Pop Goes the Weasel

79

It was cold and dark and she was losing patience. It was getting harder and harder to find room to breathe. The police presence was huge all over the city now and she’d had to be exceedingly cautious, walking the streets in tracksuit bottoms and a hoody, as if out for a late-night jog. Once she’d found a secluded patch down by the Western Docks, she’d stripped off to reveal a short skirt and stockings. A tight top exposed her generous frame, with a short fur jacket the icing on the cake. Despite the frustration and stress of the evening, she felt good as she unveiled herself. Now all she had to do was stand and wait for the dirty dogs to come to her.

Twenty minutes later, a lone figure came into view. He was slightly unsteady on his feet and was muttering a song in a foreign tongue. A sailor, probably a Polish one, she thought. Angel’s heart started to beat faster. Sailors were dirty, unhygienic and coarse, but they always had money when on shore leave and they usually came pretty quickly, having been starved of sex for so long.

The man paused when he spotted her. Casting around to check he was alone, he sauntered over. He was surprisingly pretty – twenty-five at the most with a slender face and female lips. He was drunk to be sure, but not unattractive. Angel was surprised he had to pay for it.

‘How much?’ His accent was thick.

‘What do you want?’

‘Everything,’ he replied.

‘Hundred pounds.’

He nodded.

‘Let’s go.’

And with that he sealed his fate.

Angel walked ahead, leading him through a maze of cargo containers to a small supervisors’ yard. It was here that cargo was supposed to be checked and logged but in truth it was where a fair portion of the imported goods mysteriously disappeared, only to reappear on the black market. It would be deserted tonight – they hadn’t had a delivery all week.

As she led him to his death, Angel fought to suppress a laugh. Her whole body was shaking with adrenalin and excitement. Would she ever kick this habit? Surely not when it felt so good. This was the best bit. The calm before the storm. She loved the pregnant deception of it all.

They were now alone in the darkened yard. Taking a deep breath, she turned.

‘So shall we get started, honey?’

His right fist collided with her jaw, sending her crashing into the container behind her. Stunned, she raised her hands to defend herself, but the blows kept coming. She pushed him away, but the next blow nearly took her head off and she fell heavily to the floor.

What was happening? She tried to scramble to her feet, but he was already on top of her. Instinctively she lashed out. She had dealt with violent punters before, but always with the help of Mace – she had never engaged in hand-to-hand combat like this.

Now he was pinning her down, his strong hands encircling her throat. Squeezing harder, harder, harder. She rammed her fingers into his left eyeball, but he jerked his head away, out of her reach. She could see the blood pumping through a vein on his neck and she slashed at it with her fractured nails. Surely he would release his grip if he started to bleed out? It wasn’t meant to be like this. She wasn’t meant to die in this miserable place.

She fought for all she was worth. She fought for her life. But it was too little too late and after only a few seconds the lights went out.