David Jackson - The Helper

He finds that his mouth is suddenly dry, and he takes a gulp of his mineral water. Feels the fizz of the bubbles in his gullet.

He waits for Peppe to saunter back into the room, then waves for his attention.

‘Excuse me. Could you box this up for me, please? I have to go now, but I really want to finish this later. Would that be okay?’

‘Sure. Is-a no problem.’

He watches while Peppe clears the table and transfers the remaining slices into one of their branded cardboard boxes. He knows what’s going through his head. Peppe is wondering how anyone could take so long to eat just one slice, as if he detests the stuff, and then want to take the rest of it home, stone cold.

If only he knew.

A smile on his face, the killer pays his tab and leaves, carrying the pizza carton before him like he’s one of the wise men bearing gifts. As he goes through the door, he glances at his watch again. Ten after seven. Just as he planned.

Excellente .

For Tabitha Peyton, Friday night is usually pizza night. Usually, but not always. Hence the waiting around in Peppe’s. He had to be sure. But the visit also provided him with his credentials for the next step of his mission.

He heads to his car first, parked up a block along from the pizza house here on Allen Street. He opens the trunk and takes out the other items he needs if he’s to be convincing. A motorcycle helmet and a leather biker’s jacket. He swaps his own jacket for the leather. Doesn’t exactly make him a Hell’s Angel, but it ought to be enough.

He locks up the car, dodges through the two-way traffic, then walks around the block onto Orchard Street. He stops at a five-story tenement opposite the Blue Moon, once a similar tenement until it had another three stories grafted on top when it was converted into a boutique hotel. He climbs the steep set of steps to the front entrance, then finds the buzzer labeled ‘T. Peyton’. He smiles to himself. Nine times out of ten, if they put just an initial with no indication of gender, you just know it’s going to be a single woman. He thumbs the buzzer and waits.

‘Hello?’

‘Pizza delivery.’

A pause. Then: ‘Mikey?’

‘No. This is Pete. I’m the new guy. You ordered a pizza, right?’

‘Yeah, but you’re too early. The order was for eight o’clock.’

‘Eight o’clock? Oh crap. I am so gonna get it for this. Yours is the second one I got wrong tonight. My ass is fried. Sorry to bother you, miss. We’ll bring the order at eight, like you asked. Looks like it’s not gonna be from me, unfortunately, but you’ll get it on time. Really sorry about that.’

That’s it, he thinks. Lay it on thick.

‘Wait!’ she says, and he knows he’s got her. ‘I guess it won’t hurt to eat a little early. Bring it on up.’

He hears the buzz and the click of the lock opening. He’s in.

He takes the stairs up to the third floor, then raps on the door to her apartment. She opens it in an instant.

She’s wearing a powder-blue bathrobe, belted tightly at her waist. She has removed her make-up. From somewhere behind her he hears the sound of running water.

He expects a look of mild annoyance, and he gets it. But he also expects that it will quickly evaporate, and he gets that too. This tall handsome biker giving her his most disarming smile is causing her practically to melt into a puddle on the floor.

He says, ‘Thanks for agreeing to take this now. It’s really kind of you. To be honest, I don’t think I’m much good at this job. I feel like I’m really in over my head, you know?’

She opens the door wider now. It’s amazing how much a girl can allow her hormones to override her instinct for self-preservation.

‘No problem,’ she says. ‘I know what it’s like to be out of my depth.’

He almost laughs. You do, huh?

She continues: ‘Here, let me take that off you.’

She grabs the box, then carries it into the apartment, leaving the door gaping, her back unprotected. What the hell does she think she’s doing? Doesn’t she know how dangerous this city can be?

She puts the pizza down on the kitchen counter, then comes back with a fistful of cash. She passes it to him. Says, ‘Keep the change.’

‘No way. The way I screwed this up, I should be paying you.’

‘No, seriously. Keep it. Buy a beer or something.’

‘Well, only if you’re sure. I could do with some parts for my Harley, so it all helps.’

He waits for her eyes to widen, and is not disappointed. Suspects that he could soon have the space between her legs widening too if such was his aim.

‘You have a Harley?’

He nods. ‘Two, actually. Not tonight, though. I have to ride the piece-of-shit lawn mower that Peppe provides. Makes me feel such a dork. If my friends saw me on that. .’

‘I used to have a Harley.’

‘Get out of here. Really?’

‘Really. A 2002 Sportster.’

‘That’s the same as mine. Which engine? The 1200?’

‘Nah, just the 883.’

‘Still, that’s pretty cool. You got any pictures of it?’

He sees her waver, but only for a second.

‘Sure. Come on in.’

He stays put. He wants her to feel that she’s making all the moves here. She has no idea he’s pulling all the strings.

‘No,’ he says. ‘That’s okay. I should get back to Peppe’s.’

‘Come on. Two minutes, okay?’

He shrugs, walks on in. Casually closes the door behind him. Just the two of them, alone in this apartment. So fucking easy.

‘Be right back,’ she says. She skips off to the bedroom. When she comes back he notices that she has loosened her robe, that it is patently lower in the neckline. And when she stands next to him and holds out the picture of her pathetic hunk of shiny metal, he knows that she’s doing so in such a way that he can see right down her cleavage.

‘Beautiful,’ he says, because that’s clearly what she’s hoping for: a compliment that is ambiguous enough to apply either to her or her stupid bike. He wonders if he could have been even more daring — something about massive twin carbs maybe — but he has no idea whether motorcycles even have twin carbs, let alone whether it is meaningful to talk about their size. He has limited his research strictly to what he needs to achieve his aims.

‘Hell of a ride,’ she says, and he realizes she’s continuing the game. Leaving it to him to decide whether it’s the bike or her that’ll give him the biggest throb between the legs.

He shifts his gaze from the photo and sees that she is looking straight at him. Guesses that she has in fact been watching him throughout to see where his eyes rove. Right now her own eyes are wide with anticipation and excitement. She is loving this game. Getting off on the subtle foreplay.

‘Can I ask you something?’ he says.

She smiles knowingly. Even though she knows shit.

‘Sure. What is it?’

‘Are we in danger of getting a little moist here?’

Her mouth drops a little. Like she can hardly believe her ears. The nerve of this guy! The sheer temerity!

But he knows he hasn’t overstepped the mark. Far as she’s concerned he’s just upped the stakes. Made the game even more electrifying.

‘Excuse me?’ she says, because she has to. Because she needs to appear to be the shocked prim virgin instead of the oily slut she really is.

‘Is there a bath or something being filled back there?’

There you go, he thinks. You want double entendre ? Beat that one.

‘Huh?’ she answers, her meager brain not coping well with the sudden context switch. ‘Oh, yeah.’ And then: ‘Oh, shit!’

She races for the bathroom. He doesn’t wait for an invitation to follow. The bathroom is where this was always destined to play out. And Tabitha has acted her part to perfection.