The Ultimate Selection: Be Careful Who You Talk To (7 page)

Chapter Nine

Greg pressed the speed-dial on his mobile and waited for the person on the other end to answer.

‘Hello,' said a feminine voice.

‘Hello, Karen. What are you up to this Saturday, any plans?'

‘Nothing solid planned, only shopping with Mum. We're going up Oxford Street during the day. Why? What do you have in mind?'

‘So you're free in the evening?'

‘I most certainly am,' her fake casualness barely concealed her eager anticipation.

‘I was thinking of inviting you over to mine. I thought it was about time I cooked for you. What do you say?' Greg enjoyed the way Karen tried to play her harmless games.

‘What… you cook for me?' Astonishment echoed in her voice.

‘Yeah, I'll cook for you. Try not to sound so shocked,' he laughed. ‘What do you think?'

‘I think it's a great idea. I'll stay the night if you like. You cooking for me?' she giggled, ‘I can't believe it… let me get a tape recorder!'

‘You're not funny. I don't know why you try to be funny. You should leave that to the professionals like me.'

‘Who told you that you were funny?'

‘You did.'

‘It must have been at a weak moment, or maybe I was just being kind,' she giggled.

‘Are we on for Saturday?' Greg did not have time for this.

‘Yes, course we are! What are you going to cook me then?'

‘Firstly, is there anything that you don't eat?' Greg was hoping that Karen had not done anything silly, like stopped eating meat.

‘I've cut down on red meat, though I've not cut it out completely.'

‘That's not a problem. So that's settled then. Oh you'll just have to wait and see. I hope you'll be impressed.'

‘What time should I get to yours then?'

‘Six, or there about, is that OK?'

‘Sounds great, I can't wait. I'd better bring my camera,' she said laughing.

‘You're still not even slightly funny. Remember, I'm the funny one.'

‘If you say so.'

‘I don't know why you're still laughing, I might surprise you.'

‘I'll see you Saturday, Gordon,' she said, referring to Gordon Ramsay.

‘But it's heavens kitchen in my flat, love.'

‘OK, I'll place my digestive system in your hands,' her giggles returned.

‘See you Saturday then,' Greg replied softy.

‘I'm looking forward to it already.'

With that, he hung up.

***

Greg had decided to cook chicken in an aromatic sauce. The sauce would act as a smokescreen for the sleeping tablets that he was going to put in her food. He had already decided against putting anything in her wine as this could prove to be tricky, as well as high risk. What if, after a few, he drank from the wrong glass? What if she noticed? Far too many risks. By drugging her food he could be sure that she had ingested the required dosage. The marinade would ensure that she would not be able to taste anything untoward. He had a lot to do.

Saturday arrived in record time. Watching
Soccer
AM
with his mug of tea, he was not concentrating on what was actually going on on the television, he was miles away. Tonight was the night. He was ready, ready to start his reign.

Greg decided to spend the remainder of the morning and much of the afternoon preparing for the evening's events and the night that was to follow. He marinated the chicken and placed it in the oven at medium temperature. He was careful to make two separate marinades, one of them had an extra special ingredient. He prepared all the vegetables. A simple prawn cocktail would suffice as a starter, with ice cream for dessert. Two bottles of wine were chilling nicely in the fridge.

Greg then decided that he would need to sort his kit out for when he went to Brian's house. He had been able to purchase an all-in-one PVC suit from a guy in Belgium, via an auction website. This also avoided the need for gloves, as the body suit covered his hands. He had gone with his original idea of wearing black leather boxing boots. His mask was an absolutely amazing find. Following his purchase of the PVC body suit, he asked the seller if he knew anywhere that did masks. The seller gave Greg the information of his contact in the United States. Greg could not believe his luck. These people e-mailed him a catalogue of all the kinds of masks that they supplied. Greg had e-mailed them back with his exact requirements. Within the quoted time, Greg received the mask and, to his amazement, the mask was exactly as it had been described – like a second skin.

Greg had also managed to source some sleeping tablets from the dark side of the world wide web. Although the only medicated sleep-enhancing drug he was able to purchase, with no-questions asked, were only to be used by veterinary surgeons. Further investigations revealed other medical suppliers who practiced the same no-questions business ethos.

Greg had taken time to complete a handful of costume changes and dress rehearsals, timing them on every occasion. The only thing that was worrying Greg was how hot he would become if in costume for longer than planned. Indeed, he would need to exert a certain amount of physical force. His adrenalin and blood pressure would kick in and escalate. He would have to be careful not to overheat or dehydrate. Maintaining his health would be vital to keeping a calm state of mind and optimum brain function.

***

Greg stood in front of his ironing board, wondering how long Karen would be knocked out for. He did not know how much of an effect the sleeping tablets would have on her. Maybe he should have had a dummy run.

‘No,' he thought firmly.

There was no way. Nothing would delay his plans. He did not want to put it off any longer.

***

Karen walked up the main doors and pressed the intercom button for Greg's flat.

‘Hurry up, I'm starving,' she laughed into the intercom.

‘Come on up, greedy,' Greg responded. His hands shook with excitement.

Karen opened the door, allowing it to close behind her. Walking up the stairs, she started to sing, though not loudly. It was a song that she had heard on the radio – a song that was being played over and over.

As she stepped out of the elevator, she noticed Greg was already waiting for her, standing in his doorway.

‘Hiya,' Greg greeted, giving Karen a peck on the cheek.

‘Hello you, what you been up to today?'

‘I've been busy cooking and preparing for tonight, why?'

‘Just being nosey… is that OK?' She smiled.

‘Course it is. How did the shopping go?'

‘Going shopping with my mum was a stupid idea. Oxford Street was manic. I could not move. Tourists everywhere you looked. I'd had enough after five minutes, but you know my mum and her marathon shopping expeditions.'

‘Sounds like you could do with a drink. What do you fancy?'

‘What's on offer Pee Wee?'

‘Don't start that again,' Greg joked. They both laughed.

‘Let me think,' Karen replied, as she took her shoes off.

‘Are you going to let me know what you want to drink or not?'

‘I fancy a cold beer. Have you got any?'

‘Yes, of course I have.'

Greg returned with a cold bottle of beer in one hand and a glass in the other.

‘Here you go.'

Karen poured the contents slowly in to the glass, she then took a big gulp.

‘Looks like you needed that,' Greg smirked.

‘That's just the ticket. Cheers. Aren't you having one?' she asked, before taking another thirsty sip.

‘Yeah, I think I'll join you,' he laughed, ‘I've got mine in the kitchen.'

‘You'd better bring me another, if that's OK. I've almost finished this one.'

‘No worries,' Greg replied from the kitchen.

‘Shall I put some music on?' Karen asked before an involuntary belch escaped.

Greg did not reply, his mind was elsewhere… Not long now. ‘If she continues to knock the booze back like this, she'll be out cold for hours,' he said to himself, out of Karen's earshot.

Standing in the kitchen, his nostrils took in a waft of the chicken that was slowly cooking in the oven. The marinade was potent by now and he felt his taste buds salivate. He quickly checked the progress of the chicken – making sure that Karen's chicken looked exactly the same as his. There was no difference to the naked eye.

‘Shopping with my mum is enough to drive anyone to drink,' Karen said loudly, making her voice heard over the music she had selected.

‘There's plenty more where that came from. So kick back, and chill out,' Greg said walking back in to the living room. ‘Jamiroquai, excellent choice,' he smiled.

‘You are an angel when you wanna be,' Karen commented, blowing a kiss.

They continued drinking and talking. Greg was on tremendous form. Karen could not remember laughing this much for a long time.

‘Right… prawn cocktail to start, madam. Please be seated,' Greg playfully announced, inviting Karen to the small dining table, trying his best to mimic a comedy waiter.

Karen followed Greg's instruction, taking her drink with her. She enjoyed this side of Greg's personality.

Greg's flat was too small for a full-size dining table. He had found his miniature version in a camping shop. Although he was used to eating his food on his lap, when he had company for diner, he always got his mini dining table out.

The pair were completely relaxed in each other's company. Greg decided to continue his comedy sketch – awkward moments never arose.

‘Prawn cocktail, hey? You have been a busy boy.'

‘Enjoy,' he said, handing her the starter in a controlled clumsy manner. ‘I can speak English,' he smiled, ‘I read it in a book.'

‘This is delicious,' Karen said, between her bouts of laughter.

‘Why thank you, madam.'

‘What's that other smell coming from the kitchen?'

‘You'll have to wait and see.'

Once they had finished their starters, Greg took the empty dishes away and returned with their main courses. Karen could not believe her eyes. The smell took her back to Spain. She knew that for someone who was trying to be casual about their rekindled relationship, Greg had worked very hard to impress her and gone to a lot of trouble. She also knew that the only way she could return the favour would be to cook for Greg. As she still lived at home, this was completely out of the question – her mother would continuously interrupt them. She adored her mother, though sometimes her overpowering nature was smothering.

‘Here you are madam – compliments of the chef,' Greg said, placing Karen's main course in front of her, followed by another cold bottle of beer. ‘I hope you like it, if it tastes funny let me know. You see, chef has never cooked this before, so…'

‘Stop flapping,' she said as she took her first taste of the chicken. ‘This is beautiful. I have never tasted chicken like this before,' Karen was genuinely astonished.

The texture of the almost sweet marinade danced across her taste buds. The chicken flaked and then melted on her tongue. The asparagus, surrounded by button mushrooms, accompanied the dish superbly.

‘Excellent, I'm glad you like it. I was worried that I might have cocked it up,' Greg joked.

The relief that Karen could not taste the sleeping tablets, which he had secretly crushed into the marinade, had made him feel proud. This was working. She was eating the contents of the dish with unreserved enthusiasm.

They continued eating and filling the gaps with small talk – reminiscing about times gone by.

Once they had both finished eating, Greg took the empty dishes back to the kitchen.

‘I haven't got anything much for pudding. I hope you don't mind?'

‘Greg, I couldn't eat another crumb, honestly,' Karen replied, yawning.

‘You tired?' he asked, already knowing her answer.

‘Yeah. I dunno what's come over me. Being dragged around Oxford Street must have taken its toll,' Karen replied, shrugging her shoulders and slurring her words slightly.

‘All that shopping with your mum, hey?' Greg smiled, returning a shrug of his shoulders.

‘Yeah, I suppose your right.'

‘Would you like another beer, or something else?'

‘Oh, go on then. I hope you're not trying to get me drunk so that you can take advantage of me,' she replied, yawning again.

‘I don't need to get you drunk to do that. Anyway you're too knackered aren't you?'

‘Sorry… and…' she was unable to finish her sentence, another yawn had interrupted her in mid flow.

Greg walked back in to the living room carrying two cold bottles of beer.

‘What time is it?' Karen asked.

‘Almost twenty past ten.'

‘Don't call me a lightweight.'

‘Lightweight!' Greg interrupted.

‘Thank you, I think I'll drink this and go to bed, if that's OK.' She was far too tired to appreciate Greg's humour. Disappointment was written all over her face.

Greg knew that she had been a little optimistic in thinking that she would stay awake long enough to finish her beer.

‘Oops,' she slurred, almost dropping her drink.

‘Come on let's get you tucked up in bed.'

‘Sorry Greg, but I'm too tired for sex. Is that OK?'

‘Yeah, course it's OK. You can make up for it another time,' he giggled.

Greg helped Karen in to the bedroom, allowing her to visit the bathroom on the way. He was not too bothered that she had neglected to brush her teeth. He wanted her in bed, asleep and off his hands.

Greg waited a short time, making sure that Karen was truly out for the night. He collected his large holdall and carried it to his van, placing it in the back, being sure not to make too much noise. Greg did not want to attract any attention. He had already decided that he was going to change once he had reached his destination, he couldn't afford to be noticed now.