‘You want some more water?’ the woman said.
Leia nodded. It hadn’t escaped Leia’s attention that, unlike her father, she remained unbound. Was that because they didn’t see her as a threat? Certainly, if there’d been a weapon to hand – a gun, a knife – then Leia would have swooped for it.
No, that wasn’t right. Because there was a gun. Two, in fact. Both the man and woman had one. Always either on them or on the table in the far corner where they lurked. Leia could make a move for one of the weapons if only she were braver. Her father certainly would do if he had the chance.
The woman moved over, cautious, as she had been ever since Leia’s father had been brought here. The whole dynamic was different now.
‘How much were they paying you?’ Leia’s father asked. His voice was quiet and considered. A genuine question of interest.
The woman didn’t answer.
‘How much? Because I can tell you two are new to this. Always the same with those people. They pay the worst. But you know what? Pay the worst, get the worst.’
Still no answer. The woman pushed the bottle’s top onto Leia’s lips and she drank deeply, guzzling, trying not to spill the liquid.
‘Fifty thousand? A hundred?’
‘That’s enough,’ the woman said, calm, too, but she was talking to Leia, ignoring everything her father said.
‘They offered you pennies. You’re working for the wrong people.’
The man burst into the room. ‘Why don’t you shut the fuck up for once!’
Leia hadn’t heard him approaching. How long had he been there on the outside? He bounded over. Swung his fist back and clattered it into Leia’s father’s head.
‘No!’ Leia screamed.
Another fist, then he lifted his boot and drove it down onto Leia’s father’s leg. He shouted in pain.
‘You don’t talk to us,’ the man said through gritted teeth. ‘Got it?’
Another thump to his head.
‘Leave him alone!’
Leia jumped over to the man and lashed out. She hit him, her fists balled as she pounded his sides. He barely even registered the blows. He wasn’t the biggest guy, but she was too small and weak for her efforts to be meaningful. He pulled back his hand and slapped her hard across the face, swatting her away like a fly.
She fell back down to the concrete floor with a thud. The man moved back over to the opposite corner as tears rolled down Leia’s cheeks.
* * *
The dive bar Devereaux settled on was in an area that couldn’t have been more different to the glitzy financial district she’d been to earlier in the evening. Downtrodden was perhaps a kind way to describe it. But it was exactly what she wanted tonight. One night in Frankfurt. That’s all she would have, then she’d be on the move again. Tonight she would enjoy some downtime. Tonight she would drink.
It was already late when she arrived. The dark, wood-paneled space had a dozen or so tables and booths, and a long strip of a bar with several stools. A sole barman was in position behind the bar. He was tall and beefy with a thick beard and tattoos visible underneath his smart but tight-fitting shirt. The look was more hipster than biker. All in all, the customers here were something of a mishmash. Young, old, rough, smart. Mostly men. A few women, but none who weren’t in the company of members of the opposite sex.
Devereaux took a stool at the bar and was only halfway through her first whisky – the second most expensive they had, which wasn’t saying much – when the inevitable happened.
‘I’ve not seen you in here before,’ the man said in his native German. A local, Devereaux thought from the accent, though she was no expert.
She didn’t turn to him. She could see his reflection in the grubby mirror behind the bar as he propped himself up on the wood next to her. He was a little younger than she was and had a clean-shaven face and deep-set eyes that in the mirror looked like two pools of black.
‘Maybe because I’m not an alcoholic and don’t drink in bars every night.’
She downed her whisky and signaled the bartender for another.
The man was looking at her curiously. She still didn’t turn around to him and after a few moments, he caught her eye in the mirror.
‘You’re not from Germany,’ he said. ‘I can tell from your accent.’
She didn’t say anything.
‘So where are you from?’
The barman sloshed another measure into her glass.
‘He’s paying,’ she said, indicating the man next to her with her head.
The man mumbled something but was soon digging in his pocket. He bought himself a large beer and went to take the stool next to her.
‘I didn’t say you could join me,’ Devereaux said.
He paused. She turned to properly look at him for the first time. His face was much kinder in the flesh than in the mirror, and she felt ever so slightly sorry for him when she saw the hurt puppy-dog look in his eyes. Hazel. Not as dark as she’d thought. Nice, actually.
‘But thanks for the drink.’
She chinked his glass. He straightened up but didn’t move from the spot.
‘Get back to your friends now. Maybe you can buy me another drink later.’
She turned to his group – three other men – who were doing a bad job of not staring. All looked a little unsure as to whether their pal was winning or not.
The man hesitated for another couple of seconds but by then Devereaux was facing back to the mirror. The conversation was over. For now.
He skulked away. Devereaux took a sip of her free drink. How many more could she milk from the crowd in here? An almost too simple game, but an easy way to pass the time while she decided what else to get up to tonight.
‘You shouldn’t play with them like that.’
A gravelly voice to her right. Devereaux turned to the shriveled old man, three stools away from her, who was smirking as his beer glass jostled in the shaky grip of a withered hand.
‘It’s not fair on them,’ he said. ‘Poor things.’ He took a sip from his beer then carefully put his glass back down. ‘We don’t get many like you around here.’
‘Many what?’
But he was already facing away from her and didn’t answer.
‘Is this seat taken?’
A smooth voice behind Devereaux. She rolled her eyes. Too soon. Free drinks were one thing but she wanted time to think too.
She turned around to the man, ready to unleash, but then paused when she saw him. She didn’t answer his question. Just turned back to the bar and took another sip from her whisky, then set her eyes on him in the mirror. He took the stool next to her regardless.
‘What are you drinking?’ he asked, switching to English.
‘I’m good for now,’ she said.
She stared at him in the mirror, a strange feeling rattling through her stomach. What was that?
‘Whatever she’s having,’ he said to the barman. ‘And get her another too.’
Devereaux didn’t protest. He gave a sickly smile as he fixed his gaze on her in the mirror. She didn’t look away. Just took him in. He was casually dressed. A leather jacket. Jeans. His dark hair was slicked back. He had a couple of days’ stubble which suited him well.
* * *
‘Of all the bars, in all—’
‘Why don’t you fuck off,’ she said.
He laughed.
‘How’s your hand?’
She flicked her eyes down. Her injured hand was on her lap. She’d been able to reduce the dressing somewhat over the last day or so and the bandages were far less obvious now. Far less obvious to most people.
‘Tell you what,’ she said, facing him now. ‘Let me return the favor, then we can compare notes.’
He smiled. A broad smile that lifted his cheeks and made his eyes squint and showed off his nice white teeth.
‘Why are you here, Paulo?’
‘Just checking in on you.’
‘I don’t need you checking in.’
‘I didn’t say you needed it.’
She knocked back the rest of her second drink. Grabbed the third which the bartender had poured into a fresh glass as though he couldn’t bring himself to pour so much neat spirit into just one.
‘You enjoying yourself yet?’ Paulo asked.
She held his eye for a few seconds. She wanted to hate this man so much…
‘In this bar?’
‘No. Working for me. I think you are. I said to Kyri, you really couldn’t have been more perfect for this job.’
They went silent for a few moments. Paulo was staring at her still. She was busy thinking through her movements of the last few days. Spain. Cyprus. Dubai. Here.
‘Let me guess,’ she said. There was only one conclusion. ‘My phone? My new phone, that is, given you still have my old one. Along with my money.’
He nodded. ‘Easiest way to track someone these days.’
It made sense. She certainly hadn’t seen him or anyone else following her around. That still didn’t explain why he felt the need to be here now, rather than keeping tabs on her from afar though.
‘I don’t need a babysitter,’ she said, more disgruntled now. ‘If you don’t trust me to do this—’
‘Then what?’
She didn’t say anything.
‘And of course, I don’t trust you,’ Paulo said. ‘Who would trust someone like you?’
She gritted her teeth at that. She didn’t like the way he’d said those last words, as though she were beneath him.
‘But that’s not the reason I’m here,’ he added.
‘Then what?’
He shrugged and gave her a knowing smile. She ground her teeth even harder, but it wasn’t because she was angered but more because she was trying her damnedest not to smile back at him now.
‘What do you want to talk about then?’ she asked after a few moments. ‘You must already know everything about me.’
‘Not everything,’ he said. ‘Only what I could find from others. Like how you came to do what you do.’
Teeth clenched again. That part of her life was something she really didn’t want to talk about.
She took another sip of whisky and swirled the liquid around her gums until the alcohol burned.
‘It seems unfair to me,’ she said. ‘I’m at such a disadvantage. You know so much about me. But you?’
‘You’re telling me you didn’t look into me?’
‘Of course I did. But there wasn’t much to find.’
He shrugged. ‘My past isn’t as interesting as yours.’
‘Maybe that. Maybe something else.’
He laughed, then drained his glass dry and ordered another two drinks. Devereaux felt compelled to finish her drinks too.
‘May as well just get the bottle,’ she said to him.
‘You want to know something about me?’ Paulo said.
‘Yeah.’
He nodded but didn’t say anything for a while, as though building up to something. The barman looked strangely unimpressed as he poured them new measures. Paulo waited until he’d skulked off before he began.
‘When I was a boy, my best friend lived next door to me.’
‘Where was this? I don’t even know where you’re from.’
‘Not important. But we were typical boys if that means anything to you at all. We played together all the time. Climbed trees. Played football. Cycled. Caught frogs, insects, rodents, whatever. Did kid things. Boy things. We’d go to the park, and in the summer we’d stay out all day and into the evening. We’d sit by the pond throwing sticks and stones into the water. We’d take fishing rods down there and not move for hours, hoping to catch something big enough to take home to eat.’
‘And did you?’
He laughed. ‘Never caught a thing. It didn’t matter. We still did it. You see, as long as we were out of the house, as long as he was away from his dad, everything was okay.’
Paulo sank half of his drink.
‘His father beat him?’
Paulo shook his head.
‘Not that. I mean, yeah, he was a violent man, but it wasn’t the beatings that terrified Joe. Or me.’
Devereaux felt she knew what that meant.
‘The worst thing was, everyone knew what he did. But nobody did a thing to stop it. My mother told me never to go into that house. And I could tell she was seriously worried about it. The whole building had this aura of darkness around it. The look on Joe’s face every night when he had to head back into there… It broke my heart as much as it terrified me.’
Devereaux clenched her fists at the thought. She’d rarely seen herself as a warrior of justice, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have morals, and she certainly was happy to dole out retribution on despicable people.
‘What did you do?’ she asked.
Paulo smiled again. ‘I knew that would be your instinct. Violence. It’s so natural to you. It’s admirable, in a way. That’s why I wanted to tell you this. The thing is, I wasn’t supposed to go in that house. But I did. Quite often. When we were sure he was out, we’d play in there sometimes. In the winter, or if it was raining. Plus, he had a better computer than me that we’d play games on. A Spectrum something or other.’
‘You don’t strike me as a gamer.’
He shrugged.
‘I always felt so awkward in there. Not just because I was defying my mother but because…’
‘The aura.’
‘It was like that house was haunted. But then one day, Joe’s dad came home earlier than expected. He went into a rage when he saw me there. I don’t know why. I don’t know what tipped him over that time. Perhaps he was just scared that I was getting too close to Joe. He must have known Joe confided in me about the things he did.’
Devereaux found herself shaking her head in disgust at the thought.
‘Anyway, I knew Joe would suffer that night. I had to do something to stop it all. It was the middle of the night. I snuck downstairs. Grabbed the biggest knife I could find in the kitchen. Headed out. I clambered up the drainpipe to their bathroom window. I knew the frame was loose. I got inside, walked across the landing to the parents’ bedroom, moving in absolute silence. I felt so powerful. Like a freaking ninja. They were both fast asleep in there. I crept over. Joe’s dad was flat on his back, snoring like a hippo. I pulled the knife up against the skin on his neck.’
Paulo paused. He sighed and finished off his drink. Devereaux expected him to carry on but he didn’t.
‘And?’ she asked. He smirked. He had her. She cursed inwardly but she genuinely wanted to know the end of the story.
‘And what?’ he said.
‘What did you do to him?’
‘I did nothing to him. I went home and I went to bed.’
‘You didn’t kill him?’
‘Of course not.’
Silence. What the hell was this?
Devereaux frowned.
‘I never saw Joe again,’ Paulo said. ‘We moved a few weeks later.’
She stared at him. He wouldn’t make eye contact with her.
‘Is any of that true?’ she said.
He returned her gaze now and smiled again. ‘Maybe.’ Then he laughed. ‘Would you like it to be true? Would it make me weak in your eyes that I didn’t cut him open?’
Devereaux said nothing.
‘Would you prefer if I’d told you a story of how at nine years old I sliced a man’s neck open as he lay peacefully sleeping next to his wife? With his child in the house? What does that say about you?’
He took her glass now and finished that drink off too. Devereaux’s body was tense with anger. She didn’t know what to say.
‘My past really doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Neither does yours.’ He paused again as he stared at her. ‘I see the way you look at me. I know what you’re thinking. That’s why I came here.’
‘Asshole.’
She shot up from the stool and strode across the bar to the bathrooms. Several heads turned in her direction as if the other customers could sense her agitation.
She stormed into the grimy ladies’ room. A poky space with nothing but a sink and two cubicles.
She knew he was right there behind her…
She spun around but he grabbed her wrists before she could even think about attacking. She drove forward and pushed him up against the door which slammed shut. She fought against him, trying to release her wrists.
She couldn’t.
Then she leaned forward and planted her lips on his.
It only took a few seconds before both their mouths were open, their tongues dancing, their hands roaming. She pressed up against him. He was aroused, all right. His hand slid up under her dress and he grabbed her backside and squeezed hard.
She pulled back an inch and laced her fingers into his belt to unlock the clasp. She slipped her hand down into his boxers and he murmured with pleasure. With a deft flick, she popped his fly open and he shimmied behind her. She pressed her hands out on the door. He lifted her dress higher, pulled her panties aside then thrust himself forward into her.
They moved in unison, hips swaying back and forth. His breaths, deeper by the second, were loud in her ear. He moaned. She purred. Both were soon steadily heading to a climax as he moved faster and faster, and harder. She reached the top first. Her jolting and heightened moans spurred him on until he exploded and Devereaux let out a deep, satisfied sigh as he pulled away.
She took her hands from the door, her whole body relaxed as endorphins surged.
‘So that was why you came here,’ she said, her breathing heavy.
‘It wasn’t just me who came.’
She was still facing the door so he didn’t see the look she gave to that. She turned to face him. He finished doing up his fly then headed over to the basin. Devereaux adjusted her underwear and pulled down her dress.
As she did so her hand brushed against the handle of the knife strapped to her thigh. She stared over at Paulo, head down as he splashed cold water onto his face.
She closed her eyes for a second.
Then reached for the knife as she darted forward.
She pulled the blade from its sheath. Held it aloft, ready to drive down into Paulo’s back. He remained hunched down, his face in his hands as the cold water cascaded.
She was only inches away when he suddenly burst into action. He sidestepped, and spun around as he straightened up. Grabbed her flying wrist and drove her forward, snarling. He slammed her against the mirror. Grabbed her other wrist and pulled her away from the basin and back up against the door as he held both her arms aloft.
The knife remained in her hand. She fought against him. Tried to pull the knife down. It inched closer and closer to his neck. She grimaced with effort. His face was creased with rage.
He leaned forward and pushed his lips onto hers. She pinned hers shut. But only for a second. Then with a roar, he slammed her wrist against the wall. Slammed it again. Again, until the knife came free and clattered to the floor. He relaxed his grip just a little as he moved further forward. She closed her eyes and this time didn’t hesitate when his lips touched hers.
A few seconds later he released her and stepped back.
‘Try that again…’
‘And what?’ she said. ‘You’ll fuck me?’
She gave him a twisted smile and couldn’t quite read the more stoic look she received in return.
He came toward her once more, but as he reached his hand forward she realized it was only because he was going for the door handle.
She stepped aside and he pulled the door open.
‘Perhaps next time I see you it’ll be third time lucky,’ she said.
He caught her eye and smiled. ‘See you around.’
A moment later he was gone.