Disenchanted (6 page)

"I'll spank you."
Georgie
grinned.

"Only if you wear your
Naughty Nurse outfit."

"One down, two to go,"
Neon said.

"Doesn't this count as
two?" I waved my iPhone. "I can blackmail him for thousands."

"No. You
gotta
go on three separate occasions."

"We'll be rich!"

"Except you can't sell the
eggs,"
Georgie
said. "The Judge will file a
police report. He probably has photos of them."

I offered one to her. "
Wanna
play with my eggs?"

"Ooh they're hard." She
caressed one. "You could auction them in America. Create a fake IP address
they can't trace."

"And you don't want her in
the gang," I said to the guys. I stashed the eggs in my bag and hid it
under a floorboard. If this all went wrong, the Judge would eat me alive.

***

I parked my motorbike in the same
spot. I was surprised the police weren't waiting outside with a pop-up court
and mobile gallows. I patrolled the perimeter. Streetlights made the car park
glow like a pumpkin. I fired my grappling hook up, tested it then began to
climb. I hauled myself onto the roof and glanced down. No security guards.
Maybe they were stuck on a crossword clue. I opened the door and headed down
the stairs. I strolled along the deserted corridor and knocked on the Judge's
door. No answer. I picked the lock, switched off the alarm and released my
breath.

I crept through the darkness to
the Judge's bedroom. I peeked behind a framed picture on the wall. He was bound
to have a safe. Money would be easier to trade than the eggs. I searched his
bedroom. Nothing. As I headed out, a floorboard creaked. I crouched and used my
knife to prise it up. There it was. I pulled out my sheet of paper and entered
the Judge's date of birth. No luck. I tried his wife's. Nope. I tried their
wedding anniversary. The safe popped open.

"Well that's not very
clever." I stuffed wads of cash into my bag. My mind tortured me with an
image of the judge rolling round on his cash wearing nothing but his
tighty
whiteys. I left the Premium Bonds then found a case
at the bottom. I lifted it out. It was a rare coin collection. "Holy
crap." I slipped it into my bag and closed the safe. The front door
opened. I inwardly swore, replaced the floorboard and scurried under the bed
like a social phobic
boogeyman
.

"Give me one good reason why
I shouldn't send you to prison," the Judge boomed.

"Please sir, I'll do
anything." It was the same guy from before. Oh god. That's
another
five years in therapy. I'd get
less for murder. I switched my phone to video, angling it perfectly.

The Judge's clothes hit the floor.
I cringed. He was Homer Simpson with more hair. He dropped his y-fronts then
stood proudly like a fat, hairy sex machine, his lever ready to be pulled. He
squeezed a tube. Chocolate squelched out. Oh
god
! I clamped my hand over my eyes. No wonder the guy charged a
grand – memory erasers aren't cheap.

"There's chocolate on me.
Clean it off."

"I'll fetch a cloth,
sir."

"Use your tongue."

I blocked my ears against the
Judge's moans.

"Did I do a good job,
sir?"

"No. Bend over. Bad boys
must be punished."

I took myself to a happy place.
Frankly, the way the Judge was groaning, I thought the guy deserved a medal,
not a spanking. I waited until I heard guttural snoring then crawled out of the
bedroom.

"You must get a thrill out
of getting caught. Either that or you enjoy what goes on in his bedroom."

I cursed. "I'm buying a
Men in Black
memory zapper when I get
home. It's an initiation. I
gotta
take three things
from three separate occasions. I've filmed both times and if I'm arrested, I'll
make the footage public.
D'you
want everyone knowing
what he does to you?"

"Steal everything, I don't
care. The guy's a pervert. He chose me '
cos
I look
young enough to be illegal. Three months I've been coming here and the only
role play he likes is '
pervy
Judge and naughty
offender'. I bet when he sentences boys in court he's pleasuring himself under
his robes."

I shuddered. "At least he's
not dressed as an adult baby."

He looked like he was about to
vomit. "So you're coming back?"

"Next Wednesday."

"I'll keep him busy."

I punched his fist then escaped
onto the roof.

The guys were thrilled when I
revealed my stash.

"I can't take witnessing the
Judge's sex life again," I groaned. "That poor guy deserves an Oscar
for his convincing portrayal of ecstasy."

"I'll take your mind off
it."
Georgie
slipped her hands into my back
pockets.

Suddenly I forgot about the
Judge. "Later guys." I picked her up and carried her into my bedroom.

***

Either the Judge was too stupid
to realise he'd been robbed two weeks' running or he figured his prostitute did
it and preferred to punish him personally. Again, the apartment was empty when
I broke in. I avoided his bedroom. There was no way I was listening to his
grunts again. I'd rather marry Justin
Bieber
.

Hanging above his desk in the
study was a guitar. I shone my torch on it. It was signed by The Rolling
Stones. I lifted it down and strode to the front door. It opened. I ducked back
against the wall. The Judge entered alone. I cursed. There was no way his
prostitute would get the night off for good behaviour - he was aiding and
abetting a handsome criminal. He should be spanked into contrition. The Judge
clattered around in the kitchen. My heart was thrashing. He headed towards me.
I dived back into the study. His bedroom door closed. I darted out and hurried
towards the front door. The guitar slipped from my sweaty hands. I caught it,
the strings strumming loudly.

"Hey!"

I ran.

Footsteps stalked me as I bolted
for the door to the roof. I flung it open and tore up the steps. I slung the
guitar around my neck and clipped myself to the grappling hook. The Judge
lumbered across the roof, red in the face and wheezing, his belly jiggling.
There's no way I was getting caught - my arse couldn't withstand a spanking.

I pushed off, scaling down
stomach-
lurchingly
fast. I hit the ground and
released the grappling hook. The Judge lunged for it. I yanked it. He
overbalanced. I froze. The grappling hook slithered down the wall. The Judge
fell in its wake, his wide terrified eyes begging for help. There was a thud as
he hit the ground. Blood pooled around his fractured head.

"Shit!" I touched
trembling fingers to his neck, even though the lifeless eyes told me what I
didn't want to know. "Shit." I ran my hand over my hair.

I scrambled over the fence and
sprinted to my bike. I leapt on and gunned the engine, the bike fishtailing as
I escaped.

I stopped at the top of a cliff
and paced the edge, feeling sick. I closed my eyes and saw his. Lifeless. I
heard the sickening crack as his skull shattered on the ground. Humpty Dumpty
in human form.

The guitar strap strangled me. I
yanked it off to throw it into the sea. I stopped. It might wash to shore, the
glamorous
CSIs
would find a miniscule piece of evidence
in an obscure place that would be unique to me and I'd rot in jail for the rest
of my life. They wouldn't take into account the torment I'd endured under the
bed.

I slung the strap over my neck
and returned to my bike. I rode back to the hideout and tried to sneak in.

"Did you get the final
piece?" Neon asked. I relinquished the guitar. "Guess you can keep
your crown, oh revered leader."

"I'm going to bed."

"Just you now,
Goldilocks."

"No." I stopped.
"She's part of this gang. I'm not having her break into the serial killer
house. You don't have the balls to do it, so don't make her do it just '
cos
you want to see inside."

"I'm doing it, Jazz."
She folded her arms.

"No, you're not."

"So it's fine for you to
risk your neck to prove your loyalty, but not me? If you're pulling the 'you're
a girl' crap, I'll kick your balls so high up inside you you'll be able to
borrow my clothes."

"He does anyway." Demon
laughed.

"Guys!" Razor called.
"The Judge is on the news!"

Any minute now, I'd regurgitate
my chip supper. I trailed them to the TV, where a newsreader stood outside the
Land of the Giants, gleefully reporting the Judge's death.

"He was found by a security
guard doing his rounds. A twenty one year old rent boy was arrested at the
scene." I swore. "At this stage it's not clear whether it was suicide
or something more sinister."

"He fell. It was an
accident!"

Everyone stared at me.

"Whoa! You
killed
the
Judge
? All hail Jazz the giant killer!" Neon knelt and
worshipped me.

I walked out. I sat on my bed, my
head in my hands.
Georgie
joined me and rubbed my
back.

"It'll be ok."

"No. It won't. An innocent
guy's been arrested for something
I
did. That can never be ok."

***

Jazz kept me up all night and not
in a way I found enjoyable. He paced his bedroom, convinced every noise was the
police. By the time morning dared show its face, I could've auditioned for lead
zombie in a Romero film and would have got the job immediately. I didn't
understand his guilt. The Judge was a
pervy
arsehole
who deserved to plummet from the sky. If the police suspected a rent boy, they
weren't looking for Jazz.

I went into the kitchen, where
Razor was making breakfast. Jazz walked in as he cracked two eggs. Jazz threw
up.

"
Ew
,
gross." Razor's face contorted.

Jazz unsheathed his knife and
pinned Razor to the cooker. "He died right at my feet and you're doing
sound effects
?"

"Leave him alone." I
tugged Jazz's elbow.

He lashed out, catching me in the
face. "That's the
exact
sound
his head made when it hit the ground." He grabbed an egg and threw it onto
the worktop. It splattered, its insides spilling across the surface.

"I'm not cleaning that
up." I scowled.

"Dude, it's just
breakfast." Razor's eyes were wide.

Jazz stormed out. Razor looked at
me.

I shrugged. "Time of the
month."

I left the hiding place and went
for a walk in the woods. It was my turn to prove being worthy of a lifetime
Jolly Rogers' membership pack. I hoped it came with a cuddly toy and window
sticker.

I walked to the serial killers'
cabin. Rumours had circulated about this place for years since hikers were
found butchered in these woods, their skinned bodies strung from trees like
macabre candy canes. At first people thought it was the work of bears, because
they didn't want to admit humans were capable of such atrocities. I knew it was
serial killers. I didn't know any bear that excelled at the noose knot. Plus I
couldn't imagine bears living in a cabin. What would they do all day? Eat
porridge?

I ducked behind a tree and
watched the cabin. Jazz had taught me the benefits of surveillance. After an
hour, I climbed into the tree, where they'd be less likely to see me. I
imagined they'd resemble the standard thug photo you see gracing newspapers.
What I wasn't expecting, was Miss Normality.

She had long fair hair, which was
tied back, and was wearing jeans and a fitted t-shirt. The door opened.
Mr.
Average walked towards her and pinched her backside.

"How's my sexy Mama
Bear?" He hugged her from behind and kissed her neck.

She laughed. They joined hands
and walked into the woods.

My mobile rang.

Swearing and hoping they weren't
wondering what a squirrel was doing with a mobile, I answered it.

"Hey Neon, I'm up a tree...
spying on the cabin. I think it's the wrong one. They don't look like vicious
murderers." I gave him the location. "They've gone out, so I'm going
in. I'll text you if I find severed heads or tongues pickled in a jar."

I dropped out of the tree, took a
photo of me outside the cabin and texted it to Neon then I tried the door. It
was unlocked.

"That's trusting. Anyone
could break in."

I slipped inside. I was
definitely in the right place. If a cabin could possess a soul, this one's was
poisonous. It seeped into the walls like stale cigarette smoke. But this
couldn't be eradicated with
Febreeze
. I crept into
the kitchen. The table was laid for breakfast, like a creepier version of the
Marie Celeste
. I sat in a chair and
photographed myself eating dry cereals from one of the bowls then drank from
the other glass.

I propped my phone on the coffee
table in the living room and self-timed a photo of me lounging on the settee
and then in an armchair. My heart was thumping. I'd burgled houses before -
Jazz and I made a hell of a team, but this was different. I perched on a small
stool and photographed myself reading
Cosmopolitan
.
I didn't want to think of that creepy woman pleasing her serial killer
boyfriend in the bedroom using their
100
Tips to Make Him Scream
. The stool collapsed. I swore then kicked the
pieces under the settee.

"Serves me right for eating
an entire jumbo Galaxy bar."

I crept upstairs. Rooting through
a chest in the master bedroom, I found their kinky drawer. I undressed and did
raunchy poses like a sexy pro. It felt really naughty, increasing the thrill. I
texted them to Jazz, to take his mind off the Judge. I dressed and pocketed my
phone. Nothing screamed 'serial killer chic', but I sensed it. The kinky drawer
meant nothing - most of suburbia probably had one. The other bedroom was set
out like a classroom, complete with blackboard and a cane. I picked up the
cane. The tip was stained scarlet.