Hitman and a Half

The First Body

The night I became — technically — a killer I was looking bang tidy. Adidas snow camo hoodie. Black pleather coat embossed like snakeskin. Jade and purple dye flashing through an undercut mohawk. The look was plenty fierce but the jitters roiling my belly reminded me I was only fronting.

I squeaked a peephole through condensation on the stolen car’s passenger window to see sleet sweeping sideways through the night. Three guests fled their taxi for the balmy hotel lobby, like Marines disembarking a chopper. Welcome to Salford, guys.

Tula rustled open a bag of cheese puffs adding cheddary scent to the air. “Tules, mate,” I sighed with my eyes on the lobby. “Don’t. You’re like Cookie Monster, they’ll get everywhere”.

“It ain’t your motor, Zoe!” she huffed. “It’s nicked from the Airport long stay!”

Tules aka Tulebox is my bestie but we’re no birds of a feather. With a couple of years on me at eighteen, she got her head down with a mechanic’s apprenticeship. I can’t plod like that; I dash for the big win and to heck with the pitfalls. You’ve never known a sweeter soul than T, although she always whiffs of engine oil nowadays and is getting hefty from pasties and heavy lifting.

“Can’t believe you talked me into this," she grumbled.

“You owe me," I said, staring her down in the window reflection. “Big time”.

She averted her eyes as wind buffeted the car and I resumed lookout.

“Aren’t you bricking it?” she asked.

“Nah”, I lied.

“Feeling shady?”

“No chance!” I said truthfully this time, patting my scalp’s close, prickly stubble. “The crime was that oik robbing the security van. If I liberate his loot to help the needy — that’s us two…”

“Hmm,” she added doubtfully.

“ … That's pure Robin Hood, innit?”

“That’s some stretch, wench-“

“Shush! He’s coming out!”

Tules rested her chin on my shoulder as I squeaked the peephole wider until we both had noses against the glass.

“That’s him?” she asked, gulping fearfully in my ear. “Can’t see much through the rain”.

“Yeah. See the tasteful scorpion neck tattoo?”

My mark swaggered outside the lobby, then blocked one nostril and snotted in a leafy planter. He stooped to inspect his deposit and rolls of flesh on his pink neck bunched like clenched knuckles. He looked more brutal than I imagined. My mouth went dry.

”Minger”, I murmured.

“He don’t look rich to me, Zo’”.

“Won’t be soon. He’s just some bruiser who did over a security van. There was way more on board than he expected. He bragged about it to Kayleigh-Jo”.

We watched for a long minute as his Uber left.

“Kayleigh…Jo… Kayleigh-Jo…?” Tula murmured vaguely. “Where’ve I heard that name before? Wait - not from the home?” she cried.

“Yup,” I said.

A gloom fell on me at the mention of our institution where any orphans too unattractive for adoption, or unruly to foster got left on the shelf. A rejects bin for the wayward and unappealing like me and Tules.

“She’s temping here on housekeeping”, I explained. “He was mouthing off; bigging himself up to her”.

“Pathetic," Tules sighed, rolling her eyes. “Just ‘cause she’s pretty”.

“If he only knew. She ate her own bogies”.

With a long slow breath, I switched on my Bluetooth headset. “Hey," I said.

“Hey," she nodded, tapping her own header with a thumbs up.

My fingers were jelly finding the door catch but once out in the Salford squall, I committed. “Wish me-“

“Good lu-uuuck”, Tules sing-songed.

Even with Tules in my ear I felt keenly alone on the stretch through the desolate car park. Drizzly headwinds buffeted me to a near stop before I leaned into them, threw my hoody up and snatched the strings tight. In the warm, softly lit lobby, the receptionist attended to the new arrivals who all had eyes on their phones. Even without my hood up, I’d have gone unnoticed.

My fingernail anxiously clicked the edge of the stolen key card in my pocket until I swept from the lobby to two sets of lift doors on my left, and the unmarked cleaner’s store on the right. I carded the door which opened with a tacky slurp. A master pass card hung from the cleaning trolley handle by lanyard. I hijacked the wheels, donning a hotel-branded apron.

The wheels rattled across the lift threshold as I rolled in, then out on the eighteenth floor. Textured wallpaper depicting tropical forest was ornate enough to frame in a gallery. Even the cheese-plants looked good enough to eat, all plump and glossy.

“Alright?” Tules piped in my ear.

“Mmm”, I murmured.

Finding the hallway empty, I got a run up with the trolley and rode it like a scooter. Only four doors filled the entire floor; the suites must be massive. The first door bore a polished brass plate engraved ‘De Vere Suite,' matching blurry blue scrawl on my palm.

“All clear?” I whispered.

“Fine mate," Tula confirmed from a soundscape of howling wind in sharp relief to the silent hallway. She felt oceans apart. The door reader lit green and clicked softly as I carded it.

A click and hum inside made my stomach drop. What if he has mates staying in? Then I recognised the sounds as a mini-fridge motor. I eased the door open a fraction. Inside was dark as a crypt, and I pushed the trolley before me like a shield.

The card slipped neatly in its wall holster and lights faded on with a soft dawn burble of recorded birdsong. The interior designers had gone to town with a chandelier of elegantly interlocking steel leaves numbering the hundreds. From the vast welcoming bed to deep, sumptuous carpet and striking furniture designs, it was a symphony of opulence and comfort. Not even the clothes and empty beer bottles strewn on the carpet really marred it.

“Wow”, I sighed.

“What? What?” Tula begged.

“You should see this! Ohmygod, this is proper money, mate”.

“Go on, Zo’ Tell us!”

“You’d love it," I said closing in on the bedside safe. “The chandelier’s like a space station.”

The carpet pile gave my knees a friendly cradle as I slipped a tablet from my backpack and connected it to the magnetised lock reader. The safe door snatched the magnet from my grip ding! Once I hit ‘run’ on the cracker app, pages of code flashed onscreen as an empty progress bar pulsed away. Sixteen minutes. Ugh. Ages.

“You never change," Tula teased.

“What?” I asked, feigning outrage.

“See you’re always chasing perfection these days. Everything’s gotta be the best.”

“O’course," I shrugged, opening the minibar. “What’s your point? Ooh Champers”. I stripped the Bollinger’s gold foil and popped the cork, which pinged off the space station lights. The dewy bottle foamed, I clamped my lips on it, and my cheeks puffed out like a gerbil. The sharpness startled me and I winced.

Silvery raw silk curtains undulated like jellyfish by the part opened balcony doors. I slid one aside and looked for Tules in the car. “Can’t see you out there”.

“I’m still here!”

“I mean you got a good spot. Out of sight”.

I’d never been that high up anyplace before. Ahead over the quays, pastel pink-green-yellow lights of the ITV Studios sign were like a neon flower. On my right, distant Manchester glowed with a promising gold aura. You only get views like these when you’re minted, and I was on my way.

The cracker’s progress bar hardly moved, setting my nerves on edge. “Talk to me, will you?” I asked. “It’s another fifteen minutes. Just say… anything”.

“Maybe it’s me," she mused without hesitation. “I’m not flash like you… But I reckon you’re missing what life’s all about”.

“Go on…” I groaned but Tules’ mad musings were the distraction I needed.

“Like…hmm," she huffed, kneading her idea like dough. “Put it this way — what you doing with your cut?”

“I showed you my vision board, right?”

“Uh, maybe...?”

I unfolded it from its forever home in my back pocket. An A4 sheet covered with magazine clippings of all cool stuff. A beautiful beach, cool Maserati, Valentino dress, a pet iguana wearing a tiara — stuff to aim for in life… yet to be manifested. It was speckled with gold glitter and preserved in sticky back plastic — for the ages. If not for the plastic, it’d have been in bits years ago. It fluttered in my hands as a chill wind billowed through the silvery curtains. I almost shut the doors but figured the cold would keep me sharp.

“You should do one," I said, swigging Bolly. The taste grew on me; the dryness became refreshing. “If you put everything you want on it and keep thinking about it, it focuses you and… you get there in the end.”

“That’s a shopping list! What was it again? A car — and a lizard?”

“Iguana!” I argued, pocketing the precious. The cracker was fifteen percent done.

“And er…," I began. Even though there were no secrets between me and Tulebox, I hesitated with an exposed feeling.

“Don’t make me beg!”

“I’ll… get a detective. Find out who my folks were, you know?”

“Aw mate…” she sighed sadly.

“I know, I know”, I said sheepishly and went exploring the bathroom.

A vast mirror over the sink was polished crystal clear - and well lit; it was like seeing myself anew. My features are softer than I’d like, and my little ears stick out demanding to be noticed but the new hairdo gave the goods an upgrade. My complexion says mixed heritage; I never laid eyes on my folks but in the movie of my life, I always pictured a wise and resourceful dad looking like Denzel Washington. Mum would be a chill white lady who could ice a cupcake real nice, but bring the fire if you got in her grill.

I rifled through the chinking, jingling jars and bottles at the sink and spread unctuous Sisley hand cream through my fingers. Warming vanilla bean scent momentarily distracted from my fear.

“You don’t wanna find out about your folks," Tules explained. “We all wound up in that place because our folks were mad, bad — “

“Or dead," we chimed together. We’d had this conversation many times. You always wonder.

“Same for all of us," she added. But listen. My point is… okay so you’re up there risking time in convict college for this score, right?”

“Go on," I said and nipped back to the cracker. Nine minutes to go. “Distract me”.

I heard Tules shift in her seat, settling in for my big talking-to. “Okay so my mate’s dad did a barbecue last weekend-," she began.

“In February?” I sputtered, returning to the bathroom with my bag. “Are you kidding? What for?”

“He’s a Geordie," she said admiringly. “As soon as the snow thaws, they strip to the waist and have a barbie. Tough lot”.

“Want some hand cream?” I asked, bagging a beautiful cut-glass jar of Liz Earle cleanser.

“Please," she said. “Swarfega dries my skin out like crazy. Where was I? So yeah, he always barbecues a ton of cheap meat to cinders. Serves it with all plasticky processed cheese and cheap ketchup. No salad ever. Horrible. Half goes in the bin”.

At the safe, the progress bar was nearly halfway; six minutes to go. I perched on the sumptuous bed and gnawed my fingernails. The idling progress bar lurched and the app had the first of four passcode digits — seven. I drew a sharp breath. The second number appeared — six. I moistened my dry mouth with fizz and felt heartburn rising.

“Well, this last time the barbecue was really bad," Tules continued.

“That’s not bad enough?”

“Their nan’s dog barfed all around the patio”.

“Aw mate”.

“And the smoke suffocated us all.”

“Rough as”. My heart raced along with flickering lines of onscreen code.

“Then there’s this moment when the dad looks at me and goes, “Bit much this innit bonny lass?”

“Understatement!”

“I know," she sighed dreamily. “It was like we had an understanding, me and him. It was gold, like a fellowship of suffering. That’s what life’s about”.

“You didn’t sell that point at all," I said as the progress bar swelled; two minutes to go. “At. All.”

“Life’s not in a shopping bag. It’s in the…” She grunted with strain, “…Mess”. A soft rip on her end accompanied a showery ‘poof!’ and regretful muttering.

“What’s that?” I demanded, as her seatbelt clicked undone and the door creaked open with a swish swishing of cheesy puffs.

“Nothing, honest”.

“You…” I sighed.

“Soz!” she begged. “I’m famished. All I had for lunch was a few pasties”.

“Just keep your eye out. The coast’s still clear right?”

“What? Oh… Oh y-yeah”.

“You don’t sound convinced," I growled. “Don’t take your eye off the lobby, mate. If he comes back, I’m screwed!”

“It’s fine," she whispered unconvincingly.

The progress bar stalled again. I chewed my parched lip.

“So, le chef de barbecue… getting on a bit was he?” I asked, clenching the duvet.

“Oh! Mature…yeah. How’d you know?”

“Carrying a few extra pounds?”

“Uh…well… cuddly yeah. Why?”

“Plain looking I suppose? Pig ugly?”

“Rough around the edges maybe. You know him?”

“No, I know your type.”

“How very dare you. Y’cheeky cow," she sputtered.

Ping! Green lights announced the safe code — seven six one five. “Here we go. This is it," I said breathlessly. My trembling fingers punched the code in. An emphatic clunk answered and the safe door floated open. “It worked!”

“Way to go, Zo’! Now don’t hang about”.

I threw five heavy gold chains round my neck and gasped at the cold. Three bulging, tinkling gem pouches and two glinting sapphires the size of plums went in my pack leaving a litter of tattered banknotes in the safe.

“Amazing bling but there’s only a few tons in cash though," I said. “The boss said it’d be way more of a wedge”.

“Well, you tried”.

Feeling cheated, I stood looking around for a second lockbox or case and wondered, “He's not dumb enough to put it under the bed is he?”

“Ooh! Have a look!”

“I’m trying!” I wheezed as I failed to lift the heavy mattress, then put my shoulder to it and slid it aside to see four fat bricks of twenties and fifties. Each were labelled ‘ten thousand pounds’, and nestled in a jagged recess of the divan beside the vicious serrated knife he’d hacked it out with.

“‘ello sweetheart”, I grinned.

“Yeah!” Tules cheered.

“All clear at your end?”

“No sign of him. We’re sweet!”

Swollen with triumph, I bagged the tablet and cracker then weighed the blade and crinkly cash bricks in both hands, all so hefty they threatened to spring from my grasp like tickled trout. I skimmed as much of the wad as would fit in each bra cup and zipped up my top.

“What the boss doesn’t know can’t hurt him," I murmured.

“What?”

“Tell you later”.

I’d have danced to the cleaner’s trolley where it stood before the huge, gilded mirror, except the chains weighed on me like a diving belt. A shiny tin stood on the trolley labelled ‘Isha’s tips’; I snatched a fifty from my bra and stuffed it in. “Cheers petal," I said to imaginary Isha.

“No bother," Tules answered.

“Not you.”

Glinting gold drew my eye to my reflection in the mirror. I tucked the blade in my waistband, shuddering at the icy steel on my belly. I looked absolute badass even before grabbing the Bolly for a pose. I turned my back to the door, getting the best light from the space station chandelier and took a high angle photo that sharpened my jawline. I grinned for Tules. Except one thing looked wrong in the shot. A pair of toecaps nudged in the frame’s top edge where the door was - I’d have tripped over them coming in.

The door clicked shut and my throat constricted in a sandy gulp. Paralysing terror flashed through me until I made myself look. His nostrils snorted like a bull. The scorpion tattoo clawed a livid throat.

The bottle dropped from my quivering fingers with a dull thump. Blazing eyes fixed on the safe, then me. If there’s one thing I learned coming up the hard way against bigger, stronger foes, it’s that angry people make bad decisions. Wind them up and — sometimes — you can outwit them. The thought unlocked my gob.

“Wait – hang on… this ain’t my room," I chirped brightly. “Honestly, if my head weren’t screwed on…”

“Y’robbing scally," he hissed, growing angrier, but no less composed.

“Zo’…” Tules gasped.

He stalked to me; I stumbled back to the billowing balcony curtains but many further steps and I was headed hundreds of metres down.

“Leg it!” Tules begged.

My gut spasmed with a panicky dry heave; I clutched my belly and felt the knife handle. Chill curtains shrouded my back and I juddered in fright, “Eek!”

He charged. I recoiled and found myself enmeshed and blind in the curtains. The balcony door hammered my left shoulder and hip spinning me into a tighter bind. Defensively, I threw my hands up and the blade in my hand snagged silk.

“Zoe! Zo’!” Tules screamed.

All I could see was feet as his heel rolled on the Bolly, his great bulk fell on me and suddenly I was the antelope roiling in an alligator’s death roll. Roaring wind told me we were on the balcony, mere steps from a deadly plunge. His grip crushed the breath from me, the blade snatched from my grip and I braced for the fall.

“Zo’! Zo’! Zoe!” Tules yelled hysterically.