Chapter 10

“I know it grates. I don’t like it either, but they have their reasons. Everything has a time, a place. Having said that, on my last shift the gloves will be off and I’ll have a field day, but for now…come on. Let’s get out of here. Maggie’s authorised the next job. Pyke’s waiting.” Jack moved towards the door.

“I can’t leave him like this.” Amy looked toward the curtains. “There are children outside that window. God knows what he’ll do. Well, actually, I do know.” Her eyes hardened.

Jack spun around, grabbed her firmly by her arm, and pushed her towards the door.

“We’re leaving, whether you like it or not. We’ll sort him out legitimately when he’s on the list, but not yet. Maybe Pyke needs more time to get into his computer, source his contacts, his victims, his sites, and then we can close in on him and his fellow pervs in one hit. You’ve gotta see the bigger picture…but, meanwhile...”

He waved his hand across the table top. The mug of hot coffee toppled into the man’s bare lap.

“He’s not going to be playing with his genitals, or anyone else’s, any time soon.”

The hot liquid burned into the man’s skin. He jumped up out of his chair, screaming with pain.

“There are rules…and there are rules. Everyone spills their drink from time to time.” Jack beamed his cheeky grin as he manhandled Amy out the door. “Come on, you.”

She turned to face him in the hallway, giving a playful punch to his stomach, smiling up at him where they stared at each other for a moment. She wished he wouldn’t treat her like a child. She wished she had the courage to take the risk and kiss him.

She knew any minute he would turn away from her, as he always did. Was he embarrassed about his face, or did he find her unattractive?

He was stunning in an ugly-handsome kind of way. His chiselled face was covered in scars she found beautiful, and she loved the way his generous mouth tilted up at the corners. She wanted to taste those lips. If she could just stretch up on tiptoes, she could reach his mouth with hers and smother his scarred skin with kisses.

What would he do? Would he recoil in disgust or take her in his arms? What would Mister ‘always working by the rules’ do? Did he like her or just see her as an annoying newbie he had to babysit?

Were they even allowed to have sex? Was it against the rules? Would the skies shake with rage and she and he explode in flames? She made a note to ask the boss.

He looked down at her, silent, his twinkling eyes momentarily serious. She considered reaching up to his mouth, just for a second, then lost her courage. His face had lost its playfulness. One thing she hadn’t left behind was her fear of rejection. She put her hand on his chest and gently pushed him backwards. The moment vanished.

“Wait, I’d better just close the curtain. The children…they may see him,” she said.

Before he could stop her, she squeezed past and scurried back into the room.

Jack, lost in the moment, confused as to why she’d pushed him away, didn’t have the strength to argue. He let her go.

He couldn’t blame her. He knew he was ugly. A beautiful woman like Amy wouldn’t look at him twice, wouldn’t be able to see behind the damage. He closed his eyes and lowered his head. If only she knew.

“I won’t be a second,” she shouted out to him through the doorway.

He sighed and waved an exasperated hand through the air after her. At least he got to spend time with her. Precious time he didn’t want to lose by her being stupid, going vigilante and getting chucked out of the Unit. The boss only gave them so much leeway, and he had been pushing his luck.

“OK, OK, but hurry up! We’re late. I’ll call us in,” he shouted. “And do those buttons up. It’s hard enough working with you without your tits hanging out.” He stepped through the front door and out into the stairwell.

He tapped his ear and waited to be connected.

“Bonjour.” Pyke’s cheeky voice picked up.

“We’re on our way back to the office.”

“Bon.”

“Just checking in.”

“Qui.”

“Shut up, Pyke…”

“Non.”

“Look, mate, could you quit the Franglais stuff? I barely speak English, never mind French, and you’re an East End boy whose closest thing to France is a bottle of Kronenbourg.”

“OK, OK. Touchy aren’t we, mon petit chou. What’s rocked your boat?”

“Nothing. That last job was a bit messy. That’s all. I’m getting old…and I ain’t your shoe.”

“Non, Monsieur…chou, chou …it means cabbage…or is it powder puff?”

“You’re weird.”

“It’s a term of endearment in France. I’m learning French, widening my horizons,” Pyke announced excitedly.

“And that’s gonna be of use, why?”

“Pourquoi. It’s pourquoi.”

“Pour what?”

Amy could hear Jack busily talking to Pyke while he stood outside on the communal staircase. She quickly walked back into the man’s flat, fumbling with her shirt, doing up the buttons. He sounded angry. Shit! I’ve pissed him off again!

She looked down at her chest. But my tits are a distraction. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?

Walking over to the curtains, she peeked outside the window, checked for children, and finding none present, took a deep breath. Right, I can do this… empty, feel, build and throw.

After a few false starts she managed to pull the drapes tightly shut. Decades of dust permeated the air. Waving it away from her face, she spluttered in disgust. You sooo need a cleaner, mate.

She looked back at the squealing man leaning against the wall, desperately dabbing his shrivelled penis’s burning skin with his dressing gown’s hem. She sauntered towards him; a smile crept across her face.

Checking the doorway, she eyed the coffee mug lying on the floor. OK, here we go…empty, feel, build, and throw.

She held her hand over the mug, closed her eyes, and tried to empty her brain of everything else but moving the mug. She cupped her hand and waved it forwards. Nothing happened. She did it again. The mug rolled forward on the ground. She took a deep breath, brought her mind back to her four-year-old state, felt the fear, the hatred, the disgust. Her hand tingled with heat, building until she couldn’t stand it any longer.

With an almighty sweep of her arm, she threw her hand at the man. The mug flew at the wall above his head, smashing into pieces. Porcelain fragments fell around his feet. The anger rose within her. The heat in her hands built further. She leaned down, held her hand over the largest jagged piece, and with a gasp of air, lifted it off the floor.

The man stopped whimpering, staring in awe, eyes wide, mouth open. The mug seemed to have a life of its own. It raised itself off the floor and smashed against the wall, just missing his face. What the fuck?

He watched as chunks of china fell to the ground, then one piece swooped up into the air in front of him. What the…?

With an ascending sweep of her hand, Amy brought the serrated edge up under his chin, causing his wide-eyed head to slam back against the wall with a thud. Her second driving thrust slid the edge deeper into his neck with a quick left, then right, flicking motion. She sliced his throat wide open.

The porcelain remained wedged in his throat as she took a step back and watched his gurgling body slide to the floor. He sat slumped against the wall, his bemused wide eyes staring vacantly across the room. His legs splayed out in front of him. His arms wilted at his side and his head flopped forward over his rotund belly.

She leaned over and wiped her bloodied hands on his dressing gown.

“I haven’t got time for rules. They’re for sheep,” she whispered into his ear. “Goodnight, kiddie fiddler. Hope you enjoy hell.”

She slunk out of the room to join Jack.

In the hallway, a familiar smell hit her—a burning smell similar to a barn mixed with old grass, cinnamon, and stale, acrid tobacco. She instinctively looked back over her shoulder, but saw no one.

Why did it feel as if someone was watching her?