Peter Robinson - Bad Boy

He had the clothes, the voice, the gift of the gab, the air of superiority, all he needed to succeed, despite his mixed race heritage, the golden color of his skin. He was public school and Oxbridge, establishment through and through, and vicious criminal or not, he acted just like one of them, cocksure, certain of his place, of his due, of his worth, sure of his position, a member of the right class. To the manor born. There was no way anyone in this jumped-up provincial hotel, pretentious as it was, was going to deny his demands, let alone mistake him for a dangerous criminal on the run, or associate him with someone wanted for murder. If Annie was dead. Tracy had no way of knowing, as she hadn’t seen or heard any news since they left the cottage. Tracy’s heart sank as she watched Jaff, yet she couldn’t help but admire the performance, if performance it was. There were many sides to him, she suspected, and this was just one of them.

He turned back to her, a key in his hand and a smile on his face, and gestured for her to follow him to the lift. They went up to the fourth floor in silence and walked along the deserted corridor, some rooms with trays of empty bottles and glasses outside, the remains of half-finished steaks and prawn shells scattered on plates.

No one saw them as they entered room 443. The view was nondescript, a back street so narrow you couldn’t really see anything but the low slate roofs opposite, and, beyond them, the windows of an office tower, empty for the night, though one or two lights still burned in the checkerboard pattern of windows.

The thunderstorm hadn’t come yet, but the sky still looked angry as a boil ready to burst. Jaff drew the heavy curtains. Their closing made Tracy feel claustrophobic. Somehow, at least having some sort of view, however mean, gave her some hope, some snatched glimpse of a part of the world that was being kept from her, a place she may never enter again. She told herself to stop being so maudlin, that the fears Jaff had planted in her mind had taken too strong a hold and made her jittery.

Jaff tossed his grip on the bench under the window, then fumbled inside it and brought out the small plastic bag he had prepared for himself. He held it up to her and raised his eyebrows. Tracy shook her head and sat on the edge of the bed, hunched in on herself. Jaff shrugged and laid out a couple more lines on a mirror. When he’d snorted them, he used his untraceable mobile, and Tracy guessed he was calling Justin in London.

“It’s ready? Great…terrific…Hey, that’s a bit steep…No, all right, I’m not arguing…Yeah, I understand…Okay. Look, Jus, we won’t come around to your place, if that’s all right with you, just in case, you know, yeah, in case we’re being followed or something…Yeah. Right…How about we meet somewhere…? The Heath…that’s cool…Highgate Pond. Course I can find it. No problem. We’ll have wheels in the morning…Yeah, early afternoon…I’ll give you a bell…See you then, mate. You’re a lifesaver.”

He ended the call, dropped the phone on the bed, then clapped his hands and raised his fist in the air. “We’re away!” he said. When Tracy didn’t react, he turned on her. “We’re off to London in the morning and then…points exotic. Who knows? Well, at least I am. What’s up, misery guts? Are you planning on sulking like this from now on? I mean, it’s a difficult enough situation we’re in already, without you sitting there with a face as long as a wet weekend in Blackpool.”

“Jaff,” Tracy said. “I’m tired and I’m scared. I’m not here to cheer you up or amuse you. I’m your prisoner, remember? All I want is to go home. Please, just leave me alone.”

“Same old bloody record, isn’t it? Can’t you change your tune? You should do some coke, have some fun while you can.”

“I don’t want any.”

“Have it your way. We’ve got all night.”

Tracy shuddered at the thought. She didn’t think Jaff noticed. The room was spacious, but it was impossible to ignore the fact that it was dominated by a king size bed. Tracy was quite happy to sleep in the bath, if in fact she could sleep at all, but she doubted that was what Jaff had in mind. He wouldn’t want her out of his sight, for one thing. “Can we have the TV on?” she asked.

“Why?”

“I want to see the news. They might say something about…you know.”

“They can’t tell us anything we don’t already know,” said Jaff. “Are you hungry? Shall I call room service? What do you fancy?”

“I don’t know. Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. How about pizza?”

“Pizza’s fine.”

“What do you want on it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t mind.”

“Mushrooms? Onions? Olives? Hot Italian sausage. Anchovies? Pineapple?”

“That’s fine.”

“Right. And a bottle of wine. I’ll order a bottle of red wine, too, shall I?”

“If you want.”

“If I want. It’s not just me, Francesca, you know. Will you give me a little help and encouragement here? What do you want?”

“A bottle of red wine is fine.”

“Right. I’ll order pizza and a bottle of red wine. Anything else?”

“Not right now, no.”

“Maybe some bottled water, too, hey? Can’t be too careful. Fizzy or still?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Tracy. “Tap water’s fine with me.”

“Fizzy,” said Jaff. “Right. Good. Good.” His leg was twitching from the coke now, and he made no move toward the telephone. “What about Madison?”

“Madison?”

“Yeah. The blond girl on the desk. She’s American. I bet she’d be game for it. Shall I see if I can get her to nip up, too, for some fun and games? A threesome?”

“Don’t bother on my account. She’s probably busy, anyway.”

“I suppose so.”

“Look, do you want me to call?” Tracy asked. She stood up and walked toward the telephone. “I’ll do it, if you like.”

Jaff wagged his finger as he swiftly intercepted her. “Clever try,” he said. “No doubt there’s some secret code you can use to communicate with Madison and get her to put you through to your father. You like your father, don’t you? Love him, even. I hated mine. No way. I’ll do it.” He went over to the phone and ordered a pizza with green peppers, pepperoni and chicken, and a bottle of chardonnay, then hung up, licked his lips and walked over to her, coming a little too close for comfort. Tracy started to back slowly away. “While we’re waiting, though,” he said, “why don’t we…? I mean, it has been a while. Work up an appetite. Know what I mean? Even if it is just the two of us.”

“You mean sex?” Tracy said, hoping she didn’t sound as incredulous as she felt. “After everything that’s happened? You want sex? You’re sick, you. You must be joking.”

But the expression on his face said not. “I’ll show you how sick I am,” he said. “And how much I’m joking.”

Tracy felt his hand grasp her throat and push her toward the bed behind. The backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress, and her legs buckled, causing her to fall back. She knew then that he wasn’t joking.

ANNIE CABBOT FELT AS IF SHE WERE DRAGGING HERSELF up from the depths of the ocean, huge shadows circling her in the dark green mist, slimy fronds of underwater plants undulating in the water, wrapping themselves around her arms and legs to immobilize her as she tried to float to the surface, pulling her back. She struggled in the grip of invisible tentacles that wouldn’t let go, no matter how much she kicked and thrashed. The pressure of the water pushed down on her chest, into her lungs, so she couldn’t breathe but only flail uselessly as the tentacles hauled her down. She opened her mouth and breathed in deep gulps of salt water, and suddenly she was floating free, calm, wrapped in a warm cocoon, rising up, up. Just as she was about to give in to the drowsy warmth that was spreading through her body, she burst to the surface and her lungs were suddenly filled with cool air.