The Ultimate Selection: Be Careful Who You Talk To (13 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Greg stirred from his less than restful sleep. Tossing and turning, his mind was unable to relax, filled with thoughts of Sharon, Brian, Hector, and now Martin had found his way in. He decided to get up in order to shake away these intruders.

As he walked into the kitchen he checked his mobile phone; Karen had sent him a text.

Morning. Hope you had a good evening. Have fun 2nite.Looking 4ward 2lunch 2moro.xxx

Greg did not have too much to do today. He had arranged to meet Martin for a boys' night out though that was not for a good few hours yet. With trembling hands, Greg made himself something to eat. He was starving. He tried to navigate his way around his kitchen, his heart continued to race as the flashbacks blurred his vision. The moment soon passed as soon as his taste buds were engaged, his thoughts drifted elsewhere.

***

Uncontrollable shivering woke Hector. The concrete slab he lay on acted like a block of ice. His head pounded with a sharp jabbing needle-like pain. His sore ribs made breathing difficult and he felt a burning sensation from his groin. Something did not feel right. He rolled over and shuffled his left hand down to feel why he had a tearing sensation from his anal crevice.

‘What the fuck?' His sense of touch informed him that a large bottle had been stuck to the area. It was at that moment that everything started to flood back. Tears filled his eyes and he sobbed without control. He knew this was going to be the last place he would ever see, there was no escape. Coming to terms with his reality was too much for him and he urinated on himself.

Hector looked around to try to understand his surroundings, but could only see a vast open space. He noticed a lone table, it looked steel. The table was located around twenty feet away, with a few items sitting on top. It was then he remembered what he had been told. ‘Who else is that fucker bringing here?' he asked himself, as he desperately tried to formulate a means of escape.

***

Greg had a lot to do. Firstly, he had to pick up a package from an agreed meeting point – no questions asked. Greg's shady internet portfolio was escalating by the day. One dodgy contact led to another, and so on. Greg had decided that he was going to drug Martin once he had lured him back to his flat. His extensive research had given him the best possible drug, a date rape drug named Rohypnol. This particular drug, which has been readily available for many years, is intended for use as a surgical anaesthetic and muscle relaxant. However, with a strong enough dose, it would be possible to be used as a sleeping pill. The effects are almost immediate, starting within fifteen minutes of consumption and can last up to twelve hours if taken on an empty stomach. Martin's stomach would be almost empty, with only alcohol in his digestive system.

The effects of Rohypnol consumption are: sedation, difficulty with concentration, dizziness, poor balance and walking difficulties. When taken with alcohol, the cocktail proves much more potent – there is an increased nervous system depression, with symptoms such as confusion, loss of memory and thinking difficulties.

During later years, and because Rohypnol has long been used as a rape drug, a blue dye was added in order to make the drug more obvious and slower to dissolve. However, the blue dye cannot be seen in coke, red wine, or in coloured beer bottles. Rohypnol and other of its forms are readily available on the street, so the blue dye does little to limit its use as a drink-spiking drug.

Greg knew Martin well enough to know that Martin would not be able to resist an offer of more beer, a free curry, and a pornographic movie – which Greg would use to lure Martin back to his flat at the end of the night.

Chapter Nineteen

Walking at an almost leisurely pace, Greg listened to the passing traffic. ‘The busier the better,' he told himself. Greg knew nothing about the person he was going to meet – only that they would know him. He had been instructed to carry a pink umbrella. He had purchased the umbrella en route. A French bar in Camden Town was where the rendezvous was to take place.

Greg arrived and checked the time. He was early, though not too early, only ten minutes which was good.

From the outside, La François looked like a pleasant, friendly establishment – modern with a hint of a yesteryear in the background. The furniture was very trendy, with leather and chrome armrests that matched the tables – immaculate. The paintings looked expensive, most displayed nude or scantily clad females.

Greg sat at an available table and tried to visually locate his contact.

‘Hello, sir. What can I get for you?' a waiter enquired, with a hint of a French accent.

‘White coffee please, mate,' Greg replied.

‘One moment please, sir,' the waiter replied, before scuttling off.

As Greg turned his head back, away from the waiter, he noticed that a young woman had sat at his table.

‘Sorry love, that seat's taken,' Greg said, smiling.

‘Yes, it's taken by me. Nice colour, your umbrella,' the woman replied. Her accent was not easy to place.

The woman looked like she was lost, but only lost in a sense that she was dealing with a novice.

‘I have something for you and you have something for me,' she said, returning a smile.

The waiter returned, delivering Greg his coffee. ‘Can I get you anything madam?'

‘Yes, coffee – white with sugar – brown sugar.' Her accent was more prominent; Turkish seemed like a safe bet.

‘Thank you madam, one moment,' the waiter smiled, scuttling off again.

The woman looked at Greg, not leaving his eye-line; she placed a small Jiffy Bag on the table in front of him.

‘Go to the men's and check the contents. Don't try to leave without paying, if you do I will fuck you in your head,' she smiled.

‘You can't fuck what you don't understand,' Greg replied, returning a smile. ‘Try ripping me off and I'll cut your tits off!'

Greg stood up and made his way to the men's toilet, once inside he locked himself in an available cubicle and checked the contents of the Jiffy Bag – it was all there. He went back to his table.

‘Your turn,' the woman said.

Greg slid an envelope across the shiny table top. ‘It's all there,' he told her firmly.

‘I like to count – It makes me feel better,' she told him.

Greg looked at his coffee, his mind was now suspicious. He watched as the young woman openly counted the money. It was then that Greg knew that someone else in the bar was linked to her. He did not care who, but almost automatically he was planning his attack, should the occasion turn sour. He had become very organized lately.

‘Everything is in order,' the woman told Greg. ‘I don't have to fuck you in the head and you don't have to cut my tits off,' she laughed. ‘Join me in a brandy?'

‘I don't have time,' Greg told her.

‘What a pity,' the young woman replied. ‘OK, I'll buy your coffee then, Goodbye.'

Greg nodded his head politely and stood up, not bothering to pick up his umbrella – he was occupied surveying his surroundings. It was clear that he was not out of the woods yet. There was at least one other wolf in La François. He made his way to the exit and left, glancing back through the large panelled window. Greg was right to be suspicious; the waiter that had served him joined the woman and kissed her passionately. He thought it had been suspicious that the waiter had not returned with her coffee. Greg made his way back to the tube station – full-steam ahead…

Chapter Twenty

Greg had arranged to meet Martin in a pub called The Blackbirds on Blackbird Hill – halfway between Wembley Park and Neasden. That said, the meeting place was a little out of Martin's way as the pair were planning to move on to wherever the mood took them. Greg made sure that he had a dozen bottles of beer in the fridge, ready for when he and Martin returned. Putting on a generous amount of aftershave, Greg checked his hair, wallet, mobile phone and keys before leaving.

He was going to catch the number fifty-two bus which would drop him off outside The Blackbirds. The bus arrived, almost on time. Greg stepped on, paid the driver and found a vacant seat. To make the journey more pleasant, he decided to phone Karen.

‘Hello,' he said.

‘Blimey… Hello stranger?' Karen replied, sarcastically.

‘Sorry, I know that I haven't been in touch all day, but…'

‘But?' Karen snapped.

‘But I've been busy!' Greg snapped back.

‘You couldn't see me last night and you can't see me tonight because you're too busy.'

‘Fucking hold on a minute, I didn't say I was too busy to see you…I said…'

‘Save it Greg.'

‘Save what? You know I've had this drink with Mart arranged for almost a fucking week now.'

‘And?'

‘And fuck all. I'm taking you out for lunch tomorrow aren't I?'

‘I hope that you're not keeping me away at evenings for some other bird?'

‘Don't be so fucking stupid.'

‘I'm stupid now am I?' Karen giggled signifying that the danger was over.

‘Saying rubbish like that, you are!'

‘You on your way to meet Mart now?' Karen enquired, softening her tone.

‘Yeah, I'm meeting him in The Blackbirds.'

‘You blokes,' Karen laughed. ‘You really know where to go, don't you? I was only pulling your leg babe.'

‘Just because we're meeting there, it doesn't mean we're going to stay in there all night.'

‘A tenner says you do.'

‘Make it twenty and you've got yourself a wager my dear lady,' Greg smiled warmly.

‘You're on, my dear fellow.'

‘Here's my stop. See you tomorrow,' Greg announced.

‘Have a good night – Love you.'

‘You too,' Greg replied feeling slightly uncomfortable.

He stepped off the bus and checked the time; he was early for the second time that day.

The Blackbirds was not an impressive building to look at. The history of the building was, in fact, dull. Thirty years previously, someone had decided to purchase two of the neighbouring houses and join them making one single building. It had unimaginatively been named after the road the building was located on, Blackbird Hill. Inside, the building was completely different. You would be forgiven for forgetting where you were.

The open plan idea gave the impression of vast space. The bar was circled in the middle, almost like an island. There were no hanging optics, no unsightly mirrors. It was as though the place had been morphed from another time, a future-proof time.

Greg walked up to the bar and ordered two pints of lager. Once the drinks had arrived, he paid the barman.

‘Has Mart been in?' Greg asked, on receiving his change.

‘No, but I've not been on long. Do you want me to find out?' the barman replied.

‘No, thanks anyway.'

‘No problem.'

Greg left the bar and stood by a games machine, resting both his drinks on the top of the machine.

‘Is that one for me?' a voice enquired.

Greg knew the voice. ‘Course it is.'

‘Cheers, mate,' Martin said, taking a large gulp, ‘You wouldn't believe the day I've had.'

‘Tell me,' Greg relied.

‘Fuck me, where do I begin? You know that dickhead brother-in-law of mine, Hector?' Martin began, ‘He never went home to my sister's last night… we all know where he goes on a Friday night.'

‘Or, where he tells us he goes,' Greg interrupted, ‘We all know how full of shit he is Mart!'

‘Well, he never went home and no one's heard from him. His mobile is switched off, and, well, he's missing.'

‘What do you mean “missing”?'

‘I know what a wanker he is Greg. But it's my sister… The Old Bill have told her that he's gotta be missing for twenty-four hours before she can report him missing and, even then, they've told her not to hold her breath. Listen, mate, I know that he's a fucking loser but, at the end of the day, he's never stayed out all night. Alright, he may not get home till the early hours, but he's always got home.'

‘What do you think's happened to him?'

‘I think someone's beat the shit out of him and he's dead in a gutter somewhere.'

‘Is that what your sister thinks?' Greg said, shrugging his shoulders, ‘He'll be OK, mate, he'll turn up soon enough.'

‘She's gone off on one, mate. She's between a rock and a hard place at the moment. I wish I could do more, you know?'

‘You'll find him, I guarantee it Mart,' Greg smiled, secretly finding the whole thing amusing.

‘Same again?' Martin enquired.

‘Yeah, you downed that quickly, mate.'

‘I needed it, mate, believe me.'

The two men continued talking, with Hector being the main topic of conversation. Time ran away from the pair of them.

‘Listen Mart, I've had a great idea,' Greg said, placing his arm over Martin's shoulder. ‘Why don't we move to a pub closer to mine – I've got plenty of beer in the fridge, a porno that I haven't watched, and we can grab a curry on the way. What do you think?'

‘It's further for me to get home, mate,' Martin replied, slurring his words slightly. The background noise, along with the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed hampered his hearing.

‘Fuck it, you can stay at mine.'

‘But we'll get a taxi from here, pick up a curry on the way, then it's beer, curry, and porn all the way!' Martin said, getting a little too vocal.

The pair continued to laugh and joke about times gone by, getting louder as the evening progressed, singing along with the jukebox, swearing at the fruit machine and telling adult jokes. A couple of times, the pair come close to causing more than an argument with some of the other customers. This is exactly what Greg wanted, he needed the attention – after all, they were friends on a night out.

‘Get some shots in,' Martin told Greg. ‘We're celebrating.'

‘What we celebrating?'

‘Friendship, being mates,' Martin slurred.

‘Not a chance. That's it for tonight,' the barman announced.

‘But it's not even ten o'clock,' Greg said.

‘You two have had enough for one night, come on lads,' the barman replied.

‘Never mind, there's plenty of beer at mine,' Greg told Martin, as he laughed.

‘You phone a taxi and I'll nip for a piss,' Martin slurred.

‘No worries,' Greg replied.

Greg stood waiting for Martin to return from the toilet, so they could leave the pub. He seemed to take forever, though he eventually appeared. He looked unsteady on his feet, swaying slightly as he walked.

‘Come on. Our taxi's outside,' Greg told Martin.

The two men swayed together as they left. Once in the taxi, Greg encouraged Martin to sing along to a song that was playing on the taxi's radio. The driver did not seem to mind.

‘If you're gonna be sick, tell me and I'll stop,' the driver told the drunken pair. ‘Don't chuck-up in the back of my fucking cab – OK?'

‘We're not gonna puke,' Martin replied, interrupting his singing.

Greg wanted, needed, the taxi driver to remember them.

They reached their destination. Greg carried their Indian meal. Greg paid the driver, giving him a generous tip for his troubles, for both the detour to collect their meal and for the aural abuse his eardrums had suffered en route. He would definitely remember them.

‘Thanks mate, enjoy the rest of your evening,' the taxi driver gleefully told Greg.

Greg and Martin clambered up the stairs and bounced their way into Greg's flat. Once in, Martin fell on Greg's sofa with a joyful bounce.

‘I'll get us some beers,' Greg announced.

Greg slipped into the kitchen and retrieved two chilled bottles of larger from the fridge. He had strategically placed two Rohypnol pills on some kitchen towel on the work surface, before dropping them in Martin's bottle of larger and waiting for the fizz to settle.

Martin had remained on the sofa, wearing a drunken smile, completely oblivious.

‘Down in one,' Greg said, passing Martin the spiked bottle of lager.

‘On three,' Martin said, adding a hiccup. Martin did the countdown and the two men raced, gulping the contents of each bottle down as fast as they could. They finished level.

Greg took both empty bottles back to the kitchen, placing them both on the work surface. He would need to dispose of the drugged bottle carefully later…

Greg returned with two more bottles, this time neither was spiked.

‘Where's my curry?' Martin cried.

‘Hold your horses, I've only got one pair of hands,' Greg said smiling to himself.

As Greg entered the living room, he noticed Martin had slid down the sofa, in a doubled-over sleeping position.

‘What are you doing? Are you alright, mate?'

Martin did not reply – he remained still.

Greg dashed to the kitchen, the clock was ticking. He knew that he had twelve hours. He needed to consume vast amounts of coffee in order to sober himself up and quickly switched the kettle on. Pouring generous amounts of milk into a large mug, along with two heaped spoonfuls of coffee, Greg proceeded to gulp down the contents. He rushed around in an almost frantic panic.

***

The following three hours were a bit of a blur. Martin had been securely placed in the back of Greg's van. His hands and legs were fastened by plastic zip-ties and duct tape was placed over his mouth as a precaution.

Once the pair had reached their destination, Greg donned his mask and retrieved Martin from his makeshift confinement, heaving the unconscious man onto his shoulder, fireman style.

Hector opened his eyes, ‘Who's there?'

‘Hector, I'm glad that you're still with us,' Greg replied, ‘You might recognise this man – a relative of yours I believe,' Greg laughed.

‘What the fuck is he doing here?'

Greg gently placed Martin on the ground, securing him by fastening a handcuff around his ankle. Greg then removed both zip-ties and the duct tape and slid his hand into Martin's trouser pocket, removing his mobile phone. Martin did not stir.

‘What's he doing here?' the gravelly-voiced South African asked for a second time. He sounded like a beaten man.

‘He's going to decide both of your fates,' Greg answered without making eye contact. Turning to the South African, ‘What do you prefer, Beer or whisky?' he asked.

‘Water… I don't feel like celebrating!'

‘Just answer the question. Water was not on offer, Hector.' Greg's head turned sharply bringing Hector's pathetic body into his sight, ‘I asked you a question, or do I have to decide for you?' he barked.

‘I don't care – I don't have a fucking choice,' he replied, his whole body trembling with fear.

Greg turned away and went over to the table. Opening one of the draws he removed an unopened bottle of whiskey. He then produced a key and held it up.

‘Use the whiskey to swallow this key. Don't try anything stupid, you will swallow this key – either the easy way, or the other way.'

The overweight man looked at him completely bemused as to why he was being asked to swallow this key. He was calling the shots and in a dominant position.

‘You're going to have to help me, my hands…'

‘Your hands are free enough. Don't fuck with me Hector.' Greg glared, before sending a thunderous open-handed slap across Hector's face. Hector's head rocked with the impact, his only response was a small shriek; his spine tingled with panic.

‘You can let me go, please let me go. I will change. I'll do whatever you tell me to. I'm asking for another chance to save myself,' Hector begged.

‘It's too far gone for that – there's no second chances in the game of life Hector.'

‘I'm in agony, why the bottle? Why the bottle? Please take it out.'

‘The bottle is to prevent you shitting out the key.'

Greg passed the bottle of whiskey to Hector and forced the key into his mouth. ‘Swallow it!'

Hector started to cry as he placed the bottle to his lips and opened his mouth. Gripping his arm, Greg tilted the man's head back and began assisting with pouring the whiskey down his fat throat. Whiskey was overflowing out of the sides of Hector's mouth. He choked, trying to swallow the liquid as fast as it was being poured. He found it hard to breathe and tried to pull away.

‘Enough,' Hector pleaded, gasping for air as he did. ‘My head is fucking doing summersaults!' Greg did not have time to sympathise and continued to pour the remainder of the whiskey over Hector's head. ‘OK, OK,' Hector screamed, as the alcohol started to sting his eyes.

Greg stepped back, just in case Hector was going to vomit.

‘I think you owe it to me.'

‘What do I owe you Hector?'

‘Tell me my fate – please, think of my children, I'm a family man.'

‘Martin is going to decide your fate. All will become clear when he wakes up. Until then, all you can do is wait.'

‘Look at me, look will you? I've pissed myself, I'm fucking freezing and I'm starving. I will never go with another man, if that's why I'm here.'

‘Hector, Hector, Hector,' Greg laughed. ‘Who else can see you in this state? No one can. So no one gives a fuck what you look like. You've spent most of you putrid life in this state. Come on, let's be honest, personal hygiene doesn't rate high in your to-do list, does it? So why are you worrying about it now? A bit too late for that isn't it?'