Cold Sacrifice (9 page)

‘I’m looking for a woman –’ Henry began.

The bouncer jerked his head in the direction of the interior.

‘Full price unless you’re a member.’

‘No, you don’t understand. I need to find a woman who wasn’t working here on Friday night.’

The doorman frowned. It was clearly too complicated a request for him to deal with.

‘Tonight is Monday,’ he said.

‘Never mind.’

Henry handed over his money.

Inside, a heavily made-up woman opened a curtain and gestured for him to go in. A girl was spinning around a pole wearing nothing but a sequined G-string while music thumped out a regular beat. Normally Henry would have been mesmerised by her bouncing curves, but he was preoccupied. As soon as he entered the room, a skinny bird with unnaturally large breasts sashayed up to him. It was difficult not to be distracted by her almost naked body swaying in front of him, tantalisingly close. With an effort, he kept his gaze fixed on her painted face.

‘Were you working here on Friday night?’

Immediately she stopped moving her hips and took an involuntary step back. Her eyes narrowed as she scrutinised his face.

‘Are you a cop?’

‘No.’

‘You don’t look like a cop.’

‘I’m not a cop. I’m in trouble with – with my brother –’ He could hardly say his wife. ‘I need to find a girl who was free on Friday evening.’

The girl half turned, her eyes scanning the doorway.

‘I’ll pay.’

She turned back, a flicker of interest on her face.

‘Twenty quid to you if you introduce me to a girl who wasn’t working on Friday, and a hundred to her.’

‘Fifty.’

‘OK, I’ll give you fifty, and –’

‘Wait here.’

Although he was standing in shadow, he felt as though everyone in the room was watching him: girls gyrating on the podium, a few blokes ogling them, half-dressed waitresses prancing around with trays of drinks. He went and sat down at an empty table and watched the show, too intent on his project to be excited by the dancers on stage. Even after her death, Martha was still spoiling his fun. Once all this was over, he promised himself he would return to the club and have a good time. He seemed to be sitting there for hours, until his head was throbbing painfully at the loud music that accompanied the show. At last a blonde woman came and sat beside him. She looked very young and was wearing a short black dress that was too tight for her.

‘Candy said you wanted to see me.’

‘Were you here on Friday evening?’

‘No. Were you?’

He scowled at her brazen smile.

‘This isn’t about me. Just answer the question, will you? Now, where were you on Friday evening?’

‘I was at home. Washing my hair.’

Raising one hand to her head she fluffed up her blonde curls and placed her other hand firmly on his knee, speaking in staccato bursts as though she could only manage to produce a couple of words at a time.

‘Aren’t you going to buy me a drink?’

He waved at a half-naked waitress who brought them a couple of glasses of overpriced sparkling white wine.

‘How would you like to do me a favour?’ he asked.

With a practised smile she moved her hand up his thigh to his crotch. With an effort of will he moved it away. There was no denying she was achingly attractive, but he couldn’t afford to be distracted.

‘I’ll make it worth your while,’ he said and paused, uncertain how to explain what he wanted.

She waited, sipping her wine. No one appeared to be paying them any attention but he felt self-conscious.

‘Can we go somewhere private?’

Without a word she stood up, took him by the elbow and steered him across the room. They went through a curtain and she led him upstairs to a small room with a bed and a cracked sink in one corner. The curtains were threadbare velvet, and the whole room had an atmosphere of shabby luxury.

* * * * *

Della sat down and patted the bed beside her, automatically smoothing out a few wrinkles on the cover, but the punter remained standing. He refused to look directly at her, showing no interest in her beyond a fuck. She preferred it that way. It made no difference to her, as long as he paid up without any fuss. The ones who didn’t want to talk got it over with more quickly, and time was money. The men who wanted to babble on interminably about their pathetic lives were the worst. She unzipped her dress and wriggled out of it.

‘Stop that. Get dressed again.’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘That’s not what I want from you.’

Eyeing him warily, she put her dress back on.

He stared at her, red-faced, struggling to control himself. She had seen more men than she could remember in his state of resentful arousal. It didn’t bother her. As long as he paid, she couldn’t care less that he hated himself for wanting to pay for sex. It gave them something in common: she hated him for it as well.

‘I just want to talk to you,’ he said eventually.

She hoped he wasn’t going to sit jabbering all night.

‘It’ll still cost you.’

All at once he seemed anxious. He began speaking very quickly, as though he was in a hurry.

‘Money’s no problem. But I don’t want to talk here. Follow me. Come on, we can talk in my car.’

‘What’s wrong with staying here?’

‘I’ll make it worth your while. Five hundred quid for one quick favour.’ Seeing her expression, he added quickly, ‘I’ll make it a thousand. Don’t worry, I won’t touch you. That’s not what I want. I only want to talk. Now, let’s get out of here.’

She led him out of the back door, round the side of the building to the street, to avoid questions. If there was a thousand quid in it, she wanted to keep that to herself.

‘It’s worse than school in there,’ she told him.

He nodded but didn’t say anything. Without another word she followed him along the street to a large dark blue car. He opened the door and told her to get in. The bloke gave her the creeps but she only hesitated for a second.

‘A thousand quid, you said?’

She would tell the club manager the punter insisted on having a fuck in his car and had paid the going rate, and she would pocket the difference.

‘Yes, yes, now come on,’ he urged. ‘I told you, I’m not going to touch you. It’s just that we can talk in the car. I’ll give you the keys if it makes you feel better. Now stop wasting time and get in.’

‘What were you doing on Friday evening?’ he asked as he sat down beside her.

‘What?’

She had met some funny blokes, but there was definitely something peculiar going on with this one. Still, it was a nice car, and he had promised her a thousand quid. She leaned back on her seat and waited.

‘Don’t look so scared. I’m not going to hurt you, not if you do as you’re told. I just need to ask you a few questions. You weren’t at the club on Friday evening, were you?’

She shook her head.

‘Where were you?’

‘At home.’

‘Was anyone else with you?’

‘No. Candy – my flatmate – was here, working.’

‘So you were on your own? All evening?’

‘Yes. Why? What are you after?’

She sat up, unnerved, and reached for the door handle.

‘Don’t you want to earn yourself an easy thousand quid?’

A thousand quid was a lot of money, but she still didn’t know what he wanted from her. She gave a cautious nod.

‘You’re not going to mark my face –’

‘How many times do I need to say it? I wouldn’t want to touch you if you paid me.’

His eyes were all over her, giving the lie to his insult.

‘What do you want then?’

‘All you have to do is say you spent Friday evening with me. That’s all there is to it.’

She hesitated, reluctant to commit herself until she knew what was going on.

‘Why?’

‘You don’t need to know. It’s a thousand quid, and no questions.’

‘I don’t want any trouble.’

‘There’s no need to worry. Look, my brother thinks I was messing about with his wife and I need to convince him he’s got it all wrong, that’s all. So, are you going to help me? There’s a thousand quid in it for you, cash. You can have it tonight.’

Now she understood what was involved, she relaxed.

‘Were you?’

‘What?’

‘Messing about with your brother’s wife?’

‘If you keep on with the questions, you can forget it. I’ll ask someone else. There’s fifteen hundred quid in it – a thousand now and the rest when this is over – so I won’t have any problem finding someone else, someone who can keep her trap shut and just say exactly what I tell her to say.’

He turned away and opened his door. She leaned across and grabbed his sleeve, digging into his arm with her long red nails.

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘Don’t go. I’ll do it. Give me the cash and I won’t ask anything else, I promise. Just tell me what to say. I won’t let you down.’

He slipped an envelope out of his pocket and held it open so she could see the contents: a wad of twenty quid notes. She seized it and, wetting her finger, flicked quickly through them, counting under her breath.

‘Now, this is what I want you to say. Listen carefully. You need to be clear about the times.’

She nodded, still counting. When he finished, he made her repeat the story over and over again until he was satisfied she would remember it.

‘Play your part well, and there’ll be another five hundred quid in it for you,’ he said quietly. ‘But it you fuck up, believe me you’ll be sorry. I’ll make sure of that. Now get out of my car.’

‘Don’t you want to come back to the club and spend some time with me?’ she asked.

She was thinking about the envelope he had given her. He must be loaded.

‘Just get out and close the door behind you.’

Standing on the pavement she watched his car drive away before she went back indoors and slipped into the toilet. Locked in a cubicle she took the envelope out of her bag, wondering where to stash the money. Her dress was too tight to conceal anything in her underwear, and besides, someone might see it there. She ripped the inner soles out of her shoes, divided the notes and put them inside the shoes, cramming the soles back down. The hidden money made her shoes uncomfortably tight, but it was the best she could do. She didn’t dare leave it in her bag. It was too much money to risk losing. She was about to throw the envelope away when she noticed it had a name and address on it. A thousand quid with another five hundred promised, and there was plenty more where that came from, if she played her cards right. Smiling to herself, she put the envelope carefully in her bag.

A
T SCHOOL ON
T
UESDAY
nothing was the same. It wasn’t only the way he was feeling inside. Other people were treating him differently too. Not teachers, who were always oblivious to everything, but other pupils seemed to regard him with more respect than usual. Even though he had only shown his knife to a couple of mates the day before, it seemed that word had spread. When a group of boys moved aside to allow him in front of them in the lunch queue, he knew for certain that things had changed. Suppressing a chuckle, he moved up the line without even acknowledging them, as though he was accustomed to such displays of deference.

After a brilliant day at school, he was so pumped up that he let down his guard. He was taking it easy in front of the television when Eddy yelled at him from the hall.

‘Get your arse out here now!’

‘I’m watching telly,’ Ben fibbed.

There was nothing on worth watching, as usual, but he couldn’t be bothered to get up. He stayed just where he was, telling himself that the days when Eddy could push him around were over. His confidence didn’t last long; about as long as it took for Eddy to run in, lunge forward and grab the front of his T-shirt. Bunching the material up in a hairy fist he yanked Ben to his feet.

‘I told you to get your arse out in the hall and move your stinking trainers.’

Ben twisted his head to the side but was too slow to avoid inhaling a lungful of Eddy’s breath. It reeked of stale beer and cigarettes. He almost told Eddy he stank, but thought better of it. Despising himself for being weak, he was civil where he ought to have been defiant. He couldn’t help it.

‘Where do you want me to put them?’

‘Try putting them on your feet, dickhead.’

‘Mum told me to take them off when I come in.’

‘Listen, you fucking moron, I don’t care what she says, and I don’t care where you put your fucking shoes. Chuck them out the window. Shove them up your fucking arse. Only don’t leave them in the hall, stinking the place out. Other people want to be able to breathe out there.’

Ben stared straight into Eddy’s eyes and swore at him. He didn’t mean to, but the words slipped out of his mouth.

‘You’re the one who fucking stinks around here.’

He almost choked as Eddy tightened his grip. He leaned his ugly face closer until their noses were nearly touching.

‘What’s that you said?’

Somehow Eddy’s calm quiet manner was more terrifying than a violent outburst. Ben struggled to control his panic. No two attacks were ever the same, so Ben could never predict where Eddy was going to strike first.

‘I said – I said – I said your fucking breath stinks worse than my shoes,’ he gasped.

He was shaking helplessly. This was it. Eddy knew where to hit so it really hurt. This time Ben was bound to end up in intensive care. He hoped the stupid doctors would finally realise what was going on, and report Eddy to the police. Only by then it would probably be too late for the police to pin the assault on Eddy, because the only witness to his brutality would be dead. He closed his eyes, determined not to cry out however much it hurt. His mother’s voice saved him.

‘Eddy? Eddy? Are you here?’

Eddy swung his fist and cuffed Ben viciously on the shoulder as he let go of his shirt. Stifling a yelp, Ben fell back on his chair and stared at the screen without registering what he was looking at. He pretended Eddy hadn’t hurt him. He needn’t have bothered, because no one was watching. Eddy joined his mother in the hall and a moment later Ben heard them go into the kitchen. It sounded as though they were arguing. Ben waited a moment before slipping out of the living room. His legs were shaking so hard he struggled to make it up the stairs.