Bubblegum Smoothie (27 page)

“What the hell are you—”

“Blake wants to ask you something!”

Don’t turn around, Danielle. Don’t turn around. Don’t—

She turned around.

She looked at me. Looked into my eyes with twinkling blue eyes of her own.

I tried to smile at her. Tightened my sweaty hands. “Do you… So that…”

“Breakfast would be nice, if that’s what you’re trying to ask me,” Danielle said. “Tomorrow?”

I felt my fists loosen. The vice grip around my throat released. “Yeah. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be… tomorrow would be nice. Meet you here?”

“Seven a.m. Better be there.”

Seven bloody a.m. “I’ll be there.”

Danielle walked off, and I felt like running down Friargate singing and dancing.

“Hey, heyyyy,” Martha said. She jabbed me in my stomach. “Someone’s pulled, someone’s pulled. Wow. Is this it? Is this the moment Blake Dent settles down for good?”

I watched Danielle walk away, her blonde hair shaking from side to side, her white skirt blowing in the breeze. “Yeah, whatever. Hey, fancy trying something for me? Being a guinea pig?”

“No. But go on.”

I grabbed a cucumber.

“Whoa. I mean, you’re a nice guy and everything, but I’ll pass.”

I blended the cucumber. Added some fresh herbs, a little bit of lime. Then ice. Lots and lot of ice.

I poured it into a plastic cup. Handed the green concoction over to Martha.

She looked at it like it was some kind of poison.

“What is
this
?”

“Figured I need a new lead product after the Bubblegum Smoothie got phased out. So I present to you the Cucumber Coolie.”

She took a sip, dabbed it against her lips, eyes squinted.

“Well?”

She took a minute. Tilted her head side to side, weighing up the flavours.

And then she shook her head. “Arguably the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”

“Novelty enough to stick a £1.90 price tag on? Trick a few gimmick-crazed fiends into buying?”

“Absolutely.”

I placed the advertisement for the Cucumber Coolie outside Groovy Smoothie.

In the distance, I saw a mother and child. They were looking right at me, but not approaching.

The mother had one arm, and there was something off about one of her eyes.

The kid was wearing a Bolton Wanderers shirt, curly hair completely covering his ears.

I nodded at them. Nodded at Jenny and Daley Chipps.

They nodded back at me.

“Come on, grumpy. Time to take an early lunch,” Martha said. She smacked my ass.

“Ow! What… what d’you mean?”

She planted her hands on her hips. “Well if you’re having a breakfast date with a bimbo, we’re gonna have to kit you out. Get you dressed in some new threads. Can’t wear checkered shirts every day.”

I hung the “Closed” sign over Groovy Smoothie and headed into Friargate with Martha.

“I suppose I could do with one non-checkered shirt,” I said.

“Good boy. You’re learning.”

We approached Debenhams. Beside it, I noticed Dixons advertising the new range of SuperUltraExtra HD televisions. The football match they were showing on it looked ridiculously clear.

I salivated with the thought. Tasted menthol, even though I’d been off the damned substance for some time.

Well, for a day, anyway. Since I’d run out of Soothers packets.

“Martha.”

She stopped just before entering Debenhams. “Yeah?”

“I think I need a new television.”

What Next for Blake Dent?

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Cucmber Coolie
, click here to get started:

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Or turn the page for an exclusive excerpt of the second book in the series.

***

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Cucumber Coolie (Blake Dent, #2) Excerpt

ONE

It would be so easy to murder the entire street while they sleep.

He stands outside the tall detached house and he waits. The lights went out two hours ago, so he knows now is his time.

He pushes open the creaky iron gate. The wind is strong tonight, blowing the apple tree in Subject A’s garden, sending leaves spiralling around the ground. He moves slowly down the concrete pathway, slippery with the late summer storm brewing away.

He can’t slip. Slip, and he might break the most important tool of all.

He reaches for the tall oak door. It is painted black, but crusting, decaying like everything in this world does.

Decay is good. Decay makes his entrance easier.

He stands there a few seconds. Stands there and lets his mind ease as he works out how to handle this first step.

He looks down at his hands. In the right hand, he has his customised Southord lockpicking set. They sell good basic models, but every good basic model could be turned into a faultless tool with the right customisation, the right carrier.

In his left hand, he has his Canon camcorder. An MD205. Not HD, or anything fancy like that. Just standard Mini DV tapes.

But he likes the graininess of Mini DV. Gives his videos an authentic feel. A horror movie look.

He smiles as he sticks his lockpick into the bronze door lock.

He supposes it will be a kind of horror movie for the viewer. The scariest horror movie they’ve seen in their lives.

To him, nothing more than a gripping comedy.

After a few twists and turns of the lockpick, the door clicks open. He waits as it creaks. Waits to see if a burglar alarm goes off, or anything like that, but he is pretty certain it won’t because he has watched Subject A’s house lots over these last few weeks.

He feels himself getting hard down below.

He is going to have a lot of fun with Subject A.

Before and after he kills her.

He lifts the camcorder. Switches it on.

And then he hits record. Might as well catch the setup. The setup adds to the experience, like the backstory in a porno.

He pushes the door open, listens to it squeak. Behind him, the wind rages on. Rain splashes against his dark coat. Perfect. He knows that will sound great. He isn’t even
trying
for the horror movie effects here. Too easy.

He clicks the door shut and creeps along the dark hallway. Looks into the lounge, points his camcorder inside. An antique clock ticks away. More atmosphere. This is going to be fantastic. He’ll definitely keep a copy of all this footage for himself.

He creeps further along the plush red carpet. Angles the camcorder in every direction as he moves. Looks at the cute family photos on the mantelpiece, smells fresh lilies that remind him of his childhood.

And no. His childhood isn’t filled with painful memories of abuse and rejection.

Throw that cliché out of the bag from the off.

He climbs onto the first of the steps leading upstairs. He feels his stomach tingling the more he climbs. Every crackling of thunder makes his smile widen. What a night for his fun to begin. He couldn’t have picked a better, more atmospheric night if he’d tried.

He steps up the stairs, which creak under his feet. He gets closer to the top, closer to the three brown wooden doors.

He reaches the landing. He already knows which room the bedroom is. He’s watched Subject A riding her grubby boyfriend’s cock from the comfort of his car every night for the last week.

Last room on the right. Little night light shining under the door.

He smiles, and he opens the first door anyway—the bathroom door. He points the camcorder inside.

All part of the fun. All part of the game.

He moves on from the bathroom to the second door. Points the camera inside this room, too.

This room excites him like crazy. The little unoccupied bed with its Thomas the Tank Engine quilt. The mobile, little furry teddy bears hanging down from it.

Quite morbid, really. A group of teddy bears with string nooses around their necks.

Oh well. All adds to the atmosphere, to the “mise en scène.”

He feels his body tightening up as he approaches the third door. He places his gloved hand on the circular golden handle, prepares himself to turn it.

He knows what he must do if Subject A is awake.

He has this under control.

He turns the handle. Slowly.

When he pushes open the bedroom door, the first thing he sees is the wooden white cot at the foot of the bed.

And beneath the flowery, cream sheets of the bed, he sees Subject A.

She is snoring.

He smiles. Even more perfection.

He points the camcorder into the bedroom and scans it, without really taking in his surroundings.

He is too busy reaching into his pocket to concentrate.

Too busy reaching for the syringe of sedative to care.

He steps around the cot. Takes a peek inside.

Aw, shucks. Cute little boy, could only be a few months old. Fast asleep too, sucking on his thumb and clinging his giraffe teddy.

He turns the camera away from the cot. Points it at the bed.

At least the kid is too young to understand what is about to happen to his mummy.

At least he is too dumb to comprehend what’s coming.

He steps to the side of the bed and stares down at them, heavy rain rattling against the window.

He steadies his camcorder.

Subject A is beautiful. Gorgeous brown hair, skin smoother than velvet. He could stand here and stare at her all day.

Instead, he has better things to do.

Because she is fast asleep, he figures he can take a risk. Add something else to the video. Something to increase its shock appeal.

He pulls a thick green water hose out of his pocket and he dangles it over Subject A’s head.

The hose is tied up like a noose.

He holds it there for a few seconds. Makes sure his black-gloved hand is on show. Almost touches Subject A’s still, sleeping head with it.

And then he pulls it away.

Ten seconds is enough of a teaser. And besides, he’s getting hard for the real thing now. Getting excited for the main course.

He puts the hose away and grabs the syringe again.

He places the camcorder on the bedside table.

Then he covers Subject A’s mouth and stabs the needle deep into her neck.

She wakes. Her eyes open, wide and bloodshot. She struggles. Scratches at him. Breathes heavily.

Her struggles get weaker.

Her eyes flutter shut.

And when the syringe is half-empty, she is sleeping.

He steps away from the bed. Stares at Subject A as she sleeps. His heart pounds with delight at how easy this has all been.

He grabs the camcorder. Starts to turn it on himself. Gets so close to showing his face.

And then he hits “Stop.”

He has work to do.

Work to do off camera.

He takes out the pre-prepared envelope and places it on the bed beside Subject A where her husband sleeps when he isn’t working nights.

Then, he covers Subject A up and lifts her out of her bed.

He walks away.

When he passes the cot, he sees that the baby has its eyes open. It is crying, clutching into the air, looking right up at him.

“Shh,” he says. “You get some rest. Last thing your daddy’s gonna want when he comes home is a wailing baby on top of everything else.”

He leaves the crying baby, leaves the bedroom, and he leaves the house with Subject A in his arms.

He walks down the concrete path. Rain patters against him, wind blasts his face.

Act One is over.

But it is Act Two where things get even more exciting.

When he could actually put his hose to use.

His hose, amongst many, many other things…

To continue reading Cucumber Coolie, visit the following link to get started:

Cucumber Coolie on Amazon

About the Author

Ryan Casey is an author of suspense thrillers. He incorporates elements of horror, science fiction, mystery and satire in various works. He has written seven novels, a long-running serial, and several novellas and short stories. Across all genres, Casey is renowned for his dark, page-turning suspense, his unforgettable characters, and his knockout twists. His work includes the best selling Dead Days horror serial, the Brian McDone mysteries, Sinkers, The Hunger, Killing Freedom, What We Saw, The Watching, She Remembers, Something in the Cellar and Silhouette.

Casey lives in the United Kingdom. He has a BA degree in English with Creative Writing from the University of Birmingham, and has been writing stories for as long as he can remember. In his spare time, he enjoys American serial television, is a slave to Pitchfork’s Best New Music section, and wastes far too much of his life playing Football Manager games.

For more information, visit ryancaseybooks.com

About this Book

Blake Dent is a bounty hunter who catches criminals for a living. He lives by the mantra that he’s retired until he needs money to get by, which he spends on lavishly indulgent boy’s toys. His only goal in life is owning a curved TV to add to his enormous technology collection.

But when someone starts brutally murdering people, Blake is forced to catch the killer by the inept and under-funded local police. Lured by the promise of a life-changing sum of money and blackmailed with the threat of jail for an act committed way in his past, Blake must identify and stop the ruthless murderer before their horrifying mission is completed.

Take one portion of darkness, add a large handful of satirical humour, sprinkle an unpredictable mystery on top and you end up with Bubblegum Smoothie, the first book in the Blake Dent thriller series from Ryan Casey.

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