Bad

by Chloé Esposito

  ‘You’re going to explode,’ says Beth.

  And I freak the fuck out.

  OH MY GOD.

  WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?

  THERE’S A BOMB INSIDE MY MUFF.

  Where’s the pin?

  I’m going to die.

  I reach my fingers up, up, up but I can’t seem to grab it.

  I don’t think I can get it out.

  It’s stuck.

  It’s stuck.

  It’s stuck.

  ‘Fucking Nino, fucking FUCK.’

  I hyperventilate. In, out, in, out. Air whistles out of me in a high-pitched squeak. I sound like an asthmatic guinea pig. I need a brown paper bag to blow into. Some gas and air or something . . . I need to not have a bomb wedged up my cunt. What the hell am I doing?

  I lie on my side in the foetal position on the cold, hard, concrete floor.

  Come on, Alvie. What the hell? You can’t just leave it there.

  ‘This is the best day of my life.’

  ‘Fuck you, Beth. You’re dead.’

  I take a deep breath and reach my hands through my legs. I reach up a bit higher. But I don’t know which bit to pull? One wrong move and this thing goes off . . . I can’t squeeze my fingers up round the sides. Oh God, I give up. There’s no way I can pull it out. This is a fucking mess. I’ll have to go to hospital and tell them everything. But how the hell do I explain this? I take a deep breath. Come on. It’s fine, they’ve seen it all before. People go to A&E every single day of the week with foreign objects stuck inside various orifices: glass bottles, aerosol canisters, lager cans and hamsters. I once read about a man in China, who got an eel stuck up his bum. The eel was alive and bit his insides to shreds. A hand grenade? That’s nothing. They won’t even bat an eyelid. I’m sure they see it all the time. But once they pull it out, what then? Aye, there’s the rub. I’ll get done for possession of illegal weapons. First the gun and then the bomb. No, no, no, this is suicide. I need another plan.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Come on, Alvie, think, think, think. Where is your poetic genius? I’ve got to think outside my box. I’m going about this thing all wrong. It’s not pulling I need to do. I know, I’ve got to push. I have another look down the corridor, check both ways, left and right, but it’s clear. OK. Let’s do this. Let’s give birth to a baby bomb. I squat down low, as low as I can, and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, squeeze. I push the hand grenade down, down, down (it’s lucky I have a great pelvic floor). I feel it move down my vagina and pop out in the palm of my hand. Ha ha. That was actually quite easy. (What is the fuss all about?) I didn’t need an epidural or caesarean like Beth. I study the hand grenade in my palm. That’s better than a ping-pong ball. I could have my own show in Bangkok. I wipe the explosive on the bed sheet then shove it in my jacket pocket. Phew, that was close. Things could have got ugly. But no, it was fine. I’m a pro . . .

  A man’s voice.

  ‘Signorina Knightly?’

  ‘Yes? What’s up? Are you letting me go?’

  ‘The commissario would like to see you. Please, come with me.’

  The guard unlocks the metal gate. I can see he has my handbag. Ah, that’s good. They’re returning my things. They’re probably letting me out. I take it from him and sling it over my shoulder.

  ‘Can I use the toilet?’ I say. ‘The one in there was filthy.’

  ‘Of course. Please follow me.’

  Once I’m locked inside the loo I find the pills tucked away in my wallet and scan the label: double strength. I pop one of the bad boys out of the plastic. Then another. And another. The silver foil crinkles and crackles. They plop into my palm. They’re tiny; no bigger than a pinhead, a pretty little diamond shape. But I know that size can be misleading (not when it comes to dicks or dildos, but with other things, like drugs). These pills pack a punch and a half. I lick one of the cobalt tablets; I need to check what it tastes like. I don’t want it to be obvious I’ve doped him. The Disney prince would not be pleased. The coating is bitter. Acidic like lemon. Sharp like MDMA. I’ll have to mix it with something sweet or he’ll notice straight away.

  Three pills at double strength; am I overdoing it? I want them to be quick. Effective. But two would probably do it. Fuck it, I’ll have one myself. Who knows? It could be fun. I pop a tab into my mouth and wash it down with tap water. I wipe my face with a paper towel. I wonder what it will do. I’ve never taken one before; they’re for the guys, obviously. I guess I’ll have to wait and see . . . Ooh, this is exciting. I feel like Alice in Wonderland; will I shrink or will I grow? It’s like nibbling a magic mushroom. Eat me. Drink me. Fuck me. I slip the other two pills in my pocket and shove my purse back in my bag. I check myself out in the full-length mirror, ruffle up my hair and pout. Spin round to assess my ass. Not bad, I guess. But still, not perfect. I wish I had some of Beth’s magic lingerie. Some crotchless pants or a latex basque by Atsuko Kudo. I walk out of the bathroom and close the door.

  The guard leads me down the hall to an office. I have the Viagra in my left pocket, the hand grenade in my right. It’s lucky I always carry them with me. You never know when they might come in handy. When it might be an emergency. Be prepared. Yes, that’s my motto. I learnt that in the Girl Guides.

  I peer through the gaps in the narrow blind slats; there he is, the Disney prince. I can see him sitting at his desk. It’s lucky it’s not an interrogation room; that would have derailed my plans. Cameras and all those two-way mirrors. He’s drinking something out of a can. It’s blue and yellow. I can’t see the label from here. I step back from the glass when he looks up and sees me. The guard knocks on the door.

  ‘Sì. Chi è?’

  He opens the door and steps through. ‘Signorina Knightly, commissario.’

  ‘Grazie,’ says the Disney prince, standing up from his desk.

  I step inside the room and then the guard leaves. I close the door behind him softly, turning the key inside the lock so no one will hear. I pocket the key and then pull down the blind so no one can see in.

  ‘Bit bright,’ I say with a shrug, turning to face him. ‘You look great this afternoon. Have you done something different with your hair?’ I sit down opposite his chair and put my feet up on the desk.

  The Disney prince frowns. ‘So, Miss Knightly, are you ready to talk?’

  ‘You never told me your name,’ I say.

  ‘I am Commissario D’Amore.’

  ‘That’s a lovely surname,’ I say. ‘You got a pretty first name to go with that?’

  He sighs. ‘My name is Alessandro.’

  Alessandro frowns. His dark brown fringe flops over his forehead. His Disney prince eyes look annoyed. The yellow can is Limonata, that sparkling soft drink by San Pellegrino. It’s in the middle of his desk, but I can’t tell from here how much is left.

  ‘That looks good. Have you got one for me?’ I gesture to the can.

  He rolls his eyes, but gets up and walks over to a fridge. It’s one of those mini ones you buy for chilling beer. He keeps his eyes on me as he opens the door. I smile my sweetest smile. He reaches inside the fridge. As soon as his back is turned, I slip two pills in his can of pop. I pick it up and swirl it around. The liquid fizzes and froths. I put it down as he approaches.

  ‘Mmm, looks nice,’ I say. He hands me a can and I lick my lips. ‘Oh. Do you have a straw?’

  I tug on the ring pull; it makes a ‘PHFSSSSSSSSSSST’ noise. The fresh scent of citrus.

  He rolls his eyes. Again. Alessandro opens the drawer of his desk and rummages around inside. He pulls out a long paper straw, the kind you get with shakes from McDonald’s, and tosses it to me across the desk. I stick it in my can.

  ‘Anything else?’ he says.

  ‘No, I’m good. Have you had lunch?’

  (In my experience, Viagra takes longer to work if the man has eaten,
sometimes as long as ninety minutes. I hope he doesn’t have a full stomach. That would be catastrophic.)

  ‘No, I haven’t. I’ve been working my ass off.’ He raises an eyebrow and looks at me as though it’s my fault my ex-boyfriend’s a psycho. ‘I’ve got the whole of Rome’s press harassing me for an arrest. Not to mention the mayor –’

  ‘Hey, Alessandro. Don’t blame me. Nino’s the one you should be mad at. But I understand, you’re stressed out.’

  ‘Stressed? Stressed? Of course I’m stressed. I’m having a nervous breakdown. A sniper shoots a woman dead in one of the city’s busiest squares. Outside the fucking Pantheon. In the middle of the day. And he’s still out there on the run? It’s the height of the tourist season.’

  ‘Baby, you need to relax.’

  He picks up his drink and takes a swig. I’m sure he wishes it were something stronger. I wonder if the Viagra’s dissolved. Now I wish I’d given him three . . . I watch his throat move in and out, in and out, as he swallows.

  ‘Ach,’ he says, smacking his lips then slamming down the can. The aluminium wobbles on the polished surface and makes a tinny sound.

  I bet that was bitter. Limonata’s already acidic, but with those double-strength pills mixed in it must have been off-the-scale sour.

  ‘So, you worked out that I didn’t shoot her. That’s an excellent start.’

  ‘Your gun wasn’t loaded. Had never been used. That was a long-range shot,’ he says.

  ‘Uh-huh. That’s what I told you.’

  Men, do they ever listen? I’m always repeating myself.

  I take a sip of my drink through the straw; it’s fizzy, icy cold. I suck it in a suggestive manner. I wonder if he’ll get the hint.

  ‘Of course,’ he says; he sounds annoyed. ‘You are just an innocent witness, who happened to be at the scene of the crime holding a fucking gun.’

  ‘That’s right,’ I say. ‘A coincidence.’

  ‘A gun that you don’t have a licence to own.’

  ‘I was just about to go and get one. Being crap at personal admin does not make me a murderer. I told you, that was Nino.’

  Alessandro stands and presses his fists into his shiny desk, his shoulders hunched, his forehead creased. He reminds me a bit of the Beast in Beauty and the Beast, but with less facial hair and better teeth. I look up through my lashes and bite my bottom lip. Then I suck a bit more on my straw.

  ‘And you happen to be friends with the man you claim is the perpetrator.’

  ‘Nino is an ex-acquaintance. I wouldn’t call him a friend.’

  Alessandro punches his desk. The boom reverberates.

  ‘So . . . what else have you figured out?’

  His expression says it: nothing.

  Ha. I’m really enjoying this.

  ‘Well, I know who did it. Nino Brusca is armed and dangerous. I bought the gun to protect myself. To protect myself from him.’ Something’s tingling down below . . . I think those pills are working. ‘I can’t believe you arrested me.’ I do a wounded Barbie face.

  ‘I was just doing my job.’

  I hold back crocodile tears. He passes me a tissue.

  Alessandro shakes his pretty head. His hair is thick and glossy. I wonder what conditioner he uses. My hair never shimmers like that. He grabs his can and knocks it back, glugging down the rest of the drink.

  ‘Ach,’ he says, again.

  I watch him wipe his mouth with his hand and throw the can at the bin. (I’m impressed; it actually goes in. That never works for me.) I sip my fizzy drink. I can tell he doesn’t know what to think. His handsome face looks confused, like if you’d just asked Ken to choose between Sindy or Barbie. He really is a beautiful creature, as handsome as Justin Trudeau. He hasn’t got any dirt on me. Everything’s circumstantial. And here I am, offering to help. Offering a lot more too . . .

  ‘Alessandro,’ I say, leaning in. I let my voice tremble. ‘I’m scared. I think he might have been aiming for me, not that other woman . . .’

  His Ferrero Rocher eyes look into mine. I think he’s coming round.

  ‘If you . . . if you promise to keep me safe, then I can help you find him,’ I say. ‘You and me, we’re on the same team. We’re both on the same side.’

  There’s an odd sensation in my pussy; the blood is really starting to flow. My clit feels suddenly enormous, too alert, too sensitive. My vagina is starting to throb. What is going on down there? I shift a little in my seat. I only took one of those things and my vulva has doubled in size.

  ‘Is it just me, or is it hot in here?’ I take off my leather jacket and drape it on the back of my seat (being careful not to knock the explosive; I’ll need that later on). Alessandro watches me. He lets his eyes linger on my chest for just a nanosecond too long. I play with my hair, cock my head to the side, look at him like I really want him. I uncross then cross my legs. (I wish I wasn’t wearing these trousers, a skirt would have been so much better, or maybe a little dress. Ideally I would have no pants on, like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. Now that would get his attention.)

  Alessandro looks down at his messy desk and shuffles some papers. I glance at the clock. Every second counts. Nino could be leaving the city or even on his way out of Italy. I know he’s got a fake passport . . . the money . . . the fucking motive. I’ll give it a minute, then make my move. But sometimes policemen are too formal. Correct. Aloof. Professional. Reluctant to go to bed with their suspects or have casual sex with their witnesses. I know, I know. This is Italy, not the UK. It’s not like the same rules apply. EU rules or whatever. Most policemen are corrupt. They’re horny. Insatiable. But still, it’s a risk: full sex in his office? There is a chance that this won’t work.

  Alvie. Stop. You can’t think like that.

  ‘There’s no way this will work,’ says Beth.

  Whether you think you can or think you can’t, you’re right. Who said that? If you can dream it, you can do it. Some bullshit like that. But it’s true.

  I’m feeling sticky, flustered. Waves of heat wash up and down and up and down my body. My cheeks are flushed. My pussy’s wet. I swivel in my chair.

  Alessandro takes his jacket off and hangs it on a hook by the door. He loosens his tie, takes that off too. I wish he’d take off more. I can tell his body’s ripped beneath that fitted tailored shirt. He walks back towards the desk, but suddenly stops and freezes. A look of panic crosses his face. I check his crotch and – yup – there it is. It’s worked. My madcap plot. It looks like a substantial erection, but the proof of the pudding is in the eating and I can’t wait to get him undressed.

  I spin round in my swivel chair and give him a hungry look. I twizzle a strand of hair in my fingers and channel my inner Megan (Fox). Work it, Alvie. You’re a star.

  ‘I feel so safe with you, Alessandro. You’re such a big, strong, handsome man . . . I know you’d never hurt me, like Nino. You can be my hero.’

  Alessandro blushes a violent red. I lean towards him in my chair.

  ‘I, erm, I . . .’ he stutters. Falters. ‘Un momento. Please.’

  He turns and runs towards the door and pulls on the handle, but it’s locked. It gives me the split second I need.

  I jump up and follow him. This is my chance. He can’t leave.

  I leap on him like a piggyback and hook my ankles round his waist.

  ‘No. Don’t go. I want you so bad. You’re driving me wild. Ever since the first moment I saw you . . .’ (Earlier this morning when he arrested me.) ‘You’re all I’ve thought about.’

  ‘Alvie?’ he says. ‘Che cazzo . . . ?’

  ‘Take me now or lose me for ever.’

  He staggers backwards into the room and we crash on to his wooden desk. His waist’s stuck firm between my legs. I’m not letting go.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  I spin him round and kiss him.

/>   ‘Alvie?’

  ‘Alessandro, scopami.’

  I pull off my top. My bra. I unzip his flies with one hand. I squeeze his butt cheek with the other. He moans and pushes himself towards me. He’s going for it now. I kiss him again to stop him from talking or thinking or running away. I grab him by the dick and pull it up out through his boxer shorts.

  ‘Mmm, Alessandro,’ I say. ‘You’re so sexy.’

  It’s good I found out his first name. These things work better on first-name terms. Otherwise, it’s too formal.

  I leave him sitting on the desk and kneel before him on the floor. I take his dick inside my mouth. It’s big and hot and throbbing. I lick it up and down the shaft. Taste tea tree shower gel. I push my head down all the way and feel him at the back of my throat. I swirl my tongue round the tip. I stroke his lovely balls.

  I pull away and then stand up. I peel my leather trousers down. I step out of my tiny G-string and look him in the eyes.

  ‘This is what we’re going to do . . .’

  I sit down naked on his desk and spread my legs apart.

  ‘You are going to take me to Nino. I need five minutes alone with him.’

  He nods. Puts his fingers in my mouth.

  ‘Pour it into me, fuck boy.’

  * * *

  *

  He just keeps going and going and going, again and again and again. He comes and then about two seconds later he’s ready to go again. (Five times.) It’s like he’s possessed or on drugs. (Oh yeah, I suppose I did drug him.) I’m getting tired and really sore. I don’t think I can take any more. I lean over the filing cabinet and watch the spinning floor.

  ‘Enough,’ I say, dripping with sweat. I can’t seem to catch my breath. ‘Let’s . . . go . . . and . . . find . . . Nino . . .’

  * * *

  *

  I hear indistinct Italian chatter as I follow the Disney prince into the briefing room and then flop down, destroyed. I move my chair a little closer so our thighs touch under the table. I give his knee a little squeeze. Alessandro clears his throat. I look around the meeting room. There’s a two and a half, a three and a half, and a six and a quarter. Alessandro’s definitely the fittest (he’s a nine and a half, at least). I’m glad he’s the one I had to seduce. It’s fun mixing business with pleasure.