Need You Dead

11 Wednesday 20 April

No crowd was too small to swallow up Seymour Darling. He looked almost invisible even when standing or sitting on his own. A small, thin man, who bent like a reed in the wind whenever anger blew inside him, which was much of the time.

Small and insignificant enough to almost be concealed by his own shadow, to the outside world Darling cut a meek figure. Inside, he seethed.

He seethed at the world which gave him nothing and took from him all the time. Took, took, took. As if he was doomed to be forever paying off a fucking debt just for having been born. All the world conspired against him, and laughed at him. The other kids had laughed at him because of his name. Darling, darling, darling! they’d teased.

He seethed at his ex-employers, at arrogant Mr Tony Suter, CEO of Suter and Caldicott Garden Buildings, who had ‘let him go’ after ten years of loyal service. True, he had made a few miscalculations as their South East Region salesman. But they could have given him a second chance, and they chose not to.

Just like his previous employers had chosen not to.

And now he was being screwed by his current employer, who hadn’t told him when he started that he would only get paid his commission when the client paid them. Bastards.

But right now his grievance was focused elsewhere. On that evil, scheming bitch Lorna Belling. It was his wife, Trish’s, fiftieth birthday next week. For years, Trish had hankered after an MX5 sports car. He’d decided to use the remainder of his redundancy money to buy her one, even though they did not get on. He saw the car as a temporary way of making a peace offering, but more as an investment, something to sell for a profit after she died. On eBay he’d found the perfect model. Ten years old, bright red, the colour she’d wanted, just two owners, and low mileage — 45,000. Put on sale by a woman called Lorna Belling. She had a good sales record on eBay — clearly faked, he now realized.

They’d taken the car for a test drive. It was real, proper. She was asking £3,500. He’d offered £2,800 and she’d accepted. They’d shaken hands and he’d paid the money — money he could not really afford — by PayPal.

Then the bitch, Lorna Belling, had told him she had not received it.

She was lying. Fucking bitch, she had conned him.

She didn’t know who she was messing with.

He stood in the shadows again, across the street from her love nest. Her dirty little secret love nest.

Her visitor had just come out.

She was up there on the third floor, alone.

That dirty little adulteress bitch needed a lesson. Don’t mess with Seymour Darling. She was about to be sorry.

Very sorry.