Richard Wiseman - To Kill Or Be Killed

Mason scanned the bar quickly and spotted a motorbike helmet. Amongst all the black clothing and the leather there had to be a biker and sure enough there was. At a crowded table a worn black leather jacket was draped over a chair, underneath which was a gaudy coloured helmet. Sitting on the chair was the muscled body of a black haired boy in a ripped T-shirt. Behind him on a ledge, next to a door, was the full pint glass of a thick bodied man talking to a lean and rather sexy looking girl with black bunches, mini skirt and knee length striped socks. Mason walked around the table, pushed the swing door open with his right hand and with his left swept the pint onto the biker’s neck and carried on through the door. He did a U turn in the corridor beyond and walked back to an angry scene, both men facing each other, friends shouting. Security was on the way over. Mason walked past the chair, all their backs to him, pulled the jacket off the chair as he passed and on his way to the door. He slipped out the keys and dumped the jacket on the floor. Behind him a full blooded furious fight broke out in the bar.

At the tower Jack Fulton’s phone rang and the speaker phone declared to Diane Peters that a bar man at the Underworld had spotted Mason. The banner stream declared the club security had called police to the same location. She set the teams on their way. Traffic slowed them.

Outside the bar Mason scanned the surrounding roads and pavement for a parked bike. Across the road by the tube station was a blue and white Suzuki GSX-R600, checking it was the right make on the key fob, he grabbed ‘Leash’s hand and dragged her across the busy road.

Sirens sounded in the distance, people were being thrown out of the club behind them. In the street light he found the lock key, unlocked the chain, straddled the bike and put the key in.

He twisted, revved and put his foot on the clutch.

“Get on.”

“We’ve no helmets!”

“Let’s live dangerously. Get on ‘Leash’.”

She ungraciously swung a leg over the bike, grabbed his midriff with both arms and felt the acceleration of the bike nearly pull her off the back. She leant forward as the bike blurted like a blue comma across the pavement and slammed its way up the Kentish Town Road. ‘Leash’ whooped as the fast moving air streamed around her, the leather seat between her thighs coldly pressing against her sheer lace thong. She felt the lump of the hand gun in the back of his trousers pressing against her abdomen and thrilled to the itch it gave her lower down.

Behind them at the club the police arrived in numbers to a full scale riot at the Underworld. Police Vans and thirty policemen struggled with crowds coming out. Bloodied security, glass cut men and crying girls filled the road, stopping traffic. The vans were filling as police wrestled fighters, two or three cops to a struggler, pinning them down and cuffing them.

The DIC cars were waved through a make shift cordon made of police bikes, as was an ambulance. When the teams got out it was hard to find anyone to talk to. They scoured the crowds. Tony Deany made his way against the flow into the bar. His feet crunched on glass and heavy looking policemen and women stood around waving batons, some taking notes. He waved his badge as a police woman tried to stop him. Ellie followed in his wake to the bar.

“Which barman recognised the face from today’s Sun?”

“It was me.” An Australian, lean and tanned moved forward.

“Was he with anyone?”

“Some Asian Goth girl, looked nice too.”

“Did you see them leave?”

“I think she left before him, maybe he lucked out. He went up that way and then the fight broke out.”

“Was he fighting?”

“It’s hard to tell, it all got a bit mad after a while. Then the cops showed up and I lost sight of him.”

Deany looked down at the bar stool and beneath it the green trench coat, crumpled hat and a beer soaked red scarf. He picked it up.

“He was here alright, the stolen ‘disguise’ from Henry’s.”

“Maybe he started the fight to cover his escape?” Ellie looked around.

“How did he know we were coming?”

“He’s smart. The barman kept looking, he got nervous. Maybe the girl recognised him and walked off threatening to call the police.”

“If he followed her out god help her, is all I can say.”

As they returned to the outside where things had calmed down the police were sending the crowds into the club. Police organised the club goers into groups and began sitting them down. A table was being set up by the door to the outside. Traffic on the road was moving again.

Liam Kershaw, a time served DIC recruit in his early thirties broke away from a group of police and approached Deany and Ellie.

“Nothing to go on, he’s not in the vans and no sightings. It’s going to take hours to interview our way through this lot. Some have left, but we’ve had most sent back in.”

“Interview all of them?”

“Diane’s orders see if he was here to meet anyone.”

“That’s going to take until morning.”

“I know so let’s get started.”

Mason dropped ‘Leash’ at her house and watched her go in. He rode the bike to a back road and parked in a side alley. He walked back to her house and rang the bell. She answered the door with a beer in her hand.

“Welcome. Follow me.” He stepped over the threshold watching her wiggling behind go up the stairs. Duly he followed.

It was a three bed semi detached house and ‘Leash’ had a large room on the second floor. She didn’t turn the light on when they went in. She turned to face him and they stripped each other, unlacing, unzipping and shedding clothes.

Mason’s lust enveloped her and consumed her for over an hour and she drank in his passion and desire. The sex was good and when they finally sank away from each other both were satisfied.

“You want something to eat?” She asked.

“Yeah and a drink.”

They went to the kitchen, she in a short black Kimono style dressing gown and he with a towel around his waist. She got him a beer from the fridge and began making him sandwich.

“Why are the police after you?”

“I’m an assassin.”

“Isn’t that just a posh word for killer?”

“I suppose. You scared?”

She smiled. “A little, but I like danger. How do you become a paid killer?”

He didn’t answer.

“Oh is that one of those you can tell me, but you’d have to kill me questions?”

When he didn’t speak she turned with the bread knife.

“You aren’t going to kill me are you?” She waved the knife in front of her.

Mason’s move was fast, the scissor hands knocked the knife away and he stepped in grabbing the back of her head with his left hand and his right hand sliding between her arms and her back, pinning her suddenly, unable to move due to the edge of the kitchen side against which her arms were held tight. He looked in her eyes and strangely they were defiant, not afraid. He leant in and tenderly kissed her lips.

“No, but make no mistake that I can at any time, that enough danger for you?”

‘Leash’ smiled. “You are a bad boy aren’t you?”

They went back to her room with snacks and drinks. In spite of his reservations Mason was drawn to her. She had, he could tell, reserves of strength and courage. She had spirit and character. Most women he met weakly surrendered to him, but she had bucked and fought back, scratching and pulling.

“I could be your secretary. You know. You on some job somewhere calling me and me watching your back.”

“You’ve seen too many films. It’s not like that. It’s lonely, messy, frightening and you never have anyone you can trust.”

“What if you could trust me, you wouldn’t be alone then.”