kill, and I had an (admittedly) almost feline enjoyment of playing with my food. With a little clever investigating, I could find out for myself whether Ross killed his old lady or not. If it turned out he didn’t, then Junior here could be my flavour of the month. I don’t make a habit of killing my clients – Miles rather frowns on that – but I thought I could make an exception if it turned out that Jeffrey had hired me under false pretences. It wasn’t like Jeffrey’ s death would ever be attributed to me.
“Give me two weeks,” I said, reaching across the table to shake his hand again. “After that, you won’t have to worry about him any more.”
52
After Jeffrey left, I slipped back inside and took a seat at the bar beside one of the drunken losers I’d noticed earlier. He was
such a sorry specimen, I might not even have needed my supernatural powers of persuasion to wrap him around my little finger, but I didn’t want to hang around this dive any longer than necessary. The moment I managed to catch his attention – not easy when his tequila was so much more interesting – I mesmerized him with my gaze. No one paid any attention to us as I led him back to the grimy, unisex bathroom. Based on the taste of him, there was more alcohol than blood running through his veins and I swear I felt a bit tipsy after I drank. No, I didn’t kill him. While I need to feed every night, I only have to make a kill every few weeks, to recharge my psychic battery. If I don’t recharge it, my body will slowly wither and die, and that’s where my line of work comes in handy.
After I left, and had a short, dark and disgusting nap to sleep it off, I decided to take a first pass by my target’s house. It was well after midnight by now, so I didn’t expect to do more than a drive-by, just to familiarize myself with the neighbourhood, but when I got there, it was to see lights blazing all through the house.
I parked my car (an intentionally nondescript brown Camry)
by the side of the road and took in the sights.
It was a nice neighbourhood, a typical example of wealthy suburban America. Houses on what I’d estimate were one-acre lots, many of them hidden from the road by generously wooded front yards. Wealthy, but not ultra-wealthy, if you know what I mean. These were houses, not mansions. I frowned a bit and wondered whether someone living here really had enough money to tempt a man to marry and then murder her. I wouldn’t have thought so, but then money makes people the world over act like idiots.
53
It started raining, a heavy summer downpour that could last for five minutes or five hours. I made an impulsive decision to meet my soon-to-be victim this very night.
No way was I going out in the rain in my expensive leather pants. Luckily, I was in the habit of keeping a duffle bag with a change of clothes in the back seat. Comes in handy when my meals aren’t as . . . tidy as they should be.
The street was deserted, everyone with any sense asleep snug in their beds, so I didn’t worry about being observed as Ichanged into jeans and a T-shirt. The T-shirt had been a gag gift from Miles. It was white, with the words “BITE ME” emblazoned in bold black letters across the chest.
I pushed open the car door and stepped out into the rain. I was soaked through before I’d closed the door behind me. Luckily it was a comfortably warm night.
I splashed my way down the driveway towards the Blackburn house, stealing glances at the lighted windows as I approached, but I didn’t catch sight of my quarry. I was going to be pissed if I’d got drenched only to find him not home after all. I rang the doorbell, then took advantage of the covered front porch to wring some of the water out of my hair. The porch light flickered on, and I noticed that my white T-shirt had predictably,
gone see-through in the rain. My sheer lace bra ensured that my assets were
“Give me two weeks,” I said, reaching across the table to shake his hand again. “After that, you won’t have to worry about him any more.”
52
After Jeffrey left, I slipped back inside and took a seat at the bar beside one of the drunken losers I’d noticed earlier. He was
such a sorry specimen, I might not even have needed my supernatural powers of persuasion to wrap him around my little finger, but I didn’t want to hang around this dive any longer than necessary. The moment I managed to catch his attention – not easy when his tequila was so much more interesting – I mesmerized him with my gaze. No one paid any attention to us as I led him back to the grimy, unisex bathroom. Based on the taste of him, there was more alcohol than blood running through his veins and I swear I felt a bit tipsy after I drank. No, I didn’t kill him. While I need to feed every night, I only have to make a kill every few weeks, to recharge my psychic battery. If I don’t recharge it, my body will slowly wither and die, and that’s where my line of work comes in handy.
After I left, and had a short, dark and disgusting nap to sleep it off, I decided to take a first pass by my target’s house. It was well after midnight by now, so I didn’t expect to do more than a drive-by, just to familiarize myself with the neighbourhood, but when I got there, it was to see lights blazing all through the house.
I parked my car (an intentionally nondescript brown Camry)
by the side of the road and took in the sights.
It was a nice neighbourhood, a typical example of wealthy suburban America. Houses on what I’d estimate were one-acre lots, many of them hidden from the road by generously wooded front yards. Wealthy, but not ultra-wealthy, if you know what I mean. These were houses, not mansions. I frowned a bit and wondered whether someone living here really had enough money to tempt a man to marry and then murder her. I wouldn’t have thought so, but then money makes people the world over act like idiots.
53
It started raining, a heavy summer downpour that could last for five minutes or five hours. I made an impulsive decision to meet my soon-to-be victim this very night.
No way was I going out in the rain in my expensive leather pants. Luckily, I was in the habit of keeping a duffle bag with a change of clothes in the back seat. Comes in handy when my meals aren’t as . . . tidy as they should be.
The street was deserted, everyone with any sense asleep snug in their beds, so I didn’t worry about being observed as Ichanged into jeans and a T-shirt. The T-shirt had been a gag gift from Miles. It was white, with the words “BITE ME” emblazoned in bold black letters across the chest.
I pushed open the car door and stepped out into the rain. I was soaked through before I’d closed the door behind me. Luckily it was a comfortably warm night.
I splashed my way down the driveway towards the Blackburn house, stealing glances at the lighted windows as I approached, but I didn’t catch sight of my quarry. I was going to be pissed if I’d got drenched only to find him not home after all. I rang the doorbell, then took advantage of the covered front porch to wring some of the water out of my hair. The porch light flickered on, and I noticed that my white T-shirt had predictably,
gone see-through in the rain. My sheer lace bra ensured that my assets were
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