Ammunition

32

Angie wasn’t moving, she was sprawled on the sofa, her eyes rolled back in her head.

Falls dropped the bottle, moved to the sofa, tried:

‘Angie, Angie, you okay?’

Nope.

Falls, panicked, felt for a pulse.

None.

She staggered back and nearly slipped on the Stoli. She grabbed it, pulled off the cap, and drank from the neck, the liquid running down her Snoopy shirt. She let the booze burn her stomach then gasped:

‘I’ve fucking killed the bitch… oh Jesus.’

CallingBrant was out of the question, and she certainly wasn’t calling the squad.

Fuck, no way.

She had to get the body out of here and now.

She grabbed her car keys, pulled Angie upright, got an arm under her shoulder, and pulled her to the door, she opened it cautiously, no one around and did Angie have a car, no, no sign. She got her in the her own backseat, then slid behind the wheel and started driving, very carefully.

As carefully as you can when you’ve whacked someone’s lights out and guzzled most of a bottle of spirits. She didn’t know how long she was driving, her mind refusing to come up with a plan. Finally, she stopped, in Croydon, beside a deserted warehouse. Turned her engine off.

She checked her surroundings, not a soul and better, beside the warehouse was a Dumpster. She got Angie out and dragged her by the hair to the Dumpster, Angie’s shoes were gone.

Where were the fucking shoes, in the car?

She got the lid off the Dumpster, that sucker was heavy, then with an almighty effort, pulled Angie up, threw her in the garbage. The smell from the thing was appalling, a blend of decaying vegetables, she hoped they were vegetables and urine with… curry?

She slammed the lid down. It made a ferocious bang, and she muttered:

‘Nice, real fucking nice, wake the freaking dead.’

And she began to giggle, said:

‘Angie, didn’t wake you, did I?’

Hysteria engulfed her, and she added:

‘Don’t ever fucking call me Liz.’

Then a blast of cold wind hit, and she stopped, realized she had to get the hell out of there.

She did.

When she finally got back to her flat, she looked in the backseat for Angie’s shoes. They were there. She took them into her home and first thing, she had a large shot of the Stoli, then a few more and later, tried Angie’s shoes on, they fit:

Snugly.

She was still wearing them when she passed out, thinking:

The night wasn’t a total bust.

She’d been meaning to buy new shoes.

Who had the time?