Bang: Memoirs of a Relationship Assassin (32 page)

Headlights like dead eyes, rear wheel vents like open gills, the shark slid to a halt right beside her. Door open, burst of music. Megan jumped in. Slam, screech, burning rubber as the shark sped away.

And that, believe it or not, is how you kidnap a TV star.

Inside, we sang at the top of our voices: “He’s got a CD PLAYER-PLAYER-PLAYER-PLAYER!”

We laughed long and hard as I drove like a maniac away from the BBC studios, with Feeder’s Buck Rogers blaring from the stereo. The perfect soundtrack! Megan whooped, hands pressed up against the car’s low ceiling. I twisted the wheel, weaving in and out of the traffic on Wood Lane as if all the other cars were parked. The engine growled as we sped away from the scene of the crime.

”Oh my God, this is so cool!” cried Megan. “Look at you! You evil kidnapper!”

Jason King had ditched his suit for jeans and t-shirt, but I was also wearing a full-length Matrix-style leather coat and wraparound shades. Just a little role play. Over the music, I yelled “Stop struggling, will you! Stop fighting me like that! Just accept it!”

Megan thrashed her arms wildly. “No, no, let me go, you brute!” And then: “Hay-ulp! Hay-ulp!”

The two of us couldn’t stop laughing. Adrenalin pumping, music thumping, engine roaring and the world outside whipping past like we’d been fired from a gun. Together we sang
“I think we’re gooooonna make it, I think we’re gooooonna save it yeah!”
like we were secret lovers escaping from our horrible lives. Megan squeezed my arm, excited, exhilarated.

And she was mine.

“So don’t you tryyyyy to fake it… anymore… anymore…”

Just a little role play. But it’s easy to get carried away.

I was using Emma’s car, the red shark that had followed me in Kensington the week before, which I now knew to be a customised Lotus Elise 2dr Roadster. Christ, it could move. Sudden bursts of speed at my slightest foot pressure, like it was hungry for a race, which it wasn’t going to get in London traffic.

Megan glanced back (over her shoulder, instead of in the rear mirror – the mark of a non-driver). “So are we expecting them to come after us? Your people?”

“Well, if they were on the ball, then yes, they should be in hot pursuit. But it’s looking like we got you out under their radar. Which is exactly the sort of thing this exercise is meant to tell us. So let’s see how far we can take it.” I grinned at her. “Don’t want our adventure to end too soon, do we?”

“No!” Megan clapped her hands. “Oh, this is brilliant!”

There would be no hot pursuit – Larry had seen to that. There was a mysterious gap between security shifts that evening, only for an hour, but that was enough for me to get Megan out without anyone noticing. Nothing more than an ‘administrative error’ that would look like mild incompetence in any subsequent investigation. No conspiracy, just a simple mistake. Global Investigations would never know that its own boss had pulled the wool over its eyes.

So far so good. I heaved a deep breath. “So, um… so is this a bit of a relief for you, then? I mean, you know, getting away from your schedule for a bit…”

Megan nodded. “It is, actually. It’s been ages since I’ve done anything that wasn’t, you know, planned to the last detail. I’ve kind of forgotten what it feels like to just do something out of the blue…”

Green light. I accelerated.

“Perhaps I should just keep going,” I purred, the way Simon Templar would have done. The way he had done with Amanda Bentley-Foster, down in the deserted car park of her husband’s company, pouring on the charm with his fingers:
“Perhaps I should just keep going, Amanda…”

“How d’you mean?”

“I can very easily take you away from that life, you know. You and me and the open road, driving into the sunset…” My hand dropped away from the gear stick, heading towards her thigh.

Megan smiled, assuming I was still fooling around. “Hmm, that’s very sweet Jason, but somehow I don’t think Declan would be too happy.”

I snatched my hand back as if burnt. Jason. I wasn’t Simon any more, I was Jason.
Idiot
. I nearly touched up the Leg of Scotland.

Keep talking! “Um, no, I suppose not. He, er, didn’t look too happy the other day, in fact.”

Megan’s laugh became polite. “Well, yeah, he can be a bit moody sometimes. Got a lot on his plate, he’s even busier than me.” She pulled the seatbelt around her, snapping it securely into place.

Amber light. I slowed.

What was I doing? You can’t cock this up! Concentrate!

But I couldn’t. I was jumpy, my thoughts leapfrogging from one thing to another. Couldn’t focus. No sleep whatsoever the night before, lying awake trying not to think about what had happened in the Anchorage. Trying to focus on what was at stake now: Barry and Emma and a quarter of a million quid. Everything was slippery in my head. I felt fractured.

The fear seeped back in, making my arms tremble slightly – the fear of losing control.

I asked Megan how her week had been, hoping she would just chatter on and give me some breathing space. Thank God she did – she hated silences too. She talked about EastEnders and how she had filmed some scenes today where Danielle Ferguson was saying emotional goodbyes prior to leaving the country for a bit, to account for Megan’s absence while she filmed the Channel 4 drama. I let her talk while I pulled myself together. Her sing-song Scots accent was literally music to my ears, making the words bounce along melodically. I could listen to this girl all day, I thought. Might have to.

So much like Becky… lively, fun, cheeky. It was almost like having her there next to me, chatting away. I swallowed hard, trying to forget.

“Oh, and I met with the script editors yesterday,” Megan said. “That was bloody ridiculous. They were telling me about this new storyline they had planned for Danielle, for when I come back in September. You know how they keep having these blokes from my past turn up in the Square, like old boyfriends and married men I’ve had affairs with and all that?”

“Yeah.” I’d picked this up from my research. You’d think the ten million people who watched the show might get bored of the same old storyline. Apparently not.

“Well their new twist was for this girl to turn up while I’m gone and claim she’s an old mate of mine. Then it turns out she had a fling with Danielle years back and now wants a proper relationship, and she tries it on by snogging me.”

“…”

I opened my mouth to say something. In that second of hesitation, I considered saying what John might say (“Have to set the recorder for that!”) or Simon’s slick reply (“Should you need practice before filming, my lips are at your disposal.”) and even, horribly, something crude and Andy-like (“Oh yeah, lesbo action, nice one!”). For God’s sake, who am I? Quick, pick one! Too late –

“Well, I shot that idea down in flames, let me tell you!” Megan told me.

“…Oh.” I hadn’t expected that. I glanced her way, pretty as a picture beside me in jeans and a burgundy blouse, green eyes angry.

“Yeah, I told them, that’s going to do my career a fat lot of good, isn’t it! Having everyone thinking I’m a fucking lesbian! Like I’m going to do that!” And she shuddered like they’d asked her to lick a dog turd on camera.

“Right,” I agreed. Changed gear. “I suppose it is a bit out of order.”

“They’re taking the piss! All they care about is ratings, get more blokes watching, they’re not bothered how it’ll affect me. It’s not like there aren’t enough dykes on telly these days, is it? Anyway,” she smiled, “I’ve nipped that one in the bud so nothing to worry about, all back on track.”

I wasn’t so sure. Something about the steering felt a little off.

We drove on, my mind racing faster than the car. Megan talked, and I wondered how to react. Professional and polite? Crack jokes with a boyish grin? Stare into her eyes romantically? Leer down her blouse?

I felt lost. Like I’d driven off the edge of the map.

“Can you see with those shades on?” Megan asked. “Not saying you’re a bad driver or anything…”

I took them off. I was prepared for this, at least.

“Oh my God! What happened?”

I smiled, knowing she was staring at the black eye left by my best mate’s fist. “Occupational hazard,” I shrugged. “That’s the security business for you.”

I gave her the speech. I’d prepared it last night, to explain my injuries to Megan. I told her I’d been providing some personal security for another client (“Can’t tell you who, sorry, confidentiality and all that, you probably know her though…”). I said it had been a while since I had done the bodyguard job, but it was an emergency and she asked for Jason King personally, said she felt safe with me. Had to be the night her fans went crazy, didn’t it? I got her out okay, but took an elbow in the face while doing it. No big deal, I’ve had worse in my time…

“Oh my God!” said Megan more than once, hands over her mouth. “Your poor face! I can’t believe that’s your job.”

“Well, it’s not as glamorous as The Bodyguard, it’s pretty boring looking after people most of the – ”

“Oh, I love The Bodyguard! That’s my favourite movie! I watch that about once a year!”

“You don’t have a sister, right?”

“No!” she laughed wildly. “No sister to hire a hitman for me, you’re safe!”

“Well don’t you go getting assassinated on me or anything, okay? I’ll take a bullet if I have to, but this is a new coat.”

She beamed at me, admiringly. Her personal bodyguard, already wounded in battle. And protecting her against assassins, which just made me want to bark like a hyena. I relaxed a little, feeling like I was the one behind the wheel once more.

By the time I pulled into my street, it was getting dark. The Lotus Elise’s throaty growl caused a lot of curtains to twitch as I slid along looking for a place to park. Just hope the local kids kept their hands off it. I could imagine Emma’s reaction if someone scratched WAYNE 4 SHARON into the bonnet of her baby. She’d hand me my own testicles.

And yes, I know how it sounds, but I did actually take Megan MacLeod back to my flat.

Not much choice. I’d hoped to hire out a hotel room, but Larry had only delivered the surveillance equipment that afternoon, so we didn’t have enough time to set the whole thing up anywhere else. Also, I thought it might help matters, bringing Megan back to my – to Jason King’s – home, rather than somewhere sterile like the Holiday Inn. She needed to feel comfortable, if she was going to let her guard down.

It didn’t matter anyway. I’d already handed my notice to the landlord. Told him I’d be out by the weekend. As far as the landlord was concerned, it was Scott Rowley’s flat, not Jason King’s, so there’d be no trail leading back to me afterwards. Assuming this worked.

I killed the engine. Please make this work.

With a sort of inner wrench, I pulled myself into character as Jason King. I slid my shades back on and gave Megan a mock-evil leer. “Now then, my pretty, we’ve arrived at my secret lair. Don’t try to escape or I’ll have to – ”

“Too late!” She opened the door and sprang out.

I panicked – where was she going? I jumped out, telling her to wait, but then saw she was just running around the car, flinging her arms wildly with a big smile on her face.

“You’ll never take me alive!” she sang. “And I don’t do necrophilia either!”

Pervert. I loved this girl.

“You cannot escape me!” I growled, running after her. She let out the girliest squeal you could imagine (acting skills coming through there) as she hared around the car. I flapped my leather coat and billowed after her like I was the Hooded Claw or some other moustache-twirling villain. It felt great! Just chasing a pretty girl would have been fun, but chasing the Face of Scotland was hilarious.

I caught up with her and enveloped her in the coat like Dracula descending upon some virgin. “Got you now, my pretty! And your little dog, too!”

Megan screamed as my huge leather coat swallowed her up. My arms wrapped tight round her, pulling her back against my chest. We stood there giggling, gasping for breath… my heart suddenly pounding at getting her so close, at breaking the physical contact barrier so quickly, at suddenly having the chance to… maybe my only chance to…

Now’s your chance!

She twisted in my arms, grinned up at me, and I leaned down and kissed her.

Megan froze, as my lips met hers.

One second, two seconds, three… I thought I felt her respond, her lips snogging me back. And then she jolted out of my arms.

Red light – too late –
crash!

“Shit!” I saw the way she stared at me. “Oh God, look, I’m sorry that was just… I didn’t mean to, um, I just, I didn’t, look I’m really sorry…”

“It’s all right.” Megan brushed red hair away from her red face. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No look, I’m
really
sorry…”

“These things happen,” she shrugged, looking around. “So where are we going?”

Oh my God. I’d just snogged Megan MacLeod.

I walked up to her, noticing the way she backed away a little. “Megan, seriously, I apologise. That wasn’t planned, I mean, I… I guess I got a bit carried away playing the villain there.” Made myself laugh. “Forgot that I’m actually the good guy.”

She looked at me properly now, smiling. “Suppose we all get carried away sometimes,” she said. “It’s all right. You’re forgiven. Now where are we off to?”

I smiled – she’d forgiven me – but that wasn’t enough.

No time to think. I walked with her down my street, neither of us talking. There were a few people around, coming home from work, and I hoped they didn’t pay us any attention. Last thing I needed was some EastEnders fan burbling up to Megan and demanding an autograph. But I got her to my flat without anybody getting too close. Including me. The space between us could have been filled with concrete instead of empty air.

My hand was shaking so badly it looked like I was writing my signature with my door key, the way I kept missing the lock. I’ve blown it, I was thinking. I’ve just ruined the whole mission.

You
complete and total amateur!

“So, um… this is your house?”