Chapter 6
Brompton Court Train Station,
Knightsbridge, London, UK
He stood in the shadows, watching her fight her way through the barriers, one hand clutching the phone to her ear, the other balancing a tall iced latte and holding it aloft over commuters’ heads.
Amy shouted into her mobile, competing with the station’s hum.
“Urrgh! I’ve got the hangover from hell, Sal...sorry, what did you say?” She squinted her eyes from the pain, vowing never to drink again.
“What am I going to do, Ames? It’s that bitch Dartagnia. She’s been promoted, and she’s driving me crazy. I swear I’m going to kill her.” Sally’s voice whined through the phone. When she was pissed off, her inflections picked up a faster pace and higher pitch.
“Don’t let her get to you, hon. There’s a little shit-stirrer in every office. Just suck it up. Life’s too short. Leave it to karma.” Amy hugged the phone tight into her ear, took a slurp of much needed coffee, and continued.
“What you need is a little protective Labradorite tumble stone in your pocket. That’ll keep her at bay.”
“You and your crystals. What a load of baloney,” tutted Sally. “No, what I need is a little protective knuckle duster in my pocket and to chuck her into the bay. God help me, I’m gonna kill that woman.”
“Revenge only gets you in trouble, Sal, and comes back threefold. She’s not worth it.” Amy bit her lip and crossed her fingers, justifying her own revenge plan because it was different; he was an evil, murdering, child abuser.
“I don’t care. I’d gratefully do time for that woman.”
“Just let karma do its stuff.”
“Stuff karma. Who’s got time to wait for blinking karma? I want her dead, now!” groaned Sally. “Do we know any hitmen?”
“No, I don’t know any hitmen,” Amy sighed.
Fellow commuters turned to look at her. She’d spoken a little too loudly. She gave them an apologetic shrug and turned away, whispering into her phone.
“Funny as it may seem, my contact list is fresh out of hitmen. You’ve got to calm down, hon. Maybe I should get you a Smithsonite stone. It’s really pretty. You’ll love it.”
“Fuck off with the blinking crystals, for god’s sake. What about some cyanide crystals, or ammunition? Can you get me some ammunition?” Sal had no time for the crystal hocus-pocus.
Amy sighed. “No, I can’t get any cyanide or ammunition.”
Her fellow commuters started to move away.
She carried on before Sal could continue.
“You need to calm down. Smithsonite is a stone of tranquillity. I know what you’re like. You get all ugly-obsessive-revengey. Your neck goes red and steam comes out your ears. It’s so not a good look, hon.” A surge of nausea hit Amy. “God I feel ill. I think I’m going to faint. I forgot my crystal last night. Should’ve known I’d get into trouble.”
As Amy squeezed through barriers, a wave of hurried, stressed commuters flowed in behind her. Well used to the rush hour chaos, she surfed the tide with ease. Tripping and bumping to the polite British murmur of ‘sorry…ooops,’ ‘sorry…so sorry.’
The heaving travellers made their way across the forecourt, down the steps, and onto the busy platform. She strained to hear her friend’s reply.
“You’re a useless drinker, two drinks and you keel over...wish Dartagnia would, do us all a favour. Give me the biggest fucking stone you’ve got. I’m gonna fucking throw it at her.”
“Now, that’s not helpful.”
“I’m gonna tie ten of them to her handcuffed body and throw her in the Thames.”
“Sal…”
“I know, I know…you see the effect she has on me. I hate the way she brings out the bitch…grrrrrr! I can’t help it. Nor can anyone else in the office. We all look forward to her days off or when she phones in sick. There’s such a nice energy in the place when she’s not there,” Sally sighed. “Miss High-and-Fucking-Mighty is always belittling us, always having the last word, charming to our faces but stabbing knives in our backs as soon as we leave the room. We call her the smiling assassin.”
Sally continued, barely coming up for air.
“She loves it when we fuck up, loves pointing it out and getting us in trouble, thinks she knows it all…and she generally does…grrrrrr! If we’ve done something, anything, you can bet she’s done it bigger and better. I bet if I say I’ve had a morning shit, she’s had two. She’s all about one-upmanship. Why are some women such annoying dicks? Surely, we’re all on the same side? Bitch, bitch…bitch, bitch…BITCH.”
“You don’t like her then.”
“No, I bloody don’t…and I’m gonna do something about it.”
Silence.
“Like what?”
“Murder.”
“Murder is not the answer, honey.” Fellow commuters glanced over their shoulders. “God, I need some drugs.” Amy rubbed her forehead as the throbbing became unbearable. She turned to notice the stares. “Headache tablets…I NEED HEADACHE TABLETS,” she shouted, for their benefit.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’ve got a stinking headache.”
“If murder isn’t the answer, then what is?”
“Asking the Angels for help, then leaving it to karma…they’ll sort it for you, but you have to ask. Otherwise they can’t help.”
“Yeah, like they’ll listen to me. Fallen angels maybe, but I’m not sure they do hit requests. They’re not the Mafia, Ames.”
Silence. Amy could hear Sal’s heavy breathing.
“Are you picking at your cuticles? Hands down, now,” Amy barked, knowing exactly what her friend would be doing: sulking, slouching in a chair, cradling her phone against her neck, and pulling at the tags of skin around her fingernails.
Sally’s cuticles took the brunt of her stress. Next would be the scrunch-eyed, microscopic scrutiny of split ends (that only she could see) in her long, beautiful, well-conditioned hair, followed by tearing the ends apart.
“Why can’t blokes see her for who she is? See past the teeth, tits, short skirts, and promise of a cock suck?” Sally moaned. “Bet she’s lousy at it, she has one of those skinny, small, thin-lipped mouths that so doesn’t know how to enjoy a good meal…surely, blokes can stop thinking with their dicks once in a blue moon. Have you got a stone for dicks?”
“Well, there is one for impotence—Pink Beryl, I think it’s called…”
“Ames…shut up!”
“Sal, calm down and don’t even think about the hair. Drop it, now!” Amy barked before Sally could reach for her locks. “I’m so gonna get you a few stones to get rid of this negative energy. Maybe a nice bit of Smoky Quartz and a Sunstone. You can wear them in your bra.”
“I don’t need no bleedin’ stones. I need a drink—a double gin and tonic would just about do it right now.”
“It’s 8.30 a.m., hon.”
“Urrgh…so? It’s blinking five o’clock somewhere.”
Taking a leisurely drag of his cigar, he watched Amy’s blonde head weave along the jam-packed platform, looking for a place to stand. She found it near the outer edge halfway down the tunnelled station. He flicked the smouldering stub to the floor, covered it with the tip of his shiny black patent shoe, and twisted firmly, left to right, grinding the smoking leaf into the ground. He flicked ash from the cuff of his suit, stepped out of the shadows, and followed her. He loved the ‘click-click’ sound of his shoes as he walked. It made him feel important.