebrow. ‘Roman and Nikolai, they tell you everything?’
‘Well, you know what old Roman and Nikolai are like,’ Colin breezed, as vaguely as he could, ‘well of course you would – you’re their sister. Always telling you this, that and the other. And I’m saying “Roman! Nikolai! Give me a break! That’s enough, that’s all the info I need”, but the pair of them do keep on yammering on…’
‘My brothers names are Olek and Dmytro,’ the woman told him, stonily.
‘Oh.’
‘And Dmytro is deaf-mute,’ she added.
‘Ah.’
‘You have never spoke to my brothers.’
‘No.’
‘You are not here to help.’
‘No. I mean… no, but…’ Colin winced as she glared down at him from her lofty height. ‘I ended up cuffed to you by accident,’ he admitted. ‘I found this pager…’ he held the by now detested object up for her to see. ‘The guy your brothers hired must’ve got mugged on the way over here.’
‘Mugged?’ The woman shook her head in disbelief. ‘My Minder was mugged before he even got here?’
Colin pressed his lips together in a tight smile of sympathy. ‘I suppose Ukrainian money really doesn’t stretch so far after all.’
‘Ah.’ The woman deflated slightly, resting her back against the basement wall. ‘Then I am… what is word…?’
‘Buggered,’ helped Colin.
‘Yes,’ sighed the woman. ‘I am Buggered.’
She slid down the wall to her bottom. The chain that bound them together pulled Colin down by the wrist as she sat, dejectedly. He stooped for a moment, then joined her on the floor.
‘You’re…’ Colin stammered quietly. ‘You’re not going to beat me up for this… um… Misunderstanding?’
‘Not for free,’ the woman replied. ‘Is fifty pounds for an hour, and you must make appointment.’
Colin flushed. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
The woman managed a very small smile. ‘I know. Is joke.’
‘Oh! Right.’ Colin offered her a false little laugh, but she wasn’t listening. She stared down at her boots, glumly.
‘You should go,’ she told him.
‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ Colin replied. ‘But this stupid thing says otherwise.’ He shook his cuffed wrist at her. ‘Why does your Minder need to be handcuffed to you in the first place, if you’re not really dangerous?’
‘Probably my brothers’ silly joke,’ the woman told him. ‘They make fun of my profession. Or maybe so you look like Policeman, arresting me.’
‘So the real Police leave you alone?’ Colin added.
‘Maybe.’ The woman looked across at him. ‘I thought you were Policeman when I saw you.’
Colin frowned. ‘What’s your point?’
‘Maybe… plan could still work,’ said the woman, a spark of hope rising in her deep voice.
‘What? No.’
‘Minder failed to get here,’ she insisted. ‘You find me instead. Maybe this chain not accident. Maybe is Fate.’
‘It’s Karma…’ muttered Colin, darkly.
‘Karma. Yes. You sent to help me by force unknown.’ She beamed. ‘Is part of bigger plan.’
‘If this is part of Somebody’s plan, then he’s got a pretty sick sense of humour,’ Colin snorted. ‘I was supposed to be on a date tonight.’
The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘Where is she?’
‘She left to get, um…’ Colin stalled, suddenly aware that the giant fugitive probably didn’t want to hear that a third party was on their way to hack him free. ‘She left.’
‘It did not go well.’
‘No. No.’ Colin puffed through pursed lips, recalling his evening so far. ‘You can say that again.’
The stranger smiled. ‘So. You are alone, you are sad. Date walks away. You are loser.’
‘Hey…’
‘Here is chance to be great hero,’ she continued, ‘rescue Damsel is Distressed.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, Kid. But Damsels in Distress don’t usually wear spiky breastplates.’
The woman looked down at the drastically curved metal over the breast of her corset and laughed a little. ‘You like?’
‘If it wasn’t level with my eyes and in danger of poking them out if you turn too fast, I’d love it.’
She laughed again. ‘See? We have fun now. We get on. You will help?’
Colin shook his head with an apologetic shrug. ‘I wouldn’t know how. How am I supposed to smuggle you out of the country?’
‘I have friend. Near Birmingham. Has airfield and private plane.’ The woman got to her feet. ‘You only have to get me there, he can take me rest of way.’
‘I really don’t think I can…’
‘Is easy!’ She pulled him up to stand. ‘Act natural, play cool.’
‘You don’t know me very well,’ Colin replied, ‘do you?’
‘No. I do not know you at all.’
‘I’m not exactly an expert at acting natural and playing cool.’
The stranger gazed at him, askance. ‘You are good at talking your way out of trouble,’ she announced.
‘Well… I suppose…’ Colin frowned. ‘That is, I used to be. How did you know that? We haven’t done business before, have we? Cause I’m pretty sure I’d have remembered you.’
‘You have that Look,’ the woman replied. She offered him a smug smile. ‘You must be able to read men well, in my trade.’ She stooped by the sofa and scooped up a full looking holdall. ‘So,’ she continued, ‘we run into trouble, you talk us out. I talk, they only hear accent. You make up for my bad English, yes?’
‘But I don’t know what I’d…’
She kissed the fingertips of her free hand and pressed them against his forehead. ‘Good. Must be fate. You are sent to help me by God.’
‘It wasn’t God,’ Colin muttered as she turned to go, dragging him behind her, ‘it was a blinking pigeon.’
The woman reached her hand out to the door handle.
The door exploded out of its frame in a shower of balsa wood.
Six truncheon wielding policeman suddenly stood on the other side of the kicked-in doorway, with the café waitress hovering unhappily behind them. The Sergeant took a couple of self-satisfied paces into the basement while the sea of navy blue closed in around his space, blocking the way out.
‘There you are, Natalia,’ the Sergeant cooed. ‘We have been looking for you everywhere. Wanted to ask you a few questions about the recently deceased Sir Cromley.’
The woman – evidently named Natalia – took a wary step back. ‘I no kill him.’
The Sergeant smiled sweetly. ‘Then why are you hiding?’
Colin took a deep breath, pulled himself up to his full five-and-a-half and stepped out in front of Natalia. ‘Detective Inspector John Darm,’ he barked, as confidently as he could, flashing an ID card at the Sergeant so fast that he wouldn’t be able to see it was a gym pass. ‘Interpol. As you can see, Sergeant, I have already detained the suspect. I’ll be dealing with matters from here on in…’
The Sergeant rolled his eyes at his colleagues in the doorway. ‘Come off it, Colin.’
Colin wavered for a split second. ‘Who?’
‘You think there’s a copper within a ten mile radius of here who hasn’t seen your file? We’ve been getting complaints about you since you were 14 years old.’
Natalia furrowed her brow at him. ‘You are criminal?’
‘Mostly petty juvenile stuff,’ the Sergeant told her, ‘scams, knock-off jobs and the like. Nothing we could bring him in for, not with his clever little family of crooks behind him.’ The Sergeant paused for effect, turning his attention back onto the squirming Colin. ‘But this? Aiding and abetting a murder suspect? Impersonating a member of Interpol? Oh dear, Colin.’
‘It was all her idea,’ Colin squalked, jabbing a finger at Natalia. ‘She made me do it!’
‘What?’ Natalia seethed.
‘I’m an innocent party in all of this, Sergeant,’ he babbled. ‘A victim!’
‘Of course you are, Colin,’ grinned the Sergeant, in a tone smothered in thick sarcasm.
‘Look,’ he cried, trying his best to ignore the angry Ukrainian curses being muttered above his head, ‘she’s got me handcuffed. I’m practically her prisoner. Maybe she was trying to kill again, who knows? It’s probably a lucky thing you lot got here when you did actually…’
The Sergeant turned his smile back to Natalia. ‘Quite an accomplice you’ve got there.’
‘I’m not her accomplice…’ Colin panicked.
‘He’s been known to do some quick 180’s in his time,’ continued the policeman, ‘but this takes the biscuit.’
Natalia peered down at Colin, narrowing her eyes at him, menacingly. ‘You are bastard.’
‘Well, you’re certifiable!’
‘Be that as it may,’ interjected the Sergeant, ‘but there is one thing that you do both have in common.’
He grabbed the chain that bound them to one another. ‘You’re both nicked.’
My Alternative Episode to Windfall - Chapter 1.
Tell me honestly, because I don't want to start off a story that is shit, since I'd feel obliged to finish it and then I'd have a big shit story that I'd spent ages on - is this all right or is it actually crap?
‘Darling? I’m home.’
Lady Eunice Cromley hung her coat up on its usual peg in the lobby and listened for her husband’s voice from upstairs. There was only silence in the house. She frowned to herself and walked through to the kitchen.
‘Dear?’ She called, ‘Charlie?’
She gasped. The back door was wide open. She ran to shut it, quickly, and nervously grabbed the biggest carving knife out of the block.
‘Charlie?’ She reiterated, slowly creeping back to the staircase. ‘Are you there? Who’s there?’
There was still no sound.
‘I know somebody’s here,’ she cried out. She grabbed the phone out of its cradle. ‘I’m calling the police.’
There was a soft thud and a creak from upstairs… from the bedroom. Her thumb hovering over the ‘9’ of the phone’s keypad, Eunice hesitantly climbed the stairs, holding her breath.
‘Charlie? Charlie, is that you?’
She pushed the door gently so that it slowly opened onto the bedroom.
She saw the bed.
She saw the body swinging gently from the wooden posts.
She dropped the carving knife, and screamed and screamed.
-x-
Raquel was a waitress. Raquel was more than just a waitress. The café she served at was more than just a café, hence her being more than just a waitress. The owner, you see – her boyfriend – had Connections. Lucrative connections. Shady connections. Highly illegal connections. They were connections that every now and again lead to the tiny, dingy basement rec room being home to more than a beaten up settee and boxes of assorted nick-nacks.
Tonight was one of those occasions.
They had, Raquel mused as she nervously changed the coffee filter, certainly chosen the worst possible timing for it. It was a bitter, dark October night, and Raquel worried that the freezing gale blowing outside could encourage windswept strays to seek refuge in the café. The last thing she wanted that night were possible witnesses. And with her boyfriend away on another job and all… she really, really didn’t want to have to deal with this herself. She just wanted this over and done with as soon as possible.
That was probably why she was so hasty to believe that the man carrying the pager was really the one who had been sent to do the Job. With hindsight she did wonder… he looked nothing like the photo and seemed to be making things up as he went along. Not to mention that he seemed far too young – barely out of the teenage years, and too small to boot. She wandered whether he’d be one of those little Kung-Fu types like in the Bruce Lee films, all fast and focussed, but his general demeanour gave her the impression that this probably wasn’t the case. Still, she was desperate to pass The Problem on to someone – anyone – else, so she showed the young man downstairs while the girl that had come with him (why he’d bought a girl with him, Raquel didn’t dare to imagine) waited in the café. Her little Problem in the basement was dozing – she’d made sure of that – and the young man seemed to be in a world of his own a he wandered over to the sofa. There was only one more thing that Raquel had to do before her part in the agreement was over. She quietly picked up a set of handcuffs, slipped one cuff over the wrist of the youth and the other around the arm of the sleeping Problem. She stepped back a little as the young man looked down at his manacled wrist.
‘What are you doing?’ he yelped.
Raquel folded her arms. ‘It’s all part of the deal. The key is in a locker.’
He gazed at her, confused. He had no idea what was going on. He couldn’t be the right guy! Still, whether he was or not, it was his Problem now. Not hers.
‘In Kiev,’ Raquel added.
The young man paled further. ‘The city?’
‘No,’ Raquel replied, ‘the garlic stuffed chicken fillet. Of course the city!’
‘But… that’s in Russia,’ stammered the man.
‘It’s in the Ukraine,’ Raquel corrected. She shook her head. Didn’t have a clue. ‘They’ll pay you once you deliver the goods.’
‘The goods?’
Raquel pointed at the sleeping person on the couch. ‘Yeah. The goods.’
She watched as the youth gave the sleeper a very slow, trepid once over. He looked up at her in panic.
‘I’m not Him,’ he admitted with a frightened gasp.
Raquel just took another step back. ‘It’s done now.’
‘But I’m not Him. I can’t go to Kiev with… with this handcuffed to me!’ He tried to approach her entreatingly, but the chain around his wrist tightened, jerking the sleeper slightly, causing the young man to suddenly halt. ‘You’ve got to uncuff me,’ he hissed.
‘I can’t,’ Raquel told him. ‘I don’t have the key.’
‘What?’
‘Like I said,’ repeated Raquel, ‘the key’s in Kiev.’ She took another step back. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Don’t leave me here,’ begged the man.
‘Got to see to the customers,’ Raquel answered with an unapologetic shrug.
‘But…’ tried the man.
But Raquel wasn’t listening. She closed the door behind her and trotted up the stairs. It wasn’t her Problem any more.
-x-
It took about three minutes for Julie to get bored of waiting upstairs in the café. She had started off convincing herself that whatever Colin was up to it was going to land him in a heap of trouble and that she wanted no part of it, but as she sipped her rapidly cooling cup of tea she came to the conclusion that if Colin was indeed getting himself into a heap of trouble, there was no reason why she couldn’t amuse herself by bearing witness to it. She was after all still sorely in need of payback for her missing dove and murdered goldfish. Karma demanded it. With that in mind, she nodded to herself, got up from her table and slipped through the back door she had seen the waitress lead Colin through.
Julie was surprised to collide with the waitress on the stairs. More surprising still, the waitress didn’t stop to reprimand her or demand that she went back into the café. She locked eyes with Julie, nodded her head at a half open door at the bottom of the stairs and speedily continued on her way upstairs. Julie shrugged and let herself into the basement room.
She stopped.
She stared.
She laughed her head off.
‘Ssssshhhh!’ Colin hushed her desperately in an overloud Stage Whisper. ‘Don’t wake her up!’
‘Why?’ Julie giggled, ‘Think you can get lucky as long as she stays asleep?’
‘Are you kidding?’ Colin swallowed hard. ‘I mean, look at her!’
‘It’s difficult not to, Colin.’ Julie grinned. The sleeping woman at the other end of Colin’s manacles was indeed… well… “striking” was an understatement. She had to be at least six feet tall, although the platform soles and spike heels of her thigh length boots added at least another 8 inches to her stature. The little that she was wearing seemed to be made of black rubber. Well… mostly rubber, anyway. Black mascara and dark red lipstick were thickly smeared across her face, sticking to the nylon strands of a long black wig. There was absolutely no shadow of a doubt in Julie’s mind what it was this woman did for a living. ‘Dare I ask why it is that you’re handcuffed to Julia Roberts?’
‘That’s not Julia Roberts, Julie. I don’t know who she is.’
Julie cocked an eyebrow at him.
‘It’s that bloody pager,’ Colin added. ‘We’ve managed to get ourselves caught up in some sort of People Trafficking thing.’
‘What do you mean “We”?’ Julie asked. ‘I don’t see any corset clad prostitutes shackled to my arm.’
Colin shook his head. ‘Julie. Please. You’ve got to help me. I don’t know what to… Oh God.’
‘What?’
Colin pointed with his free hand at the muted TV set in the corner. ‘Look, Julie. It’s her!’
Julie looked at the silent screen. The woman in the photo-fit being shown on the flickering box was indeed the same one that was gently snoring on the couch. On the television, her broken, strangely proportioned image glared directly at them with a moody, intimidating expression, as if daring them to be the first to blink.
‘Where’s the remote?’ Colin was searching the unoccupied seat of the sofa frantically. ‘Turn the sound on.’
Julie glanced over at a shelf. The small rectangle of black plastic was lying right in front of her. She picked it up and unmuted the TV.
‘…TO BE STILL AT LARGE,’ blared the set suddenly.
The snoozing hooker snorted in her sleep and shuffled a little.
‘Not so loud!’ Colin hissed through knitted teeth.
Julie jabbed the volume button and the newsreader’s voiceover quietened to a murmur.
‘The woman,’ continued the newsreader, ‘thought to be of Eastern European nationality, was seen by several witnesses making her escape shortly after the time of the attack. Police fear that she may have already fled the country.’
‘She’s an immigrant?’ Julie asked.
‘I’m supposed to be taking her back to the Ukraine,’ Colin replied.
Julie snorted. ‘Chernobyl’s got a lot to answer for.’
‘Funnily enough, Julie,’ Colin whispered, ‘”immigrant” wasn’t the word that set my alarm bells ringing. Can I hear a bit more about this attack, please?’
‘…flooding in for the victim of the brutal attack,’ the newsreader continued, ‘including a statement from the Prime Minister. Mr Major described Sir Cromley as “a respected Peer, a devoted family man and a good friend who will be sorely missed”.’
‘Oh my God,’ Colin breathed.
‘Police are advising that if anybody sees a woman fitting the description they should phone the Hotline, and should not approach her under any circumstances, as she is believed to be highly dangerous.’
‘Oh my God!’
‘Stop saying “Oh my God”, Colin. You sound like a 12 year old at a Take That concert.’
‘But I’m shackled to a big bloody murderer!’ Colin squeaked.
‘We don’t know that for sure…’
‘Oh, come on! You saw the thing.’ Colin tried to pace a little in his agitation, but the manacles prevented him taking any more than a couple of baby steps in any direction. ‘And the guy she murdered was a Member of Parliament. Isn’t that Treason or something?’
‘How could it be Treason if she’s not even from here?’ Julie bit down a cruel smirk. ‘She’s probably just a KGB Assassin or something.’
‘Oh my God…’
‘Helping her escape though… now that probably would class as Treason.’
‘Oh my God…’
‘Isn’t that still a hangable offence?’
Colin swallowed hard, instinctively holding his free hand up to his throat. ‘I’ve got to get out of here, Julie.’ He proffered his shackled arm to her. ‘You hold my hand steady, I’ll gnaw through my wrist.’
Julie rolled her eyes. ‘Relax, Colin. I’ve got a hacksaw back at my flat.’
‘Right,’ Colin nodded in a panic. ‘Yes. That’ll probably be more efficient at sawing through the bone.’
‘Well, I was going to suggest using it to cut through the chain,’ Julie replied, ‘but your idea would probably work too.’
Colin’s eyes lit up at Julie’s suggestion. ‘Cut through the chain! Of course! Julie, I could kiss you.’
‘You most certainly could not!’ Julie folded her arms. ‘If you wanted to thank me, you could start by replacing my fish and putting up a reward for my dove. Then we’d be able to talk about compensating me for the emotional trauma of tonight…’
‘Could we possibly discuss this when I’m not chained to Hell’s Valkyrie?’
‘Fine.’ Julie took a step towards the door. ‘I’ll go and get the saw. I’ll be as quick as I can, but it’ll probably still be about an hour or so.’
‘An hour?’ Colin began to shuffle in panic again. ‘What am I supposed to do stuck like this for a whole hour?’
‘Have a rest,’ shrugged Julie, opening the basement door, ‘watch a bit of TV, breathe quietly.’ She lifted her fist in the air with a mocking smile. ‘Solidarity, Comrade.’
She slipped out of the room before Colin could reply, and hurried up the stairs and out of the café.
-x-
There was a very, very long silence in the basement.
Colin sighed, and sat down, and then sighed again. He took a long look at the chain around his wrist and contemplated whatever sadistic universal law it was that had wound him up in this situation. You cuff a guy to a briefcase, you end up cuffed to a killer bondage queen. You fritter away a flirtatious relationship with a pretty girl in your teens, by the time you’re twenty and have decided you’d like a proper Relationshippy Relationship with someone she’s been driven to the point where she’d sooner hike through a gale to get a hacksaw than spend any more than the bare minimum of time alone with you. You put possessions over people, what are you left with? A soggy £100 note, a horrible trenchcoat and cold, dark, empty night after cold, dark, empty night in the dingy basement of the soul. Karma. Yeah. That’s what it was called. Mentally, he began to award himself a slow, sarcastic hand clap.
The woman next to him groaned, suddenly. He froze. Her eyes still shut, she brought her manacled hand up to her brow, pulling Colin’s hand along with it.
‘Mihre’n…’ she muttered in a thick, deep voice. ‘Vyno. Layno.’
The woman sat up, screaming. ‘Isus!’
Colin yelped with panic. The woman turned her head, gazing in horror at him and the chain that bound them together. ‘Ne!’ She leapt to her feet dizzily, dragging Colin off the sofa as she groped for a nearby shelf. ‘Idy’do bisa!’
‘Miss?’ Colin pleaded, ‘Miss! Please, calm down…’
The woman grabbed a half empty wine bottle and brandished it at him. ‘Da’ty spo’kiy!’
‘I don’t speak Ukrainian.’ Colin winced, his hands out defensively in front of him. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t speak…’
‘I not do it!’ the woman cried. ‘I no kill him! I not murderer!’
‘OK…’ Colin stammered. ‘I’d find that much easier to believe if you weren’t threatening me with a bottle, but…’
‘Bitch drug me!’ Railed the woman. ‘Said would call help. Only drug and call Police.’ The woman sniffed. She seemed to be… was she… crying? ‘Not murderer. Innocent. I am innocent!’
Colin paused for a moment, unsure of what to do next. The woman let out a loud sob, the bottle trembling in her hands.
‘I’m not the Police,’ her told her, quietly. ‘Nyet Poliski.’
The woman stopped crying. She seemed to relax a little. ‘You really are come to help?’
‘Um…’ Colin tried to think of a better idea, but found none. ‘Yes.’
The woman relaxed a little more. She gave him a critical once-over. ‘You?’
‘Yes.’
‘On your own?’
‘Yes!’
‘Huh.’ The woman set the bottle down. ‘Ukrainian money really does not stretch so far these days.’
Colin was too busy watching the bottle to notice the insult. ‘Right. So. What’s the situation, then?’
‘Did not kill him!’ The woman insisted.
‘Yes,’ Colin replied, ‘so you keep saying.’
‘Police wants me,’ she told him. ‘Big, big trouble.’
‘But if you’re innocent…’
The woman chewed her lip a little. ‘Looks bad. Looks very bad.’
Colin shook his head, confused. ‘I’m not catching your drift.’
‘Sir Cromley… Charlie… he was client,’ explained the woman. ‘Died in middle of session. Heart attack maybe…’ she shrugged, unhappily. ‘Too scared to call 999. I here illegally, my work forbidden. So I run. People see me run away. I leave him as he died. And now Police come in and see Charlie hanging there…’
Colin swallowed. ‘Hanging?’
The woman nodded. ‘From four poster. By ankles. Gagged and bound, many cuts and bruises… they think I am psychopath!’
‘Right,’ Colin gulped. ‘They’ll think you’re psychotic for hanging him by his feet over his bed, but you’re not, because…?’ He trailed off, hoping she’d finish his sentence.
‘Is my job!’ the woman cried. ‘Was only doing job. Is what he wanted.’
‘”He”?’
‘Charlie.’
‘He asked you to do that to him?’ Colin pulled a face. ‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘Is what Dominatrix does. He likes.’
‘You’re a…’ Colin gave the woman’s rubber-basque-and-boots getup another quick, wary once-over. ‘So you’re not a…’ he lowered his voice to an awkward murmur. ‘A Prostitute?’
‘Is little like Prostitue,’ the woman admitted, unabashed. ‘Is technically Sex Worker. Only, Prostitute is paid by clients to be nice to him, Dominatrix paid to be very nasty. I am big favourite in this town, because of height. Also, don’t hold back like British girls…’ The woman trailed off, her brow darkening with a frown. ‘Why should you ask this?’ she asked. ‘You already know what I do. My brothers tell you!’
Colin still blinked at her, nonplussed. ‘Your brothers?’
‘When they hire you! When they call you to get me out!’
‘Oh!’ Colin turned on a grin of fake confidence. ‘Oh yes, of course they did!’
‘They did?’ The woman arched a painted eyebrow. ‘Roman and Nikolai, they tell you everything?’
‘Well, you know what old Roman and Nikolai are like,’ Colin breezed, as vaguely as he could, ‘well of course you would – you’re their sister. Always telling you this, that and the other. And I’m saying “Roman! Nikolai! Give me a break! That’s enough, that’s all the info I need”, but the pair of them do keep on yammering on…’
‘My brothers names are Olek and Dmytro,’ the woman told him, stonily.
‘Oh.’
‘And Dmytro is deaf-mute,’ she added.
‘Ah.’
‘You have never spoke to my brothers.’
‘No.’
‘You are not here to help.’
‘No. I mean… no, but…’ Colin winced as she glared down at him from her lofty height. ‘I ended up cuffed to you by accident,’ he admitted. ‘I found this pager…’ he held the by now detested object up for her to see. ‘The guy your brothers hired must’ve got mugged on the way over here.’
‘Mugged?’ The woman shook her head in disbelief. ‘My Minder was mugged before he even got here?’
Colin pressed his lips together in a tight smile of sympathy. ‘I suppose Ukrainian money really doesn’t stretch so far after all.’
‘Ah.’ The woman deflated slightly, resting her back against the basement wall. ‘Then I am… what is word…?’
‘Buggered,’ helped Colin.
‘Yes,’ sighed the woman. ‘I am Buggered.’
She slid down the wall to her bottom. The chain that bound them together pulled Colin down by the wrist as she sat, dejectedly. He stooped for a moment, then joined her on the floor.
‘You’re…’ Colin stammered quietly. ‘You’re not going to beat me up for this… um… Misunderstanding?’
‘Not for free,’ the woman replied. ‘Is fifty pounds for an hour, and you must make appointment.’
Colin flushed. ‘That’s not what I meant.’
The woman managed a very small smile. ‘I know. Is joke.’
‘Oh! Right.’ Colin offered her a false little laugh, but she wasn’t listening. She stared down at her boots, glumly.
‘You should go,’ she told him.
‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ Colin replied. ‘But this stupid thing says otherwise.’ He shook his cuffed wrist at her. ‘Why does your Minder need to be handcuffed to you in the first place, if you’re not really dangerous?’
‘Probably my brothers’ silly joke,’ the woman told him. ‘They make fun of my profession. Or maybe so you look like Policeman, arresting me.’
‘So the real Police leave you alone?’ Colin added.
‘Maybe.’ The woman looked across at him. ‘I thought you were Policeman when I saw you.’
Colin frowned. ‘What’s your point?’
‘Maybe… plan could still work,’ said the woman, a spark of hope rising in her deep voice.
‘What? No.’
‘Minder failed to get here,’ she insisted. ‘You find me instead. Maybe this chain not accident. Maybe is Fate.’
‘It’s Karma…’ muttered Colin, darkly.
‘Karma. Yes. You sent to help me by force unknown.’ She beamed. ‘Is part of bigger plan.’
‘If this is part of Somebody’s plan, then he’s got a pretty sick sense of humour,’ Colin snorted. ‘I was supposed to be on a date tonight.’
The woman raised her eyebrows. ‘Where is she?’
‘She left to get, um…’ Colin stalled, suddenly aware that the giant fugitive probably didn’t want to hear that a third party was on their way to hack him free. ‘She left.’
‘It did not go well.’
‘No. No.’ Colin puffed through pursed lips, recalling his evening so far. ‘You can say that again.’
The stranger smiled. ‘So. You are alone, you are sad. Date walks away. You are loser.’
‘Hey…’
‘Here is chance to be great hero,’ she continued, ‘rescue Damsel is Distressed.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, Kid. But Damsels in Distress don’t usually wear spiky breastplates.’
The woman looked down at the drastically curved metal over the breast of her corset and laughed a little. ‘You like?’
‘If it wasn’t level with my eyes and in danger of poking them out if you turn too fast, I’d love it.’
She laughed again. ‘See? We have fun now. We get on. You will help?’
Colin shook his head with an apologetic shrug. ‘I wouldn’t know how. How am I supposed to smuggle you out of the country?’
‘I have friend. Near Birmingham. Has airfield and private plane.’ The woman got to her feet. ‘You only have to get me there, he can take me rest of way.’
‘I really don’t think I can…’
‘Is easy!’ She pulled him up to stand. ‘Act natural, play cool.’
‘You don’t know me very well,’ Colin replied, ‘do you?’
‘No. I do not know you at all.’
‘I’m not exactly an expert at acting natural and playing cool.’
The stranger gazed at him, askance. ‘You are good at talking your way out of trouble,’ she announced.
‘Well… I suppose…’ Colin frowned. ‘That is, I used to be. How did you know that? We haven’t done business before, have we? Cause I’m pretty sure I’d have remembered you.’
‘You have that Look,’ the woman replied. She offered him a smug smile. ‘You must be able to read men well, in my trade.’ She stooped by the sofa and scooped up a full looking holdall. ‘So,’ she continued, ‘we run into trouble, you talk us out. I talk, they only hear accent. You make up for my bad English, yes?’
‘But I don’t know what I’d…’
She kissed the fingertips of her free hand and pressed them against his forehead. ‘Good. Must be fate. You are sent to help me by God.’
‘It wasn’t God,’ Colin muttered as she turned to go, dragging him behind her, ‘it was a blinking pigeon.’
The woman reached her hand out to the door handle.
The door exploded out of its frame in a shower of balsa wood.
Six truncheon wielding policeman suddenly stood on the other side of the kicked-in doorway, with the café waitress hovering unhappily behind them. The Sergeant took a couple of self-satisfied paces into the basement while the sea of navy blue closed in around his space, blocking the way out.
‘There you are, Natalia,’ the Sergeant cooed. ‘We have been looking for you everywhere. Wanted to ask you a few questions about the recently deceased Sir Cromley.’
The woman – evidently named Natalia – took a wary step back. ‘I no kill him.’
The Sergeant smiled sweetly. ‘Then why are you hiding?’
Colin took a deep breath, pulled himself up to his full five-and-a-half and stepped out in front of Natalia. ‘Detective Inspector John Darm,’ he barked, as confidently as he could, flashing an ID card at the Sergeant so fast that he wouldn’t be able to see it was a gym pass. ‘Interpol. As you can see, Sergeant, I have already detained the suspect. I’ll be dealing with matters from here on in…’
The Sergeant rolled his eyes at his colleagues in the doorway. ‘Come off it, Colin.’
Colin wavered for a split second. ‘Who?’
‘You think there’s a copper within a ten mile radius of here who hasn’t seen your file? We’ve been getting complaints about you since you were 14 years old.’
Natalia furrowed her brow at him. ‘You are criminal?’
‘Mostly petty juvenile stuff,’ the Sergeant told her, ‘scams, knock-off jobs and the like. Nothing we could bring him in for, not with his clever little family of crooks behind him.’ The Sergeant paused for effect, turning his attention back onto the squirming Colin. ‘But this? Aiding and abetting a murder suspect? Impersonating a member of Interpol? Oh dear, Colin.’
‘It was all her idea,’ Colin squalked, jabbing a finger at Natalia. ‘She made me do it!’
‘What?’ Natalia seethed.
‘I’m an innocent party in all of this, Sergeant,’ he babbled. ‘A victim!’
‘Of course you are, Colin,’ grinned the Sergeant, in a tone smothered in thick sarcasm.
‘Look,’ he cried, trying his best to ignore the angry Ukrainian curses being muttered above his head, ‘she’s got me handcuffed. I’m practically her prisoner. Maybe she was trying to kill again, who knows? It’s probably a lucky thing you lot got here when you did actually…’
The Sergeant turned his smile back to Natalia. ‘Quite an accomplice you’ve got there.’
‘I’m not her accomplice…’ Colin panicked.
‘He’s been known to do some quick 180’s in his time,’ continued the policeman, ‘but this takes the biscuit.’
Natalia peered down at Colin, narrowing her eyes at him, menacingly. ‘You are bastard.’
‘Well, you’re certifiable!’
‘Be that as it may,’ interjected the Sergeant, ‘but there is one thing that you do both have in common.’
He grabbed the chain that bound them to one another. ‘You’re both nicked.’
