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Her name on the lips of the stranger only momentarily paralysed her. “Help!”
A dog barked a response over Gatorbait and their appreciative audience. She felt her scream vibrate through her temples.
“Nobody’s going to venture down here.” His body tautened in readiness for his lunge forward.
“Help!”
But the music from the Oyster Shack seemed to get louder, as if it were in league with him.
“I could reassure you this isn’t some random act of senseless violence. And I wouldn’t be lying,” he soothed. “But in the short time we have together, there’s something more important to tell you. Not a second-hand message; this comes straight from the horse’s mouth.”
“Who is Allegro?”
He gritted his capped teeth at her in the blue neon as if he were in pain and shook his head like it was the wrong question. White spittle glowed at the corners of his mouth. Then the fire exit door swung hard into his spine and he stumbled forward, before turning to confront the person who had opened it.
It was Lauren, the waitress that had served Beth, wearing a dark overcoat. She casually walked into the alleyway, puffing on a cigarette with a slightly nettled look on her face, as she squinted through smoke and scanned the darkness for the source of the obstruction.
The man stood further back in the shadows and briefly slid the knife behind his back to conceal it while he assessed the situation.
“He’s got a knife!” Beth cried, trying to stand while the heels of her hands skated in clammy blood.
But the man had already stepped forward, elbow quickly drawn back.
He reversed his steps as swiftly, staggering with blue smoke billowing about him in the yellow light through the door. The waitress remained where she was, the exhalation still pouring from her mouth.
The man collapsed backwards and landed hard on his spine, two curled red wires connecting his chest to the plastic gun in the waitress’s hand. She’d tasered him, and his one arm jerked as breath whistled in through his nostrils.
The waitress opened the fire exit wider, so more light could spill into the alleyway. It slammed into the wall.
“There’s someone dying here!” Beth skidded and slammed into the dumpster behind her as she found her feet. The blood felt slick on her hands.
“Jesus. Let me get Francis.”
Momentarily, Beth was alone with the homeless woman and her attacker’s paralysed and twitching body. Keeping one eye on the man’s prostrate form, she knelt and held the old lady’s bunched hands. They felt like cold leather, and her matte eyes looked straight through Beth. The music stopped and suddenly she could hear the sounds of the neighbourhood – cars, people on the beach.
“Police have been called, hon.” The waitress was at the fire exit again, a tall man silhouetted behind her. He stepped past and briefly examined the dead woman. “Fuck.”
In the light, Beth could see he was a black man in his forties, his square-cut hair greying at the sideburns. He knelt his considerable weight on the chest of the man on the floor. “This motherfucker ain’t going nowhere.” He turned to Lauren. “How long you been packing a taser?”
“Since they found those kids trussed up with their throats slit under the pier.” The waitress looked down at the woman, the light from the door illuminating her pale blue features. “It’s Maggie. Is she dead?”
Beth nodded.
The waitress took a step nearer to the body but didn’t appear to want to get any closer. “Maggie?”
The woman remained motionless.
Francis looked over at her. “Maggie never did nobody no harm.” He held the man’s head firmly against the floor by his neck. “You sick fuck. Looks like we may have the Butcher.”
“He was waiting for me.” She could feel her suede jacket was heavier.
“Is this the guy that stood you up?” The waitress took the cigarette out of her mouth as if its taste suddenly disgusted her.
Beth nodded. She knew it was. Her name had been on his lips. He’d lured her there and had waited for her in the alleyway.
The waitress dropped the cigarette.
“Chrissakes, Lauren. This is a crime scene now.”
The waitress quickly retrieved it and gripped it like she was holding it for someone else. “Be careful, Francis. He’s still got a knife here somewhere.”
Beth saw it glint blue on the other side of the alleyway. “It’s here.” She stood and walked over to it.
“Don’t touch it! Jesus, don’t either of you watch CSI?” Francis shifted his position on the man and shook his head. “Just be ready to kick it away if he tries to make a move.”
Two men that she recognised as members of the band joined Francis and helped restrain the man.
“Come on, hon. He ain’t going nowhere now. Step inside.”
As she entered, the waitress turned and Beth saw an expression of revulsion solidify her features. She looked down at her suede jacket and held her arms up to examine the dark blood on the backs of her sleeves.
“Don’t bring that in here. Drop it outside.”
“Help me,” Beth said, a tremor of panic in her voice. “Get it off.” She couldn’t manoeuvre it from herself without getting more chilled blood on her hands. The waitress was behind her, pulling at the collar to drag it down her back so it would slide off her arms.
“Quickly.” Her ordeal in the alleyway suddenly impacted and she felt her blood draining to her feet. “I’m not feeling good.” Beth could hear the sound of police sirens and more people pushed past her to get to the alleyway.
“Lean against the wall, hon.” The waitress continued to yank at the jacket.
Beth slid down the wall on her side, the blood greasing her descent. As she bent her knees, she looked back out of the fire exit. She could no longer see her attacker; he was surrounded by a ring of men all telling each other how best to disable him.
“Stay with me, hon. I’ll get you some water.”
The jacket came off her and she looked at it piled in a sticky mess of the old woman’s congealing blood. It should have been hers.
