Bang: Memoirs of a Relationship Assassin by David Wailing

can’t go far wrong with John. Good solid name. Masculine, but ordinary. Just as long as she didn’t ask my surname. Or if she did, that she hadn’t heard of John Holmes and his enormous reputation.
    A more significant question from Laura. “Are you single?”
    “Laura!” gasped boney dwarf (whose name I gathered was Nicola), as if she’d asked me “Do you mind if we get a look at your cock?”
    “Sure.” I grinned, cheekily. “Best way to be.”
    “Oh yeah, totally! Loads more fun!”
    “Get a room, guys!” guffawed Teri. Nicola shook her head – I was a bit worried that if she turned that pointy chin towards Teri too quickly, she might burst her. That was enough for one day, I decided. As I picked up my satchel and turned to go, I threw a wink directly at Becky. She smiled, amused.
    A little secret something between her and me.
    It’s amazing how effective tiny gestures like that can be. There isn’t a woman in the world who doesn’t want to feel like she’s the special one – not her friends, not any of the other girls, but her. She’d keep that to herself, I knew.
    I felt I had a better handle on Becky now. She was lower end of the spectrum, cheap and cheerful. A common working girl. That might sound nasty, but remember I was used to getting it on with women who lived in mansions and had credit accounts at Fortnum and Masons. Still, Becky seemed a bit more on the ball than her workmates. And she had a sense of humour – the telephone gag was obviously her little invention, something she did from time to time to get a laugh.
    So that helped establish my character. I would be the boy next door type, as down to earth as she was. I would have a good sense of humour and be quick to laugh. And, remembering her comment about pretty boys, I would stop shaving. Maybe give myself one or two little scars? Hmm, not sure I could ever do that to myself.
    But basically, that was me from now on. John Holmes the motorbike courier. Friendly. Cheeky. Fun. Honest.
    I loved this part. Crafting the mask. Nailing down the speech, the mannerisms, the personality, oh and the motivation darling, don’t forget, you must know the character’s motivation! (Well, that was easy. John’s motivation was to chat up the cute receptionist and, if possible, shag her blind.) I reckon I’d have made a half-decent actor in another life. But then again, do you have any idea how piss-poor most actors are? Nah, I’ll stick with where the money is. The Old Vic will get by somehow.
    Easy one, this. No challenge. Some of my past cases called for a whole lot more. I’ve had to pretend to be somebody so unlike me it would make the RSC weep at my wasted talent. That time with the vicar’s wife, for example. Prayer meetings and Bible discussions and long talks about the nature of temptation. That was tough. Not sure how I pulled that one off.
    I don’t do holiness very well.
    Phase 4: Damage limitation.
    Wednesday 9 June. 11.02am.
     
    As soon as I walked into reception, I knew things had gone wrong. New faces behind the desk. One of them was a bloke. That’s how wrong it was.
    While I went through the whole sign-for-package thing with him, I looked round, hoping to spot Becky somewhere else. Through the glass double doors, I could see the main office – plenty of people, but not her. “No Becky today, then?” I asked the receptionist.
    “No, she’s off sick.”
    Bollocks. Nothing I could do about that. A waste of a day. And maybe more if she was ill the rest of the week. But that’s the way it goes. You’re bound to get setbacks one way or the other. The trick is to minimise them if you can.
    As I took the receipt from him I said “Cheers, and listen, tell her I hope she’s feeling better soon, yeah? She knows me, it’s John from Ontime Direct.”
    “Sure, I’ll let her know.”
    That was something. Assuming matey remembered to mention it, that might do me some good. Knowing that I asked about her might make her feel a little