Alex Gray - A Pound Of Flesh

There was a DJ coming later on after the meal and there would be dancing till after midnight. She grinned as she remembered being shown that luxurious room and the chequered floor in the en suite bathroom: the bed was easily big enough for a night of fun and games. Then there was the promise of a big breakfast (if they got up in time, she thought wickedly) before a taxi took her back to Muirpark for work. Maggie made a mental note of everybody who was to be there and her grin deepened as she anticipated her husband’s delight at seeing so many of his old friends. Och, it was going to be a night to remember! She was certain of that.

The woman who sometimes called herself Diana sat on the edge of the bed, intent on filing her nails into gentle curves. A pot of scarlet polish sat on the bedside table, ready to be applied once she had performed the initial manicure. Tonight was going to be the night when she finally found him. Her face took on a thoughtful cast. Barbara had been able to tell her so much, hadn’t she? The surveillance operation was a difficulty she hadn’t expected to face, though. The woman smiled, tossing back her mane of dark hair. With any luck they would simply take her for one of the undercover officers. And that shouldn’t be something that would present any problems, should it?

She laid down the nail file on the satin bedspread and glanced out of the window. It was to be a full moon tonight and the scraps of cloud lingering above the city were shifting fast, swept along by a chill east wind. Well, neither wind nor weather was going to stop her now: she’d be ready and waiting whenever that white car appeared on the corner.

Lorimer smiled to himself as he tucked the birthday card away in his desk drawer. It had been nice of Rita to organise the cake and everything and several of the team had managed to sign his card, some of them adding cheeky comments. Then the smile turned to a sigh. It would remain as a small souvenir of his time with them all in Pitt Street, something to look back on when he was fifty, maybe, and approaching retirement.

He looked at his desk and nodded in satisfaction. All the paperwork was in order, the undercover units organised for tonight so he could slip off with a clear conscience and enjoy his evening with Maggie. A quiet night, just the two of them, was what he wanted and he was glad she hadn’t suggested anything more. He glanced at his watch and rose from his chair. It was time to be off, have a quick shower and shave then change into whatever met with his wife’s approval for their night out.

As Lorimer walked across the street to where the silver Lexus was parked, he saw its outline glimmering in the moonlight. Happy birthday to me , he sang softly. He hoped Maggie wouldn’t have spent her hard-earned money on anything else. It’s all I want , he’d told her simply, when he’d first brought it home. The big car unlocked itself silently and he moved into the driver’s seat, shivering suddenly. Goose walked over your grave? he asked himself then pushed the heated seat control to its maximum before driving off into the night.

‘Hope you enjoy the food,’ Maggie said as she teetered down the spiral staircase in her high heels.

Were these new shoes to match her classy outfit? Lorimer wondered, catching her arm lest she stumble. It was quite dark down here in what the receptionist had called the brasserie. Too damn dark for anyone to see where they were going properly, he thought, finding the ground floor at last.

‘Surprise!!!’

When all the lights went on Lorimer raised a sudden hand to shield his eyes from the dazzle. A chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ rang out and he stood, mesmerised, looking at all the familiar faces grinning back at him.

There was Alistair Wilson and his wife, Betty, Niall Cameron, the lanky Lewisman and even wee Sadie Dunlop from the canteen, dressed up to the nines in a sparkly number.

‘Flynn!’ he said in surprise as he noticed the lad who he’d taken off the streets and who now made an honest living as a landscape gardener. They were all here, his pals from the old division as well as the familiar faces of neighbours, good Lord even Joyce Rogers! His eyes scanned the crowd, picking out some of his cousins and their wives and, oh there was Rosie looking ultra glamorous, hanging onto Solly’s arm.

‘Good Lord!’ he said at last, turning to Maggie. ‘You wee rascal!’ he beamed.

‘You’re not cross?’

‘Do I look it? No way,’ he whispered, bending to kiss her lips and evoking a cheer from the assembled guests.

Three dark-suited waiters appeared bearing trays of champagne and then, amidst the buzz of talk and glass in hand, Lorimer found himself moving amongst his friends, shaking his head in mock bewilderment, as they all tried to tell him how his face had looked when the lights had gone up.

‘Maggie’s been really good at keeping it a secret,’ Rosie told him.

‘And I didn’t say a thing,’ the deputy chief constable said. Resplendent in a short black number she gave him a toothy grin as she raised her champagne flute in a silent toast. ‘Just made sure you weren’t on duty, that’s all.’ She winked conspiratorially.

The dark-haired woman regarded herself in the bedroom mirror. Her face was thin and devoid of make-up, her chiselled cheekbones giving her a haunted look. She could easily be taken for a junked-up street woman. Her hand hovered above a mass of brushes and make-up palettes. Was it better to keep to her natural pallor or to go through a routine that would find her looking back at the sort of face that might grace a glamour magazine? She had to tempt him, ensure that he stopped to pick her up, didn’t she? Tilting her head upwards so that the light caught all the angles and shadows, she squeezed a blob of foundation onto the back of her hand then dipped her finger into it like an artist beginning a new canvas.

Downstairs there was a birthday party going on. She had heard the noise of celebrations earlier and had seen the pale blue balloons with their ribbons stacked in a corner of the dining room as she had finished her meal. So much better for her: the noise and goings on would keep the staff too busy to notice her leaving and returning late on into the night, especially now that she was familiar with the back stairs that led to the upper floor.

This was her last night here, she told herself. She shivered as though some premonition had caught that thought and held it up for scrutiny, daring fate to meddle in her plans. She was overwrought with nervous excitement; that was all. Her eyes fell to the Starfire pistol lying openly on the counterpane. One swift shot and it would all be over. Then her nights would be free once more, memories of Carol tempered by the knowledge that she had avenged her killing.

A swathe of blood-coloured cloud split the sky above the horizon, its edge like the crest of an endless wave, silvered in the moonlight. Pinpoints of red and amber twinkled and shimmered; the city seeming vibrant and alive those miles away to the east.

He tried not to stare at the moon that was looking down upon him from the upper darkness. Wisps of cloud rolled off the mass like smoke, obscuring the moon, its white gold glow an arc of mysterious light. Then the shreds and scraps of cloud separated, drifting apart to reveal the face that was leering down at him once more.

As though in a dream he picked up the clothes he had left on the chair by his bed and began to dress. It was time. The image of the sabre downstairs came to him as sharply as its cutting edge. The house was in silence, Vlad and Aunt Andrea asleep long since. But they could not awake tonight. This was his time, his destiny. Still, he tip-toed quietly downstairs, despite the certainty that they were colluding in this enchantment that kept all bad things from him.