Mr. Suit

Also by Nigel Bird

Dirty Old Town (and
other stories)

Beat On The Brat (and
other stories)

With Love And Squalor

Into Thin Air

Smoke

In Loco Parentis

Nigel’s work also in:

Speedloader

True Brit Grit

Grimm Tales

Pulp Ink

Mammoth Best British
Crime 8

Mammoth Best British
Crime 9

Protectors

Both Barrels

T
he
urge to hit out at her husband grew inside Liza like Triffids. Living like this
was driving her insane. She moved her hands behind her back and gripped tightly
to her chunky bangles to make sure a slap didn’t escape her thoughts.

This was going to be a special day, so she’d chosen a special outfit to match,
the daffodil yellow two-piece she’d worn on their honeymoon. It clung to her as
well now as it had done in Majorca the day after their wedding. The low cut of
her dress and the dizzying height of the hem of her skirt were perfect for what
she had in mind.

When
she finally found out for certain that she’d married a gangster, Liza got used
to the idea that Archie might end up doing a spell in prison. Even so, this
wasn’t what she had in mind. Locked-in Syndrome had never entered the picture.
She’d always thought of him behind bars on 3 square meals a day, not as this
living shadow of a man.

Archie
closed his eyelids:

1,
2, 3 blinks – ‘C’.

It
took so long for him to tell her anything.

Liza’s
body filled with impatience top to toe, like cement was being poured into her
from a great height. Felt like her head was a pressure cooker needing to let
off steam. She twisted her slender fingers into her long, blond hair, ever
hopeful she might make it curl. When the twists became tight enough the roots
lifted her scalp. She pulled as hard as she could for as long as she could bear
the pain.

4,
5, 6 ...

It
wasn’t his fault, after all. A bullet to the brain would have done for anyone.
Still, it was difficult to see the man she married in the wilting frame before
her, head lolling into the wheelchair’s rest, the residue of dribble crusting
at the corners of his mouth and leaving slug trails down his black beard.

7,
8, 9 ...

‘Till
death do us part.’ That’s what they’d promised each other all those years
earlier, three grown up children and two dogs later. And they’d meant it at the
time.

They
hadn’t been an average family, not with Archie’s line of work, but there had
always been plenty of money around. They’d mixed with the well-to-do lot they
met at the independent schools their children attended. Not that the quality of
the company had raised their status or that the children’s education had made
much difference. They never really managed to clean the muck from their working
class roots. Couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was looking down at them.

Jenny,
their eldest, had turned to dancing to get her away from home. Was working
cruise ships on the Med. They hardly heard from her unless she needed cash.

The
middle child, Greg, had been to university. Not to Oxbridge. Not even to the
North East. Took a third-class degree in sports psychology with him when he
left the University of North London; his grandparents would have been so proud.
Shame he hadn’t managed to find a job after graduating. He spent most of his
time down the bookies or perfecting the art of game-playing on the X-Box these
days.

Miriam
was the youngest. She was also the black sheep. Left school with no
qualifications to her name and nothing going for her other than that she had a
body that was a carbon copy of her mum’s - shapely legs, tight buttocks, tiny
waist, pert breasts and a beauty spot just above her lip on the right-hand side
of her face. Since the age of 16 she’d been dating minor celebrities and
appearing in the paper from time-to-time. She’d slowly worked her way up to
footballers from the lower leagues, but the latest flame had been kept a secret
for over a month. Must have been someone very important for her to keep her
mouth shut for so long.

Mostly
Liza’s family were a typical dysfunctional unit. Until the shooting that was.

Since
then it had been a nightmare. All Liza could think about was stopping it all.
And Archie felt just the same.

“End
it,” he’d tell her. “Plese.” He never could spell. Never saw the need to learn.
Breaking bones and intimidating the opposition didn’t really require that kind
of muscle.

10,
11, 12...

She’d
thought about doing it. A pillow over the head. Crushed meds in his food. Thing
was she still loved him in a funny kind of way. Enough to keep her from doing
anything about it. And even if all her feelings had gone, she didn’t fancy
copping a murder charge.

That’s
why she was off to see ‘Mr Suit’ Martin.

“Anything
you want. Just name it,” Mr Suit had said. And up until then he’d been true to
his word. Paid for a nurse for a couple of hours a day. Bought in some respite
care at the weekends. Forked out for all the hospital bills.

12
^th
letter. L.

“Love
you too,” Liza said, leaning over and kissing Archie on the cheek, checking her
makeup in the chrome of the chair as she got close. The mascara showed off her
blue eyes nicely and she thought the flicks at the end of her lids made her
look like a fair-haired Cleopatra. “Got to rush. Won’t be long. If I get held
up, one of the nurses will be here at 3.”

He
started blinking again.

Liza
didn’t have the time to mess around. Pretended not to notice her husband’s
pleading.

She
turned up the volume on the snooker with the remote and shifted him round so
that he faced the TV.

Her
bag was all ready by the coffee grinder. She grabbed it and ran for the door.
Wondered if Mr Suit was going to do the right thing by them in their hour of
need and just how far she might have to go to persuade him. It was time the
boss made right for what he’d done once and for all.

T
he
meeting took place in the breakfast room.

Liza
had been escorted there by someone she hadn’t seen before, a tall, black guy
with a goatee beard who wore sunglasses even though the lights in the house
weren’t on.

She
was grateful for the assistance – these Millionaire’s Row mansions might not
look like much from outside the big iron fences, but inside they were like
warrens. Last time she’d been there, she’d had to take a pee in a sauna because
she’d forgotten the directions to the bathroom.

The
sun shone through the glass patio doors and brightened the place up enormously.
That was the cue for the escort to take off his sunglasses.

Through
the glass of the doors she could see a neatly manicured lawn, at the far end of
which was an undulating, golfing green with its very own sand-trap and flag.

Mr
Suit didn’t bother to get up when they entered. Just sat at the beautifully
designed chrome and glass table that his wife had picked up in the Habitat sale
for less than 5 grand.

Liza
took a quick peek and noted that he was wearing his trademark spats. She almost
laughed at the sight, but thought better of it.

The
guy was all show. Oiled, black hair, Italian suits and a hat for every
occasion. It was all about class for Mr Suit. Nothing but the best for the ugly
bugger.

Today
he was in pink. Suit, shirt, tie and car-shaped cufflinks.

The
tie was hand-painted. Had a naked lady standing by the sea in the centre, the
froth of the waves breaking against the rocks at her feet. It was probably an
original from the 1940s. Looked good on him the way it drew the attention away
from his face.

Liza
made her proposal as soon as the escort was dismissed. Mr Suit carried on
eating his pasta as she spoke and grunted or nodded every once in a while.

When
the food was done, he leant back in his chair and poked at his teeth with a
wooden pick. Looked like he was doing some thinking and some dentistry at the
same time. A real multi-tasker this guy.

Liza
couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead she stared at the empty plate on the
table and at the crumpled serviette that had been decorated with red smears of
tomato sauce by Suit’s mouth.

“It’s
a big ask, Liza.” Which wasn’t exactly a 'no'.

“He’d
do it for you if it was the other way around,” she told him and kicked off the
silver stiletto from her right foot. She stretched over until her toes found Suit’s
leg and massaged the insides of his thighs. They were hard. All muscle. Made
her think she might actually enjoy a little action. It had been so long since
she’d had a man that the prospect of rubbing against his acne-scarred skin
didn’t seem as awful as it sometimes did.

“If
the money turned up, maybe things would be different,” he said.

It
was a complication she’d not considered.

“He
can’t remember a thing.” She pulled her foot back a little. Rested it on his
knee. “It might have something with you shooting him in the head.” Which
reminded her why she hated the guy in front of her as much as she did. An urge
to kick him hard in the balls rose and she had to screw up her toes to make
sure her feet stayed where they were.

Mr
Suit dropped the toothpick onto his plate and put his right hand under the
table. Took hold of Liza’s foot and rubbed her instep with his thumb. He had
the touch, she’d give him that. Sent a few volts through her stomach.

“It
was an accident for Christ’s sake.” He held up his left hand like he wanted to
surrender. “A bloody accident. When are you going to get that through your
thick skull?”

“I
always said Archie had a thick skull.” And she had. “Until you proved
otherwise.”

Sensing
she was getting closer to the answer she wanted, she pushed her foot back
between Mr Suit’s thighs. A little further this time. Enjoyed watching
confusion conquer his eyes. Pushed far enough to feel the bulge of his thrill.

“Let’s
say you’re right. That he won’t remember where he put my money. And say that I
arrange to...” He tilted his head and brought it back again when he’d found the
words he needed. “...put your husband out of his misery. What’s my compensation?”

She’d
played enough footsie. Pulled her leg back and slipped her shoe back on. “A
clear conscience for one.” That should have been enough, but she wasn’t going
to take the chance. “No more hospital bills for another.” Plus the icing on the
cake. “And I’d be a free woman. Free to do whatever I please.” Not that she
needed to tell him what that might actually be.

A
big smile spread across his face. Showed off his wrinkles and the shine of his
crooked teeth. “Then I’ll make sure it’s done.”

Liza
pushed her chair back to give herself room to stand. “Thanks Suits. Just one
more thing. I don’t want to know when you’re going to kill him, who’s going to
do it or how. Understand?”

“Capische.”

She
stood. The way he rolled his voice around Italian words turned her on something
chronic. Her knees buckled ever-so-slightly, though she didn’t think Suits had
noticed. She straightened her skirt casually as if nothing had happened.

Liza
winked at Suits and decided to go and buy herself a summer dress to celebrate.

T
wo
weeks since the meeting with Mr Suit and there hadn’t been an angel of mercy
within a mile of the place.

Not
that things had stayed the same.

Ever
since her little flirt with Suits, something had been stirring within.
Something she hadn’t felt for years.

Liza’s
sex life had fizzled way before Archie’s accident. She’d put up with a weekly
romp, but left to her own devices she’d rather have spent the time jogging or
down at the gym.

She
blamed it on having kids so young. All three of them by the time she was
twenty-one. And if it hadn’t been for Jenny’s miscarriage, she’d have been a
grandma already in spite of having a mere forty-two years on the clock.

At
first, Liza’s newly-born desire came like scratches she could easily ignore,
but she soon needed to pay them some attention and took matters into her own
hands for the first time in the shower on Easter Monday, finding a different
kind of resurrection. It had been fun.

Masturbation,
she decided, was a lot like riding a bike only without the feet or the pedals;
whatever, she was certainly enjoying being back in the saddle.

It
came as no surprise to her when she found herself admiring the neat behind of a
young man in tightly fitting jeans while she pushed the wheelchair around the
Marks and Spencer food department. He was trim and tidy, like a fashion model
from the Next catalogue.

The
guy caught her looking and gave her as good as she got, his gaze moving down,
up and down again and seeming to settle somewhere between her waist and chin.
Gave her that fizzing in her stomach again. Made her wonder if the guy could
see her desire through her tightly fitting dress, the new floral number with
tiny lavender bouquets in the pattern.

Which
was why, as she headed up the ramp and towards the checkout, she decided to
give her hips a little extra roll. The movement was the reason for her
distraction. The toppling of Archie’s chair as the left wheels slipped over the
ramp’s edge was the consequence.

Archie
may have only weighed about the same as a primary school child by then, and
Liza had done enough time in the gym to be able to lift a large pig, but the
angles were all wrong and everything toppled.

From
her basket the Mediterranean Couscous, Low Fat Hummus, Greek-Style yoghurt,
four vegetarian ready meals from the low-calorie range and the family sized Key
Lime pie that she’d been carrying in her basket fell to the floor.

The
sound of the food hitting the tiles wasn’t loud enough to prevent her hearing
the crack of Archie’s head against the edge of the step.

When
everything came to rest and she looked down, it was like some kind of anarchic
still life.

Archie’s
leg lay in a white slick of yoghurt. His eyes were closed and a small pool of
blood formed on the ground just above his ear.

It
occurred to Liza that there might not be any need for a mercy-killing after
all. Like God had intervened and decided to let her off the hook.

And
then the young guy with the nice arse ran over to spoil things.

He
took the pulse. Listened to his breathing. Twisted the body before him into the
recovery position then twisted it back again. As he banged on Archie’s chest
and did the mouth-to-mouth, Liza seemed to lose the sense of sound.

A
lady in overalls spoke into a phone.

An
older man ran over and took over the job of chest compressions.

Paramedics
arrived. Loaded her husband onto a stretcher.

The
young guy took Liza by the arm and shepherded her to the ambulance. Sat her
down underneath the flashing lights. Left her to wonder what might have been.