How To Kill Friends And Implicate People (24 page)

SEVENTY-TWO

FERGUS

13:42

Second time lucky?

I fiddle with the electronic lock at Alex’s building, and this time I get it open in seconds. Like a boss.

I take the lift to the first floor. It looks like there are two apartments to each level, one on either side of the lift and stairs. I start going door-to-door, working my way up.

‘Hi, do you have time to talk about our lord—’

SLAM.

‘Hi, do you have time to talk about—’

SLAM.

‘Hi, do you have time—’

SLAM.

‘Free pizza
. . .
is what our lord and saviour—’

SLAM.

Finally I come to a door with no answer. I try a couple more times, and press my ear to the wood, listening for any movement inside. The lock is simple enough, and I ease the door open.

I’ve been concerned that I might not know when I’ve found the right apartment. It’ll be easy enough if Alex is there, but if he isn’t, what signs will there be that it’s his place? It’ll be under a fake name, so I can’t check the mail, and he hasn’t moved in yet, so there won’t be any giveaway signs of life.

Any doubts vanish when I see the inside of this place. It’s tacky as hell. Red leather sofas, metal kitchen, a framed picture of the London skyline on the wall. This is a flat that’s been decorated out of a catalogue, by an idiot.

The fridge is full of beer, and the cupboards hold enough different varieties of pasta to feed a bachelor for a lifetime.

I go searching for the
real
proof that this is Alex’s place.

The cash.

The flat is arranged over two floors. The living room and kitchen are one large open-plan area, and the bedroom is above, on a small mezzanine. I open closets and cupboards. I look under chairs. Under the bed. I check the bathroom. There’s a cupboard under the stairs, and I open the door.

Bingo.

Five large sports bags.

I slide one out toward me. It’s heavy. I pull on the zip, seeing the crisp and clean twenty-pound notes stacked in bundles. Alex was right, this isn’t just walking around money. There must be millions here. I put the bags back where I found them, and shut the door before I start to come up with any more stupid plans.

I close all the blinds and turn all the lights back off. I settle onto the sofa with a beer. I’ll be here when Alex gets back. If anyone else turns up, at least I’ll know he’s blown it.

I sip at my drink and wait.

This is a mistake.

Something I’ve noticed, in the hours since I flipped that switch and stopped thinking about killing, is that I’m no longer burying the part of me that says I
shouldn’t
kill. That voice has been getting louder all day and, as I sit here in the dark, with alcohol, I can feel something new.

Is this—?

Is this
guilt
?

I pull out my phone and Facebook stalk the guy I took out yesterday. Scott. Even looking at his interactions, I can see he was an arsehole. He shared dodgy memes, cracked rape jokes, total scumbag. But his pictures include birthday parties with a young girl. Maybe a daughter who lives with her mum?

Hell, their lives just got a lot harder.

The guy I wasn’t supposed to kill? The councillor, Dominic Porter? He’s not married, got no kids, but he does have an elderly mother in a care home. I don’t want to think what’ll happen to her without the help of her son.

And now I’m sat, in the dark, waiting to talk to someone I’ve
pretended
to kill. I’ve helped him steal money off one of the most powerful criminal organisations in the country, and along the way I’ve lied to two of their key figures.

This is not going to go down as my finest day.

And I’m sitting only a few feet from millions of—

No.

No more complications, Fergie.

If I touch the money, and Alex manages to come back, he’ll have a reason to fuck with me. If I can keep him quiet, then we can both avoid pissing Joe off. And if I can avoid any issues with Joe or Asma between now and 1 p.m. tomorrow, then whatever they get up to, I’m out of it.

Just one day without messing anything else up, that’s all I need.

My phone vibrates on the sofa next to me.

I have messages from Sam.

TheSamIreland
 
–
 
Hey.

TheSamIreland
 
–
 
Me again.

TheSamIreland
 
–
 
Sorry. I’m having a weird day.

TheSamIreland
 
–
 
Maybe we could just get a takeaway. Watch a movie?

Okay. Maybe the day is improving.

SEVENTY-THREE

SAM

19:30

I made a point of getting to Fergus’s place bang on time.

It created a few moments of silliness, because I was ten minutes early, and waited by the front door. Who wants to be
early
? No. I wanted to ring his bell at the exact time we’d agreed.

It was just down to timing. We’d arranged I would pick up the food, and he would sort the movie. I’d opted for Chinese and, remembering my favourite place tended to get busy in the evenings, I’d set off earlier than I needed to. The restaurant cooked the food in record time, and I was at Fergus’s door way sooner than I wanted to be.

I’d picked something a little softer to wear this time. The same kind of skirt as our first date, but in a deep blue, and a light, short-sleeved top to match. I wore a denim jacket. A little less
fuck you
than my biker leather.

I watched the seconds count down on my phone, then pressed the buzzer.

Fergus opened the door straight away.

Had he been doing the same thing, on the other side of the door?

What a pair of fannies we were.

Sod it. Go all in.

I held up the plastic bag holding the meal. ‘It might be a bit cold,’ I said. ‘Because I’ve been standing outside like an idiot for ten minutes.’

He grinned down at me, and I tilted my head back, giving him the room,
Go on.
He took the hint and kissed me. Softly. Nothing serious. It didn’t have the charge of our first, but that was fine. Plenty of time yet.

He led me into the living room. His flat was tidy. I was impressed, if not a little jealous. This wasn’t a rush job. You can tell when someone had cleaned up just for your visit, because things are way too tidy, and small details will be out of place. A pile of things on a table, a candle burning to cover a smell, all of the TV and cable remotes piled in front of the television. That’s the best giveaway.
Nobody
leaves them there.

There were none of those signs in his room. Things were tidy, but looked lived in. The remotes were on the sofa, where people really left them. There were no candles burning. It looked like he actually lived like this.

Fergus took the bag from me and headed into the kitchen. I took my phone out, and switched it off. Like I’d said, all in. Hanya was right. I was going to live a normal life, just for tonight.

I followed Fergus into the kitchen. He already had plates set out on the worktop, and was dishing out the food. He was making no attempts to give me small portions. This man knew his stuff.

‘So I thought we could watch
A Life Less Ordinary
,’ he said. ‘I’ve got the Blu-Ray.’

I leaned in closer to him and tilted my head a little, hoping it came off as playful. ‘Did you buy it specially for this?’

He said that he hadn’t, but it came with a telling pause, and I knew he was lying. That was sweet. We already had a
thing.
I watched him move. He’s wearing a black shirt. It’s looser than the jumper he wore on our first date, but that’s just giving my mind more room to play.

And then I’m thinking, maybe the movie can wait?

Maybe the Chinese will be better cold?

When he turned to ask me what booze I’d like, I stepped in close. He took both of my hands in his, threading our fingers together, but didn’t make any further move. After a few more seconds I thought,
Sod it
, and kissed him.

Kiss three was still not as good as the first one, but it was getting there. I pressed in a little closer, feeling his back and waiting for him to do the same with me.

He didn’t.

Huh.

I
can’t
have misread it?

Maybe he just needs a little alcohol to loosen him up. We’d put a fair amount away the first time. Okay. Give him some room, Sam. Back off. Let him ease into it.

Grown up, remember?

SEVENTY-FOUR

FERGUS

19:38

Oh man.

You bottled it there, Fergus.

She leans in,
she kisses you
, and you don’t go any further.
She starts feeling you up
and you don’t go any further. What the hell is wrong with you?

I want to but—

But what?

I don’t know. My gut falls out. I back down. I’d like to blame the stress of the day. But the truth is? I just chickened out.

‘I, uh, I’ve not got gin,’ I say, turning back to my cupboard. ‘There’s beer in the fridge, and I’ve got rum, also some Jim Beam or scotch.’

‘Rum is fine.’ Her voice is a little cool. Off. Have I blown it? Shit. ‘Rum is my
mistakes
drink, I do silly things.’

There’s a flash of that smile again. We’re still in the game. I need to earn the moment back, though, because it’s gone. Sam walks through into my living room with her food and drink, and I follow. The place is neat and tidy, and I even tidied away my Blu-Ray collection into their correct cases and onto the shelf.

I hope she’s impressed by that. Sam’s got these great
eyes.
They just look up into you and, suddenly, you want to have a load of clever answers. But I keep finding I haven’t got any.

Sam sits on my sofa, right on the end farthest from me. I figure it’s a test to see what I do next, so I settle down right next to her, and she smiles a little to herself.

We start watching the film. At first, we’re silent, actually following it while we eat. Then we start cracking jokes at the screen, and turning to each other to talk. Soon, the film is just background noise, and we’re talking. Occasionally touching each other’s arm or leg.

‘Tell me something you hate,’ she says.

‘Hate?’

‘Yeah. I think you learn more about a person from what annoys them than what they enjoy. I mean, aye, I know you like me, and you clearly like films and jokes about Batman. But maybe you just hate black people, and that would be a problem, I won’t lie.’

She’s needling me. Testing. I like that. I leave a silence for a moment and pull a face that’s saying,
Weeeeeeeellll
. Give her a few seconds of thinking she’s onto something. Maybe I’m a big hairy racist.

Once I’ve held it long enough for her face to drop with concern, I say, ‘Button-down shirts.’

She almost spits out her drink. ‘I wasn’t expecting that. What?
Shirts
?’

‘
Button-down
shirts. You know them. The ones with the buttons on the collar.’

‘Aye, wido, I know what you mean. But why a shirt?’

‘Look.’ I put my hand up, making this into an important point. ‘I’m no expert. I don’t do the science or anything. Maybe I’m wrong. But I think that gravity is already taking care of the issue when it comes to the collar.
Down
is its default position.’

This time she does spit her drink. It goes all over her skirt. She apologises and starts rubbing at it, like that’s going to soak up the rum. I touch her thigh at the same time, at first to rub just like she is, but then because, well, it’s a great thigh.

She looks at me.

I look at her.

My hand slides up her leg.

Everything else slides out of my mind.

SEVENTY-FIVE

SAM

20:22

He slid his hand up my thigh. Squeezing gently.

I have great thighs.

No point being modest. I spend all day on a bike, I’ve got stuff going on down there.

His fingers touched the waistband of my skirt, and I felt a little flush, a tremble. He ran his hand across my belly and around the side, to the small of my back. He pulled, not forcing me, but letting me know which direction he wanted me to move.

I sat up, then leaned toward him, moving with his guiding hand.

We smiled, looking from each other’s eyes, to our mouths, then back again.

Come on Fergus
, I thought.
I’ve made every move.

Show me something.

Now.

He pulls me into a kiss. Holy crap. This knocks the first one down a peg. We’re strong and warm with each other. I’m not sure when that one ended and the next one began, but somewhere in there our tongues were touching, and it felt like a separate kiss.

I run my hands across his back again. His shoulders, the top of his arms. I let my fingers trace up his neck and into his hair. And finally, he’s doing the same. His hands are on me and it feels natural.

He can’t seem to get enough of my legs.

SEVENTY-SIX

FERGUS

20:30

I can’t get enough of her legs.

I keep finding my way back down to her thighs because, man, that cycling is working for her. I come back up to the small of her back, then around to her front, and she gasps a little. I pull at her top, getting it loose from the skirt, then up and over her head. She shrugs it off her shoulders and leans forward as she does, pressing her breasts into me.

I stand up and take her hand, leading her to the bedroom.

Because I’m a traditionalist, right?

We roll around on top of the covers, kissing the hell out of each other’s bare skin. Soon I’m inside her, and I start to realise I’m enjoying this a bit too much. I’m going to need to slow down. Her mouth is open in something that’s not quite a smile, but looks comfortable, and her cheeks flush a little.

I’m speeding up, pressing harder, the closer I get.

Too soon. I pull back, start to slow down, but Sam wraps her legs around my back and pulls me in. She nods and looks up into my eyes. ‘It’s okay,’ she whispers. I go deeper and harder, she moves with me, picking up our rhythm as she gives me encouragement, telling me to do it.

She gets me there, and I make a soft noise, then laugh at myself straight after.

I slip out and onto the bed beside her. Sam takes my hand and guides me, showing what she wants. We work together until she gets there, too. She breathes, ‘Yeah,’ a few times, then holds in a breath while she climaxes, letting it out in a happy sigh.

I go to the bathroom to get cleaned up. When I come back to the bed, she’s already drifting, half asleep.

I lie down next to her.

Never knew I could feel this good.