They had affected his health, ruined his marriage and made his life a total misery.
After years of suffering, he was finally going to put things right and move on.
What a ride, what a thrill. All I’m gonna do is kill, kill, killllllll!
The words had such a nice ring to them.
◆◆◆
Tracey Phillips was swaying like a punch-drunk boxer as she stood on the corner staring at passing cars and waiting for a punter to show some interest.
The arrival of Old Bill had sent the kerb crawlers scuttling back under their rocks, but they were nothing if not predictable, and she knew that if she gave it ten-minutes, they would all come flocking back.
A part of her was grateful for the enforced reprieve; she desperately needed to score some gear before letting anyone score with her.
Fat Sandra had nipped off for a quick piss; she had a bit of a bladder problem, and would be backward and forward all bloody night like a urine fueled yo-yo. The good news was that Tracey had got the gullible old cow feeling so sorry for her that she had agreed to pick up a couple of rocks on the way back. The old piss pot had even swallowed the line about Tracey paying her back as soon as she turned a trick, like that was going to happen.
The sound of an engine coughing into life startled her, and she turned around to see a battered van lurch away from the kerb further along the road.
It crawled along the road towards her.
Fuck, she thought. A punter. She wasn’t up to this, not by a long stretch, but she desperately needed the money, so she smoothed her mini skirt down and tried to look as interested and seductive as she could.
The driver suddenly flicked the headlights onto main beam, and she raised a hand to shield her eyes. “You cock,” she cursed under her breath, “like I don’t feel bad enough without you trying to blind me.”
Tracey took up a half-hearted pose by the driver’s door as soon as it slid back. Through eyes that wouldn’t focus properly, she tried to give him the once over, taking in the fact that her prospective client was a middle-aged white man with waxen skin, dark, wavy hair and a moustache. He was a little overweight, and his small hands were encased in leather driving gloves.
It struck her that he had nervous, shifty eyes, but most of her punters had those. “Hello, handsome. Looking for some action?” she asked, trying not to slur her words.
The Disciple smiled. At least his mouth did. The eyes remained cold and remote. He had recognised her clucking for what it was and knew it would make her easier to handle.
The important thing was speed. If he could spirit her away before anyone appeared, he was home and dry. “Maybe,” he said, guardedly. “What’s on offer?”
“I can do most anything you want. Cost you though.”
Was it his imagination or was she starting to sway a little as she stood there?
A dog barked in the distance, and he glanced nervously in that direction.
Still all clear.
“How much you want to go all the way?” he asked, licking his lips nervously.
“That’ll cost you thirty. It’s not negotiable, and you’ve gotta wear a rubber.”
It always amazed him just how matter of fact these people could be about such an embarrassing subject. They quickly agreed on the price and he beckoned to her to get into the passenger door of the van. Her bum had barely touched the seat before The Disciple drove off.
“I know a quiet place just a couple of streets from here,” she said, pulling her seatbelt on. “The Old Bill never checks round there, so we won’t be bothered.”
“Sounds perfect,” he said. “Show me the way.”
Three minutes later, she directed the van into a loading bay at the rear of a nearby warehouse. There were no streetlights, no CCTV, and it was completely off the beaten track, just as she had claimed.
She leaned tantalisingly close to him and whispered, “Do you want me in the van, or are we going outside for a knee trembler?”
Her cheap perfume filled the front of the van, intoxicating him. His hands trembled and he was aware that he was hard. He wanted this, needed it. He felt a shiver of excitement run through his body. “Tell me,” he croaked, “what star sign are you?”
“Who cares,” Tracey replied; she just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible so that she could get back and buy some more drugs.
“I do,” he said. “It’s important to me.” That was an understatement! He couldn’t kill her until he knew for certain.
Tracey shrugged. What a weirdo. “I’m a Virgo,” she told him. “So, are we doing this or what?”
“Oh yes,” he told her. “We’re going to do it right now.” The Disciple climbed through the dividing curtains into the rear of the van and motioned for Tracey to follow. She shook her head and stayed put.
“Money first,” she demanded, holding out her hand. She could see he was annoyed, but Tracey wasn’t going to do anything until she was paid. She had been on the game too long to make that mistake. Cash up front; those were the terms. She told him so.
For a moment the impulse to grab her skinny little throat and throttle her where she sat was overwhelming, but, somehow, he managed to resist the voice in his head spurring him on to squeeze the life out of her. He decided to permit her the illusion of control. His breathing grew laboured as he removed the money from his wallet and passed it over with a quivering hand.
After carefully checking the money she slipped it into her purse with a shaking hand. She found it hard work, climbing into the back of the van. Dizzy and out of breath from her efforts, she
