Angel of Death (2 page)

The Beamer was parked at the edge of the estuary. Its tinted rear windscreen gleamed in the Volvo’s headlights. ‘BAD,’ Kevin said, reading its number plate. ‘What kind of dickhead has a reg like that?’

‘Stop the car,’ said Angel.

Kevin shoved the gearstick into reverse. ‘We can use the other car park.’

‘I said stop!’

Kevin took his foot off the accelerator, but kept the engine running. ‘What’s going on, Angel?’ A little quiver in his voice suggested it had dawned on him that maybe he’d stumbled into something he wanted no part of.

‘Wait here.’

‘Listen, I don’t want to get into some kind of trouble.’

Angel’s nostrils flared. It was on her tongue to snap back,
Don’t be such a pussy!
But she resisted, reflecting that she should know better than to expect anything more from Kevin – or for that matter, any man. ‘Nothing’s going on, baby,’ she reassured him. ‘I know the owner of that car. I’m just going to say hi, that’s all.’

Looking unconvinced, Kevin cut the engine. ‘OK. Make it quick, though.’

Nothing much scared Angel, but her heart began to pound as she approached the Beamer. Her highly developed whore’s instinct for sniffing out danger screamed that something dodgy was going on. It was impossible to tell if there was anyone in the car, but a faint light seeped from the edges of the doors. She raised one hand to knock on the driver-side window. Her other slipped into her handbag and curled around the pepper-spray. Before she could knock, the window came down a few centimetres. A puff of sickly sweet ganja smoke wafted out as a deep voice barked, ‘Fuck off.’

Stooping, Angel found herself looking into a pair of eyes glassy with dope and hard with threat. ‘I’m looking for a girl you picked up—’

A mouthful of gold teeth flashed from the Beamer’s interior as its driver broke in. ‘I said fuck off, bitch.’

As the window slid back up, Angel caught a glimpse of two parallel scratches still glistening with blood on the man’s cheek. Her already pounding heart surged at the sight. She took several hesitant steps away from the car. The scratches didn’t necessarily mean her instincts were right. She’d been with plenty of men who got turned on by being hit during sex. Men like Kevin who desired to be dominated and humiliated. The Beamer’s driver wasn’t one of those men. It was plain from his voice and eyes that he was the type who liked to dish it out rather than take it. Angel had been with plenty of that kind too. She still had the scars – both visible and invisible – to remind her.

Angel came to a stop as a savage burst of anger burnt away her fear. She felt suddenly as if her head was on fire. Her barely concealed breasts rose and fell as she sucked the night into her lungs. This fucker, this bad boy, thought that because the girl was a nobody, a nothing, he could do what he wanted and there’d be no consequences. Well he was wrong. There would be consequences, painful consequences.

She scanned the ground and stooped to snatch up a chunk of concrete. Without pausing, she ran at the car and hurled the chunk at its driver-side window. The glass shattered with a loud pop. The driver reeled sideways, one hand flung up to protect his face, the other groping at something on the passenger seat. He let out a shrill yell as Angel emptied the can of pepper-spray into his eyes. She yanked open the door and dragged him out of his seat, her wiry muscles straining against his bulk. She saw what he’d been reaching for – there was a handgun on the passenger seat. Ducking into the car to grab it, she found the girl stretched out unconscious on the back seat, her skirt half torn away, blood crusting her inner thighs, her face a battered mask. She didn’t appear to be breathing.

Her eyes a crucible of rage, Angel twisted towards the man writhing in agony at her feet. He blindly tried to defend himself as once, twice, three times she stamped her long, sharp heel into his face, ripping deep gouges. ‘You fuck!’ she shouted, spittle flying from her mouth. ‘You sick fuck!’

She would have continued to stamp and stamp until the man’s face was as unrecognisable as the girl’s, if Kevin hadn’t come sprinting over, crying out, ‘Stop! For Christ’s sake, stop!’

Angel jerked her eyes up to Kevin’s, and he lurched to a halt as if he’d come up against a wall of flames. He spread his hands, palms out. ‘Please, Angel. You’ll kill him.’

‘And why shouldn’t I?’ she snarled. ‘The bastard deserves it.’

‘Why? What’s he done?’

‘He’s killed her, that’s what.’

His face as pale as the moon, Kevin asked, ‘Killed who?’

‘The girl.’ Angel gestured at the car. ‘She’s in there.’

Kevin edged around Angel. He reached for the back door handle, but hesitated. He pulled his sleeve down over his hand, then opened the door. ‘Oh Jesus,’ he gasped on seeing the girl. He felt for a pulse in her neck. His eyes widened. ‘She’s alive!’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Her pulse is weak, but it’s definitely there.’ Kevin pulled out his mobile phone.

‘What are you doing?’

‘What do you think I’m doing? I’m phoning for an ambulance.’

Angel snatched the phone away. ‘No you’re not.’

Kevin looked at her in stunned silence for a second. ‘But she’ll die if I don’t.’

‘No she won’t, because you’re going to take her to hospital.’

Kevin’s forehead contracted. ‘I can’t do that, Angel. If I’m seen with this girl, it… well, it would—’ His voice snagged in his throat at the thought of what it would do to him if word of this got back to his wife.

‘I don’t give a shit what it’d do to you. You’re taking her.’

‘No I’m not.’

Kevin recoiled back against the car, his chest heaving as Angel aimed the gun at him. Her voice as hard as the steel the nearby factories produced, she said, ‘Yes you are.’

‘OK, OK, I’ll do it. Just stop pointing that thing at me.’

Angel lowered the gun. A groan from the prostrate man drew her attention. He was struggling to sit up, his muscular, tattooed arms trembling from the effort. She drove her heel into his face again, sending him crashing onto his back. ‘Bitch,’ he choked out, blood dribbling between his lips.

‘Keep your fucking mouth shut unless you want more of the same,’ snapped Angel. She looked at Kevin. ‘Get her into your car.’

As Kevin hooked his hands under the girl’s armpits and pulled her from the car, she exhaled a whisper of a moan. Her eyelids fluttered and cracked open a fraction. Angel leaned over her like a mother over a child. ‘That’s it, come on, open your eyes.’

The slitted eyes closed again.

‘Hold on, baby girl, we’re going to get you to hospital.’

The girl’s limbs dangled like broken twigs as Kevin carried her to his car and laid her on its back seat. Breathing heavily, he turned to Angel. ‘You coming?’

‘No.’

The creases on Kevin’s forehead deepened. His eyes flicked between Angel and the man at her feet. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘You don’t need to worry about that, all you need to worry about is getting her to hospital. Oh, and if I find out you’ve dumped her somewhere and rung for an ambulance, I’m not going to be best pleased.’ Angel patted the gun. ‘You get me?’

Kevin nodded, his tongue darting dryly across his lips. ‘You’re not going to do anything crazy—’

‘Get the fuck out of here,’ cut in Angel, her eyes flashing.

Flinching from her fury, Kevin ducked into his car. He accelerated away, wheels spitting gravel. Angel waited until he hit the main road before returning her attention to the Beamer’s driver. His eyes glared at her from between swollen pouches of flesh, glistening with hate but also fear. It sent a thrill through Angel almost as heady as a hit of junk to see his fear, to know that, for once in her life, she was the one with the power. ‘On your belly.’ Her voice was calmer. The anger was still there, but she was controlling it now, not it her.

Groaning, the man slowly rolled onto his belly.

‘Now crawl to the river. Crawl like the worm you are.’

The man dug his fingers into the cracked concrete and dragged himself forward. The light from the Beamer’s interior only stretched a few metres. At the edge of its reach, estuary mud glistened palely in the moonlight. When her heels sank into the mud, Angel said, ‘Stop.’

The man lay panting, agonised tremors vibrating through his body.

‘Roll over,’ said Angel. ‘I want to see your face.’

The man heaved himself onto his back again. He stared up at Angel, his mud-smeared face invisible except for the red-laced whites of his eyes and the gleam of his gold teeth. ‘You don’t know who the fuck I am,’ he gasped, his voice cramped with pain.

‘Yeah I do. I’ve known you all my life.’

Angel took aim. The man flung up a hand as if he might ward off a bullet with it. ‘Wait! Fucking wait! I’ve got money.’ He fumbled out his wallet and tossed it to Angel. ‘There’s more than a thousand quid in there. It’s yours.’

Angel took out the money and shoved it into her handbag. She didn’t look to see if there was any identification – she already knew all she needed to know about the man – she just threw the wallet into the estuary. Again, she took aim. Again, the man raised a hand. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked, panic sucking at his voice.

Angel studied the man with a cold fire behind her eyes, greedily drinking in his fear, savouring its bittersweet taste. ‘The same reason you did what you did. Because I can.’

The fear in the man’s eyes was joined by a hopeless rage. He spat a glob of phlegm at Angel, which left a bloody snail-trail down her thigh. ‘Fuck you, bitch! Fuck all you slags. I’d kill the lot of you if I got the chance.’

‘Well you’re not going to get the chance.’

Angel pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. She pulled it again. Still nothing. ‘Shit.’ The word whistled through her teeth as she thought,
The fucking thing’s broken.
Another thought came to her.
The safety must be on.
A quick examination of the gun revealed a catch marked ‘Safety’ above the trigger. She flicked it.

‘Please, I don’t want to die!’ pleaded the man as Angel took aim again. An ear-splitting shot rang out. The gun’s recoil jerked her hand upward. The muzzle flash set pinpoints of light dancing in front of her eyes. The man screamed and flailed in the estuary slime, clutching his right shoulder. As her vision cleared, Angel took careful aim at his chest. The man just had time to cry out some incomprehensible final words before a second bullet punched the breath from his lungs. He lay gurgling like the estuary for a moment, then fell silent.

Angel closed her eyes and drew in a slow, deep breath. The night tasted good. It felt good against her skin. She felt good. Strong and alive! Every sensation in her body seemed to be heightened almost to the point of ecstasy. She hugged herself, moaning, swaying. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there immersed in the throbbing whirlpool of her mind, but when she opened her eyes the tide was lapping at the man. Soon it would cover him, and as it receded it would draw him out to sea, hopefully never to be seen again.

Slipping the gun into her handbag, Angel approached the BMW. She considered burning it out, but dismissed the idea, realising she almost certainly wouldn’t have time to get back to town before a passer-by alerted the police. With her jacket sleeve, she rubbed the door handle she’d touched. She didn’t know whether doing so would erase her fingerprints, but she figured it was worth a try. Keeping her hand covered, she reached into the car and switched off the interior light. Then she started walking.

It was at least six miles back to town. Angel hadn’t gone far before her ankles started to throb. She took off her boots and continued barefoot, keeping her eyes and ears peeled for vehicles. A fragmentary hedgerow ran alongside the road. Whenever she saw approaching headlights or heard the rumble of an engine, she ducked out of sight until the vehicle had passed. Her mobile phone rang. She flipped it open and ‘Deano’ flashed up on its screen. She wasn’t surprised. He rang several times a night. He said he did it because he cared about her, which of course was bullshit. The only thing he gave a toss about was making sure his property was in working order. The temptation not to answer was strong, but the consequences wouldn’t be worth it. She put the phone to her ear and said in a hushed tone, ‘I can’t talk right now, Deano. I’m with a punter.’

‘Where?’

‘The Thistle Hotel. He’s a businessman. I reckon I’m onto a good little earner. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done.’

‘Make sure you work him for all he’s got.’

‘I always do, baby.’

Angel hung up, reflecting that it was a lucky thing for her the dead man had attempted to buy his way out of trouble. Three or four hundred quid of the thousand would be enough to keep Deano sweet. As for the rest, she would find some way of getting it to the girl, assuming she survived her injuries.

Dawn was beginning to crack by the time Angel reached the Transporter Bridge. She paid the toll and leaned wearily against the gondola’s railings. She could feel the beginnings of withdrawal symptoms setting in – her teeth chattered as if she had a fever, and bitter mucus ran down the back of her throat. It wasn’t just withdrawal, though. For hours she’d been on a high unlike any she’d ever known, but now she was coming down, and she was coming down hard. She scratched the track marks on her arms, itching for the oblivion of heroin. Glancing around furtively, she slipped a hand into her handbag and touched the gun. The feel of the plastic grip sent a little shuddering thrill through her. Wrinkles of indecision spread over her face. She’d intended to toss the gun into the Tees, but now that it came to it she was reluctant to do so. She closed her handbag. She knew it was crazy to keep the gun, but she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it. Not with the memory of the feeling that had coursed through her body as she pulled the trigger so fresh in her mind.

An orange glow crept across the water, followed by the emerging sun. Angel blinked, tears rising in her eyes. She’d seen the sunrise hundreds of times before during her nocturnal existence. But she’d never seen it like this, so brilliant and blazing. Her trembling subsided as its faint, cleansing warmth washed over her. Then the gondola passed into the shadows of the industrial units on the south bank, and the moment was gone. Not that it had really been anything other than a fleeting illusion. The sun was for other people, not her. She’d learnt, or rather been taught, that hard lesson a long time ago.