The Hit

  “You don’t like?” asked Christian. “You don’t like?”

  “I, I, I, I …” she began, and the tears came out — hot, ridiculous, humiliating, ugly.

  “What is wrong with you, Lizzie?” demanded Christian. “Look at this stuff — it’s quality.”

  “I need, I need, I need …” she began, trying desperately to control her voice.

  Christian rolled his eyes. “What do you need, Lizzie darling?” he sneered.

  “I need to go to the loo,” she admitted. She’d been dying to go for ages, but held back because going to the loo involved being humiliated. Being humiliated, in Christian’s eyes, was almost as bad as being ugly.

  Christian tutted. “Vince!” he bawled. “Girlfriend needs to go to the loo.”

  There was a pause.

  “Vince!” screamed Christian. “Girlfriend! Toilet. Where the fuck are you?”

  The door opened and Vince came in. He hiked his immaculate trousers up at the knees and bent to pull the potty out from under the bed.

  “You took your time,” complained Christian, turning back to the mirror.

  “I was making a deal.”

  Christian closed his eyes tiredly. “You’re a servant, Vince. You don’t wander around with a phone in your hand when you should be attending to me and my girlfriend and our needs. Duh.”

  “Sorry, sir,” said Vince. He put the potty on the floor and stood up.

  “Pee,” said Christian to Lizzie.

  “Can I have some privacy?” she asked.

  Christian shook his head. “I’m your boyfriend. This is a servant. The rich don’t worry about that sort of thing. I could get him to hold my dick when I pee, like that guy does for Prince Charles, and it would not be pervy in any way at all. It’s how we behave at this level of society. Go on. Pee.”

  She really was busting. She got out of bed. Her face was swelling up on one side. Ugly, ugly, ugly. Her hand was manacled to the bedpost but, by holding out that arm, she managed to reach the pot and squat on it. She bent her head and pretended she was on her own. At least she was wearing a nightie, even though there wasn’t all that much of it.

  Both men stood and watched her. When she was done, Christian threw her a box of tissues. While she wiped herself, he came over, flipped her hair to one side, and bent her head down, revealing the back of her neck. On it was a series of lines drawn in black ink — C1, C2, C3, C4, C5. Lizzie knew exactly what it was he had drawn on her, as he had explained that if he did a cut at C3, she wouldn’t be doing much saying no then, would she?

  Vince bent over to have a look. Christian evidently felt he was disapproving in some way. “It’s my girlfriend,” he said crossly. “I can do what I want with my own girlfriend, can’t I?”

  Vince frowned. “I thought we’d agreed that she wasn’t your girlfriend, sir.”

  “She’s in my bed. That makes her my girlfriend.”

  “Only if she wants to be there.”

  “Fuck’s sake. Lizzie! Do you or do you not want to be in my bed?” he demanded.

  Both men turned to watch her.

  “Yes?” she said cautiously.

  “See? Ah, this is boring. I’m going to play on my Xbox,” Christian announced. He stalked to the door, shaking his head with exasperation.

  Vince stood watching him curiously for a moment, before picking up the potty and going to empty it in the en suite. Lizzie waited until he came back out before she spoke to him in a whisper.

  “What do I do?” she begged. “Please. Help me.”

  Vince said nothing. He put the pot back under the bed and picked up her coffee cup. He headed for the door.

  “Please, Vince. I don’t know what to do,” she begged. She’d seen how Christian treated the big man; there was no way he could like it. He was her only chance.

  Vince paused and looked back at her. “Just act like his girlfriend,” he told her.

  “Is that all? Will he let me go?” she wept.

  Vince shook his head. “It always ends the same way. But at least you might not get hit so much getting there. He’s making you look a right fucking mess.”

  He left the room. Behind him, Lizzie closed her eyes and tried to control her shaking. Act like his girlfriend, Vince had said. It was the only clue she’d had so far. Because — Fuck this, she thought. There had to be some way out of this. First off, though, she had to find some way of not being so hopelessly, pathetically, stupidly scared all the time.

  * * *

  After leaving Lizzie, Vince went down to the kitchen where he opened a cupboard stacked full of boxes of medicines. Christian was worrying him. Up to now it had been nice straightforward kidnap and violence. Now it was girlfriend. That was just plain weird. Something was going on, and he was willing to bet it involved the meds.

  He took out a brand-new pack of pills, peeled the cellophane off, and peered inside. All present and correct: right labels, right brand, right everything. He sighed. Maybe it was just the normal ups and downs of being a raving psychotic that was making Christian behave like this.

  Vince popped a selection of pills out of their foil wrappers, crushed them in a pestle and mortar, and stirred them thoroughly into a glass of warm milk, checking to see that everything had dissolved properly. Then he went through to the sitting room to give them to Christian, who was glued to his game.

  Christian let out a wail of exasperation when he saw him coming, but put out a hand to take the milk. Turning to Vince, he drank it, swilling it around his mouth and gargling noisily before swallowing it down.

  “Mmmm, yum yum yum. Yeah. I feel so much calmer already.” He laughed, a high-pitched, insane giggle that could have been him being psycho, pretending to be psycho, or pretending to pretend to be psycho in order to hide the fact that he was mad, or any combination of the three.

  Vince stared impassively at him. He’d definitely have to see Mr. Ballantine about a doctor’s appointment, unless the nasty little fuck stopped being so weird pretty quick. They were due to go around to pick up more Death that Friday. He’d ask about it then.

  And if you are pulling the wool over my eyes and I find out before then, Vince promised himself silently, I will abso-fucking-lutely take the opportunity of bouncing you around this room until your balls go ring-ding-a-dong on your forehead. And that, sir, is a promise.

  “You’re being a dick today,” Christian pointed out. “Tell you what. I had a call from Dad. Apparently someone has reported my girlfriend as missing. Imagine that, Vince! I wonder what could have happened to her? I think you better go around and investigate the matter, don’t you? Her parents probably. Pay them a visit. That bitch Julie, too. She gave the wrong address, didn’t she?”

  “She did.” Vince was always happier out of the house. He nodded. “I’ll get right on it.”

  “You do that,” said Christian. “See you later, big boy. Lizzie and I will watch a bit of TV. Maybe have a bit of the old hokey cokey, eh?”

  “Enjoy yourself, sir,” said Vince. Fat chance of that, he thought. Christian had been impotent for years. He should have mentioned it to the girl, since it was bound to be her fault when he failed to get it up.

  Whistling to himself, he went to get his car keys. A trip into town. Nice. Maybe after he’d paid a call to Julie’s parents and found out where she lived, he’d have time to stop off with some mates and have a drink.

  * * *

  Adam awoke the next day feeling cool, light-headed, and very calm. He was in a large and beautiful room, with subdued but radiant light coming in through the windows. He didn’t recognize any of it, but it was deeply comfortable. His head felt completely empty. He lay still for a while longer, enjoying the feeling but knowing somewhere inside that this pleasant state wasn’t going to last very long at all.

  Then he turned over and it all came flooding back. He sat up. He was saved. He was going to live! He just had to wait two days, but he had to have Lizzie here with him — he had to. He picked up his phone and rang her number. A
gain, she didn’t answer. And now, finally, at last, he began to worry about her. If she’d really dumped him he couldn’t blame her. But it wasn’t like her to just vanish. She’d have said. Wouldn’t she?

  He left a message and started to ring around. Her parents picked up this time, but they had no idea where she was. That was odd. They sounded scared. Adam was getting scared, too. He tried Julie again. Still no answer.

  It was almost lunchtime by the time anyone picked up. It was Julie. She didn’t sound very pleased to hear from him.

  “I’m looking for Lizzie …” he began.

  “Oh, of course,” sneered Julie. “You wanna know where your girlfriend is. Boy, that’s good of you. You have SUCH a big heart. Well, let me see? Oh yeah, she got kidnapped by a bunch of gangsters and then her parents complained to the police so their house got torched. Yeah — that was it.”

  “What?”

  “Hey! Lizzie is going to be soooo happy to hear about you trying to get in touch, in between getting beaten up and gang-raped! That is just so nice of you. It’s so much gonna make her day, you wanker.”

  “What’s going on? You’re joking me. Stop it. Where is she?”

  “And you want to know why, you pile of shit? Because she was trying to help you. She walked straight into their arms asking them if they made Death and if so, could she please have the antidote — which doesn’t actually exist, by the way, I’m pleased to tell you — and they said, ‘Sure! Yep. Just pop round and we’ll chain you up and rape you forever.’”

  “The police —” he said.

  “The police know, you fuckwit, that’s why her mum and dad got done over. It’s also, incidentally, why my mum and dad got done over. They are in hiding. I am in hiding. It was probably the police who did it. You, Adam — just you stay away from this whole thing, right? Unless you want the same sort of shit raining down on your family’s heads.”

  “Who’s got her?”

  “Oh, yeah, right, I was just going to tell you about that … Fuck off and die.”

  She slammed down the phone.

  Adam’s brain started babbling away to him at once, giving him every reason under the sun to explain it all away. He rang back but there was no answer. He rang again — no answer. He tried Lizzie’s mum and asked her about it and … yes, yes, Lizzie was missing and she was very worried about her, and did he know anything about it? For God’s sake, they just needed to know that she was safe …

  “OK, Jean, we agreed not to talk to anyone else about this …” said a voice. Her dad. The phone went dead.

  Adam got up, put his coat on, went to the door, and stopped. Because …

  Because if he went to rescue Lizzie, he’d probably die, too — and he had a life to live! Janet had promised him the antidote. A whole life, his life, was going to be delivered to his door tomorrow. He’d only just got it back. He wanted it more than anything else there was. Why should he risk throwing it all away?

  It felt like he was going mad. He ran around the room, groaning to himself. How could this have happened? Lizzie wanted him to live, wasn’t that why she’d tried to get the antidote in the first place? And now he was supposed to go and get killed all over again for her sake? It was wrong, it was all wrong. It felt as if his head was about to explode.

  Suddenly, he stopped running and clapped his hand to his back pocket. The list. It was still there — it had been there all the time. He pulled it out and read through it.

  Kill someone who deserves to die. Well, that was going to be the bastard who had kidnapped Lizzie.

  Leave my parents and Lizzie with enough money so they’ll never have to work again. These people were gangsters; they were bound to have huge amounts of money. He’d take it off them.

  Do something so humanity will remember me forever. No one would ever forget how he’d rescued Lizzie and thrown away his only chance for life in doing so. That was noble. Lizzie would never forget. That was what mattered.

  There was still time. Three days. The list was back on!

  There was so little time, so much to do. He was going to die, that much was certain. But this time, at least, there was something worth dying for. He ran out the door and off as fast as he could. The elevator was busy, so he took the stairs three at a time.

  JULIE WAS IN HER MANCHESTER FLAT FLINGING THE FINAL few items into her suitcase when the doorbell rang. Who the hell was that? Her parents had managed to keep the address from Vince despite all his efforts, as her father’s broken fingers showed. He and her mother had hastily organized a trip to LA and didn’t want Julie to go with them. In fact, they didn’t sound as though they wanted to see her again for a very long time indeed.

  And Lizzie. Poor Lizzie! God only knew what that freak Christian was doing to her right now. It broke her heart, but there was nothing she could about it. Lizzie was as good as dead. All Julie could do was try and save herself. It was good-bye Manchester and London, hello New York and LA. And in a hurry. If Vince was looking for her, Vince would find her. It might take him a few days, but he’d get there in the end. The sooner she was gone, the better.

  Julie ran to the intercom by the door as quietly as she could and listened.

  “Are you going to open it, or am I going to knock it down?” asked Vince.

  Shit shit shit shit shit. What to do? Think! Escape. Where? The window? Too high. The corridor? Below, she could hear the front door burst open followed by the leisurely sound of someone ascending in the lift.

  Panicking, she locked the door and ended up, ludicrously, hiding under the bed like a child. Vince knocked and waited about two seconds before breaking the lock and coming in. From where she lay on the floor, Julie could see his feet in the hallway as he took off his jacket and hung it up in a businesslike way by the door.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “How about, if you come out on your own, I don’t hit you in the face?”

  Julie knew it was as good as she was going to get. She closed her eyes and crawled out.

  “What’s it for?” she begged.

  “Reporting Lizzie missing.”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  “Who knows?” said Vince, and he got on with the beating.

  Three minutes later, her ribs were broken all down one side, and her liver and kidneys might or might not have been ruptured. But Vince was as good as his word; her face was untouched. To look at her, no one would even know she’d been hit.

  She coughed up a little blood and wiped it away.

  “Is it over?”

  Before he could answer, there was a tap at the flat door. Vince stepped into the bedroom, out of sight. The broken door opened and Adam put his face inside. Julie lurched to the door and pushed him back out before he got any farther.

  “Where is she? Just tell me and I’ll go,” he begged.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” gasped Julie. Even talking was agony. She went to close the door, but Adam put his shoe in the way.

  “Look,” he said. “I’ve got three days to go. I’m going to die. I’ve got nothing to lose. At least let me try, OK?”

  “Piss off, Adam,” snarled Julie. But she didn’t push him again. The fact was, he had a point. It wasn’t a very good point, given what a tosser he was, but still … Julie was fond of her little cousin, and if she could throw her a lifeline, no matter how weak, she was tempted to do it. As she’d grabbed the door her wrist had bumped against Vince’s jacket, hanging neatly on the hook behind it, and something in one of the pockets had rattled.

  Keys.

  “Piss off!” she snarled again, and banged the door on his foot, giving him a big, fat wink at the same time. Adam, the idiot, took his foot away. She glared at him and rolled her eyes down. “Put it back!” she mouthed. He did as he was told. Julie banged the door angrily on it, shifted to one side, and while her body hid the movement, lowered her hand quickly into the pocket of Vince’s jacket and took out the keys. It was a long shot, but you never knew …

  “Get your foot out of m
y door!” she screamed. She put her hand to his chest as if to shove him backward, and dropped the keys neatly down his shirt front. Then she winked at him again, kicked his foot out the way, and slammed the door behind him.

  There was a brief silence, and then, to her relief, the sound of Adam’s feet pattering away. Whether he’d work out what to do with the keys was another matter. She could only hope. But she’d done her best.

  Vince stepped out.

  “What did you give him?” he asked.

  Julie shook her head. The guy was a monster. How had he seen that? She’d had her back to him the whole time.

  “Nothing.”

  Vince took hold of her by the shoulder and slapped her violently on the side of her face. He waited a moment before letting her fall to the floor, then picked her up by her hair and punched her in the nose. It broke. Blood spattered everywhere.

  “What did you give him?” he asked again.

  “My face, you promised,” she said.

  “You won’t be needing that anymore,” he said. He slapped her again, even harder. She spun around like a top and collapsed. The side of her face began to bleed. Vince sat down on a chair in the hallway.

  “You’re in shock,” he told her. “You need a minute to recover before you can speak.” He rolled his cuff up slightly to look at his watch. “Minute’s up,” he said. “So what did you give him?”

  Outside, a car started up. Vince stiffened.

  “Your car keys,” said Julie, and she turned to watch the look of shock on his face.

  * * *

  The whole conversation had been bewildering. Adam had some idea that Julie was trying to help him. But car keys? What good were they? Down on the street he pressed the OPEN button on the key ring and right next to him, a car bleeped and flashed its lights at him. And not just any car, either — a classic silver Porsche.

  “Oh, man. Speed machine,” breathed Adam. That was another point on his list — drive around Manchester in a supercar. And here it was! The gods were with him today. He opened the door, got into the driver’s seat, put the key in, and started it up. It roared quietly, like a wave of whipped cream breaking on fine gravel. There was a pair of sunglasses on the dash. He picked them up and put them on. They were too big, but he still looked cool. That was the kind of sunglasses they were.