Beyond the Rage (2 page)

2

Mason Budge was, by almost every physical measure, Mr Average. Unless you looked closely. The waist was a little tighter, the shoulders a tad broader and his movement just that bit more languid.

His hair was clipped short, his beard fashionably trim and his eyes wore a shine and a joyful camber that made people warm to him instantly. That was their first mistake.

The girl answered the door to him with a smile. She clearly thought it was her last visitor returning for something. Her mouth formed a moue of surprise when she didn’t recognise him.

‘Can I help you?’ she asked, her head tilting to the side, her eyes narrow with curiosity. There was no fear yet. She was in her own home. Nothing could happen to her here. Her confidence turned him on. For all the wrong reasons.

Mason loved her voice immediately. French or something. He hoped he would get the chance to hear more of it in the coming few minutes. Or hours. Or however long it took.

‘Sure you can, darling,’ he said and pushed past her.

‘What the hell do you think you are doing?’ she shouted. ‘I’m calling the police.’

‘Sure you are, darling.’

The carpet was satisfyingly lush as he walked down the hall to what he could see was the lounge. As he walked she was shrill in his ear, now alert to the danger. She didn’t run, though, and he admired that.

‘Shut up, sweetheart,’ Mason said.

She did as she was told. A punch on the face tended to bring compliance, he found. When dealing with women Mason always went for the face.

The woman slumped to the floor, crying softly.

‘Now listen up, babycakes.’ Mason loved to use endearments in his line of work. He really appreciated irony. ‘I have a message for you.’ He picked a BlackBerry from his pocket and held it before him.

‘It says,
Teach the bitch a lesson. Be as creative as you like
.’ He paused and looked into her wide eyes. ‘Don’t you prefer it when people use, like, proper words when they text?’

3

A couple of hours to go before he
’d
to go over to Aunt Vi’s. Kenny drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove. What should he do to pass the time? He looked at the clock on the dash to see the time. Would he be able to squeeze in a workout down the gym? He hadn’t been since the day before yesterday and he always got a bit scratchy if he didn’t go regularly.

Some hard work later and he was refreshed and ready to face the world. Well, Uncle Colin and Aunt Vi. He
’d
worked through an hour’s cardio on various machines, thirty minutes free weights and then ten minutes on the speedball. The Mixed Martial Arts guys he trained with said it was a good tool for co-ordination. A quick shower and the endorphins were sending their version of bliss through his mind and muscles.

Back in the car and he checked the messages on his phone before heading off in the direction of Milngavie. One missed call.

Alexis.

He debated whether to ignore it or whether to follow it up. He really needed to go and see what this letter was all about and if he ended up going to see Alexis it would be a couple of days and several sets of sweaty and soiled sheets later before he surfaced again. That girl sure knew how to party.

His mind, and his groin, stirred back to the day they first met. It was a reception in the hotel called Malmaison. A prominent councillor going by the name of Liam Devlin, that Kenny had performed a number of favours for and who in turn could help earn Kenny a sheen of respectability, had invited him to a reception. A deal had been brokered on behalf of the city. Kenny had been in place to take some compromising photographs of the head of the delegation and this had been the deciding factor in his councillor pal winning the deal.

He was bored out of his tits when he saw Alexis. She
’d
been in among a group of men at the bar, all of whom were in various stages of salivation, from licking their lips to a string of drool. He watched these successful and important men being reduced to a heavy pulse and surging testosterone levels by an artful smile, toss of the hair and an articulate raise of the eyebrow.

She was wearing a dark blue trouser-suit that managed to meet the conventions while suggesting at the wonders of the body that lay beneath. It didn’t so much as hug her curves as whisper of their promise. And every man in the room was listening carefully.

Something made her move her attention from the man who was speaking to her. She turned to face Kenny as if aware he had been watching her all along. She slid a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and smiled at the fuckwit who was talking to her. Then she adapted her view so that she could see Kenny again. He raised an eyebrow and turned away.

He walked over to the table where a buffet had been set up and placed a solitary vol-au-vent in the middle of a plate. A fucking vol-au-vent. What was this, the Seventies? Then he walked along to where the drinks were. He picked up a glass of Prosecco and slid it onto… what could it be called, the winegrip?... on the side of his plate.

‘Whoever thought of these wee winegrip things,’ he said to the waiter who watched like a sentry over the food, ‘...was a genius.’

He felt someone brush by his arm as they reached for a glass. He knew it was her. He picked the vol-au-vent from his plate, took a bite and turned to her. As he chewed he appraised the large amber eyes and the delicate tilt of her chin.

‘Mmm, gorgeous,’ he said.

‘Not a little bit too cheesy?’ she asked.

‘You can never have enough cheese,’ he grinned.

She looked him up and down. ‘Nice teeth, all your own hair, oh...’ – she took in his flat belly – ‘...and no paunch. Who are you and what have you done with the nice Glaswegian who should be here?’

‘You speak perfect, but slightly accented English. Your clothes have a European look to them. You seem to be actually interested in what some of these puffed-up peacocks have to say. Who are you and what have you done with the nice Glaswegian who should be here?’

She laughed, her head tilting back, her teeth flashing.

‘At least one of us is from Glasgow,’ she said.

Kenny shook his head. ‘I’m from Ayrshire. What are you, French?’

‘Swiss.’

‘Is everything in your life ordered and precise?’

‘I’m Swiss-Italian. Much more relaxed. What about you? Do you conform to the cliché of the west of Scotland male?’ She placed the rim of her glass against her bottom lip.

‘Let me see...’ He looked to the ceiling as if searching for the right words. ‘I hate rugby, love football. Hate beer, love wine. I exercise regularly–’

‘I noticed.’

‘Shh, don’t interrupt when I’m impressing you.’ They laughed together, his deep notes of amusement folded among her light song. ‘I floss twice a day, don’t talk about my feelings ever, but I cry like a girl when an athlete collects his gold medal at the Olympics. I hate deep-fried Mars bars and I love it when I have a beautiful woman’s undivided attention.’

‘And I love it when a non-conformist conforms.’

A man coughed at their side. He was in his mid- to late-fifties, sporting a gleaming set of teeth and wearing his large belly like it was a badge of success.

Alexis offered him a smile and faced Kenny.

‘Excuse me,’ – she placed a hand on his forearm – ‘I am otherwise engaged this evening. It has been a pleasure talking to you. I hope your work with the council goes well.’ As she walked away the big belly guy took a grip of her arm and Kenny could hear him saying, ‘What were you talking to that guy about?’

‘He was just keeping me amused while you were talking business, Tommy.’

As Kenny watched them getting closer to the bar, he saw Tommy move his mouth to her ear. She shrank back as if he had issued some sort of threat. Or maybe that was what Kenny wanted to see, for in the next moment she was whispering something in his ear and they both laughed.

For the rest of the evening, Kenny kept an eye on them, trying to work out what their relationship was. That it might be, or could be, sexual in nature became apparent as the evening wore on. At least that was how Tommy clearly wanted it to be judging by the way his great paws couldn’t stop touching her, but Alexis’ behaviour never ratcheted up beyond mildly flirtatious.

Eventually, Kenny mentally slapped himself on the forehead as he realised the truth of the situation. How could he not? He waited until Tommy walked off, presumably to go to the toilet, before approaching Alexis again.

She was wearing an expression that was one part quizzical, one part wary and several parts amused.

‘Do you have a card?’ Kenny asked her.

‘But of course,’ she answered with a tilt of her head. She opened her purse and delicately picked one out and handed it to him.

He read the gold embossed lettering on white card. All it contained was her name and mobile telephone number.

‘Very discreet.’

‘Of course. I find that you Brits are a little less accepting than the Continentals in these matters, but even more... needy.’

‘I think I must be more Continental when it comes to negotiable affections,’ he replied before pressing his lips to the card and placing it in his breast pocket.

A smile from Alexis aimed over his shoulder alerted Kenny to the fact that Tommy had returned. He brushed past Kenny so hard that he had to put a hand on the bar to steady himself. The older man stood beside Alexis.

‘I think we should be away now,’ he said, completely ignoring Kenny.

People had lost a few teeth for less, but remembering where he was Kenny decided to let it pass. Now was not the time for violence. In a loud enough voice to carry along the bar, Kenny addressed the couple. ‘Tommy, it’s so nice to hear that you’ve recovered from the prostate surgery. Hope it hasn’t affected you too much.’ He shook the other man’s hand with enough pressure to crack a knuckle. ‘You treat this young lady well, okay?’ He laughed with exaggerated heartiness. ‘Cos if you don’t, I’ll hunt you down.’ With a wink to Alexis, who was struggling to hide her mirth from Tommy, Kenny turned and walked away.

He was met at the door by Liam Devlin. The smaller man walked towards him with brisk steps. Ever the politician, airbrushed with the certainty of his position in the world; his suit and tie looked as fresh as they undoubtedly were first thing that morning. ‘Do you know who that is?’ he asked Kenny.

‘No. Don’t care.’ Kenny grinned at his own petulance.

‘Tommy Hunt is not a man to mess with. He knows people.’

‘I’m happy for him. I know people too.’

‘Dangerous people, Kenny.’

‘Wooo.’ Kenny laughed and made a face. He then sobered and looked Liam squarely in the eye. ‘I am dangerous people.’

He called Alexis the very next day. They arranged a meeting that night and partied vigorously for two days. The sex was tender, it was hard. They fucked like animals, they giggled like teenagers, they lingered, connected at the groin for hours. It was fun, it was furious, it was expensive and it was worth every penny. And by the end of the two days Kenny was in a place he had promised himself he would never be.

He was in love.

• • •

She
’d
left him a text and a message. That wasn’t like her. She normally left all the running to him, after all he was the one who was paying for it. The text was an address that he had never visited, but one that he vaguely recognised. For her to leave him a voicemail there must be something wrong. He thought about the other message that was waiting for him, the letter from his father. He desperately needed to know what was in that letter. His Aunt Vi had kept a hold of it all this time, so why now? He
’d
had many birthdays between eighteen and thirty, why was this one so important? What level of maturity had she imagined he
’d
reached tha
t
would allow him to process whatever the letter contained?

Curiosity won in the short term. He pressed dial on the phone. A voice told him he had one new message. Before he could decide whether or not to listen to it, the message came on line and Alexis’ voice filled his ear.

‘Kenny. Please call me. It’s urgent. Please. You know I wouldn’t...’ There was a suppressed sob and then the call ended.

4

He typed the address from the text into his sat-nav and soon he was on his way down St Vincent Street and headed towards the Merchant City.

This is one of the oldest parts of the city. In medieval times it was dotted with orangeries, rose gardens and the odd merry monk. Now it’s an area of bars, clubs, boutique hotels, concert halls and very expensive apartments.

One of which contained a weepy, but hopefully unhurt escort girl. By some minor miracle, Kenny managed to park his vehicle at the secure entrance to Alexis’ flat. He locked the car, walked the half-dozen steps to the buzzer and pressed. As he waited for an answer, he looked around him. There was the odd couple strolling arm in arm. The occasional passing taxi and a plethora of parked cars. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. He peered in to some of the cars nearest to him. Just in case. But no one seemed to be lurking in wait for an over-protective punter.

‘Hello,’ a tinny voice issued from the speaker at the side of the door.

‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘It’s Kenny.’

The buzzer sounded and he pushed the door open. Kenny hated lifts, so he took the stairs. As he ran up, taking two at a time, he tried to imagine what state Alexis might be in; the reason for her upset and why he was the one she turned to.

Six floors later and he was breathing easily. Fit and strong is the new black, he thought as he knocked on her door. She opened it immediately, offering him a weak smile and enough time to see she was wearing no make-up, her hair was badly needing a wash and the heavy bruising down one side of her face.

She turned and walked down the passageway into her living room. Kenny was full of questions, but he knew Alexis well enough to know that she would come round to the answers in her own good time.

She folded herself into the corner of a giant brown, velvet-covered sofa and fixed her eyes on the fifty-inch plasma TV, where Billie Piper was doing her thing. Despite his need to know what the hell was happening, Kenny couldn’t help but look around the room. Although he had been ‘seeing’ Alexis for over a year now, they only ever met in hotels. This was the first time he had actually been allowed in to her refuge.

It was classy. As he expected. Large colourful prints hung on the cream walls, the curtains were luxurious fabrics, and the furniture was sparse but clearly expensive.

‘Whenever I need to laugh with irony I watch this crap,’ Alexis said, nodding at the TV.

Billie Piper was whipping some guy on a bed. He was wearing nothing but a shirt and tie. Kenny shook his head, indicating he had no idea what they were watching.

‘It’s Belle Du Jour. She’s a call girl and she makes it look like it’s all glam and no pain. That your soul doesn’t get sucked out of your body every time someone pays you to suck their cock. That the
Pretty Woman
myth is alive and well.’ Alexis chewed the inside of her lip and crossed her arms; her right hand slowly began stroking her left shoulder. She looked down at her lap and then up at Kenny through her fringe.

‘Sorry. You didn’t need to hear that.’

‘What the hell happened, Alexis?’

She bit her top lip and looked into the distance. Elements of her real character played across the stage of her eyes. Kenny read pride warring with consequence; uncertainty tinged with self-loathing.

He moved over to her and knelt by her feet. Saying nothing, he examined her bruised face. He touched it lightly. Nothing appeared to be broken.

‘Do you have any numbness? Any tingling?’

Alexis chewed on the inside of her cheek and shook her head.

‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’ Kenny asked, dreading the answer. He realised his fists were clenched and that he needed to hurt somebody. Who could have done this? What sick fucker would hurt a beautiful woman, any woman like this?

Alexis looked into his eyes. ‘Don’t, Kenny. Don’t.’ She pressed herself further into the cushion of the sofa. ‘Don’t be so nice...’ Her eyes filled with tears.

‘Are you hurt anywhere else, Alexis? Should we call–’

‘He got his guy to rape me, Kenny.’ Her voice was just above a whisper. Her head fell forward and sobs wracked her body. Kenny sat on the sofa beside her and took her in his arms. She gave in to his need to console her and allowed the emotion to carry her. He said nothing, simply held her, stroking her head. Two sides of him struggled for attention; his worry for her well-being and his demand to kick some bastard until his head was mush.

After several minutes, she managed to rein herself in.

‘I need a shower, or a bath. I need to clean myself.’

‘Should you...? Don’t you need to...?’

‘Kenny, I’m a prostitute. The law doesn’t want to concern itself with people like me. Besides, I’ve already had two baths. Any... DNA has been washed away.’ She stood up and brushed past him. She took two steps, moved faster and began running down the hall. A door slammed. Kenny found himself standing at the door of the living room looking down the empty hallway and feeling completely useless.

He walked slowly down the hall, listening for any sounds. The second door down was closed. He tested the handle. It was locked. Sounds of weeping came from the other side.

‘Go away,’ Alexis shouted. ‘Leave me alone.’

Kenny considered doing just that. He looked towards the front door and back down the hall to the living room. She had called him. Part of her must want him to be here. She didn’t invite just anyone to her living space. Besides, his muscles ached with the need for action. He had to do something. He had to find out who hurt her and pay them back, with interest.

He walked back down towards the sound of the TV and sat on the sofa. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees he considered what he should do. He spotted a door off to the side. Could that be...? Yes, it was the kitchen. He walked in, switched on a light and walked over to the kettle. He filled it with water and switched it on. When all else fails, resort to cliché. A nice cup of tea will surely help.

As he waited for the kettle to boil he looked around the kitchen. White doors, chrome appliances; everything spotless. Like it was a show home, or about to be sold. In fact everything about the entire flat had that same feel. Unlived in.

He made two cups of tea and left one steaming on the worktop. He walked back over to the sofa and sat down. Sipping his tea, he looked around himself. Yes, this place definitely had that same feeling; that the owner barely lived here. He considered what he really knew about Alexis. She was born in a small village on the Swiss border with Italy. That she was around the same age as him and that she gave a damn good blowjob. Pathetic. And this was a woman he supposedly had feelings for.

He stared across the room. And realised with a start what he was looking at. It was a phone seat. God, people still had them? It was some kind of dark wood with velour padding and on the shelf sat an actual honest-to-fuck phone. Not a mobile, hand-held computer, but a small simple piece of technology with a large round dial and a thing you hold against the side of your head to speak into.

Beside the phone sat a leather-bound book. Like a diary. Or, an appointment book. Kenny, you eejit. He walked over and picked it up. Of course. It would let him know who Alexis had been with earlier on.

He opened it up. The pages crackled with a satisfying quality as he looked for that day’s page. He looked down the entries. Three entries in blue ink on crisp vanilla paper. At ten, she had noted,
Doctor
. At twelve,
The Chip
. The entry for 4pm read simply,
DT
.

He closed the book and placed it back down on its space. The Chip? There was a popular eaterie over in the West End called The Ubiquitous Chip. Might she have been having lunch with someone there?

DT. Who could that be? Other than that the page was empty.

He looked back across the room at the sofa. Under where he had been sitting he could see a handbag. One of those capacious things that women loved and would spend their last penny on. In every man’s experience such a bag was crucially important to a woman, held their entire lives and yet they could never find anything when they wanted it.

Back at the sofa, he picked it up. He only considered for a moment if what he was doing was in any way wrong. He always felt that looking in a woman’s handbag was a big no-no, a violation even. But today was no time for social niceties. He had to find out what was going on.

Her mobile phone was tucked into a pocket. He pulled it out and read that only one bar was showing – it had a poor signal and it was about to run out of juice. There was one unread message. With barely a pause and only the tiniest feeling of guilt, he opened it. The message had two words.

Lesson learned?

Kenny checked the sender. TD. Well, that was a coincidence and who the hell was TD? Whoever he was, he was going to be very sorry he had messed with his girl.

His girl? Get a hold of yourself, O’Neill.

He looked down at the phone and scrolled through the contact list. He wondered if he knew any of the people here. There were a few first names of women and a list of initials. There he was. KO. When he and Alexis were together she never discussed any of her other punters. They had the occasional laugh at some of the weird, silly ones, but Alexis was a professional; no names were ever given. He scrolled down to TD.

Just then he heard a door open and the pad of feet as they moved in his direction. He dropped the phone in the bag and managed to kick it back under the sofa before Alexis appeared at the doorway.

She had brushed her hair out, put on some make-up and was wearing an ankle-length sheer gown that hid nothing of the shape underneath. Despite himself, he responded. Blood surged into his groin.

‘You have money?’ Her expression was all business. He nodded.

‘You need to fuck me and you need to pay me,’ she said as she walked towards him.

‘Alexis, I...’ He stood up, arms wide.

She reached him and opened her gown. His eyes slid from the swelling of her breasts down to the spare line of hair above the pout between her legs.

‘This is not a good idea,’ he heard himself say as she tugged at his belt.

‘You need to take this big hard cock...’ She stroked him through the material of his trousers.

‘Alexis, I don’t want to hurt...’ He felt shame at his arousal heat his neck. He placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back a little.

‘Kenny,’ she said, her expression shifting. A hurt, little girl peered out from behind thick, mascara
’d
lashes. ‘You need to do this for me.’ The working girl was back. ‘Leave your cash on the table there.’ Her hand moved back to his groin and she gripped his shaft as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out two hundred pounds.

‘It’s all I’ve got on me,’ he said. ‘I didn’t expect...’

‘Shh.’ She placed a finger over his lips. ‘For tonight, that will do.’

In the bedroom, her ankles locked behind his back as he moved in and out of her wetness. She raked his back and buttocks with her nails.

‘Harder, Kenny. Fuck me harder,’ she shouted into his ear and he lost his sense of guilt and gave in to the role she was demanding of him. He grunted and thrust, working up into a rhythm she was looking for. He surrendered to the sensations, to her urgency and came in a hot rush.

Panting, he rolled over on to his back. His usual post-orgasmic feeling shaded with distaste. No, disgust. He shouldn’t have given in to her. He should have been more supportive. More of a friend.

Alexis jumped off the bed and put on a white towelling robe. She pulled her hair back from her face, her expression strained through with a number of unreadable emotions. ‘Now you need to get the hell out of my apartment.’

‘But Alexis...’

‘Kenny, don’t make me ask you again,’ she said as she crossed her arms. ‘Just go.’