Deadly Sins

by Laura Read

  Yet she didn’t want her father getting involved with him, selling more drugs, becoming embroiled in his prostitution ring and turning a blind eye to the women in his clubs being brutalised and murdered. She would kill Webster before she saw her father going down that path.

  Was she capable of murdering Webster though? The thought which terrified her the most was that she was capable and wouldn’t care about taking his life because he deserved to die. Maybe she didn’t have to carry out the actual deed herself – could she trust Vincent to help her? Today his compassion surprised her, but she’d seen pure evil overpower his humanity before.

  She needed to decide whether she could relate to the darkness in Vincent’s heart and take a man’s life. How much of herself was she willing to sacrifice?

  7

  Threat

  Flickering red lights snaked across the room, spider webs and black lace curtains shivered as customers and staff dressed as ghouls, vampires and other creatures of the night crisscrossed down corridors and past booths and the stage. The smell of cheap plastic Halloween decorations and spilt champagne lingered in the air, and the loud bass made it difficult to talk.

  Topless girls in red thongs and matching heels served drinks and removed empty glasses, and asked men whether they wanted a private dance. Pole dancers flung their bodies at the men crowded beneath the stage, flicked their hair, thrust their hips, played with their breasts, begged for more tips. Angela admired the girls for their confidence but pitied them for having to work for Webster. They put on a good show; you couldn’t tell that they were scared of him and his men.

  Angela, her father and Vincent, and several men in their security team were celebrating Leon and Damien’s new partnership. Webster had invited them to his garish Halloween party at his strip club on the other side of town. He showed them to a VIP booth and plied them with champagne and girls. At some point he disappeared, probably for his next fix.

  Angela had downed too many glasses of champagne and swayed as she came out of the toilets, catching a stiletto on her long black dress. She’d only come to the club because her father asked her to, and she didn’t want to stay. She felt out of place and uncomfortable, the only female in their group, and she wasn’t interested in the women. She considered going back to their booth but realised she could slip out undetected while she had the chance.

  A man in a black suit with a skeleton adorning his tie stopped her, putting his hand on her shoulder. ‘Angela?’

  She tried to work out who he was, but came up blank.

  ‘You don’t recognise me, do you?’ he asked, laughing. He seemed drunk too.

  ‘Sorry, no,’ she admitted.

  ‘That’s a shame,’ he said, wrapping his hands around her waist. He whispered in her ear, ‘I definitely remember you.’

  He was probably a one-night stand. It didn’t encourage her that he was trying to pick her up at a strip club.

  ‘I’m here for a stag do, but I’m bored,’ he said. ‘It’s strange watching naked women… you know… dancing about on stage while men drool over them. It’s not really my scene.’

  ‘It’s not mine either.’

  ‘Then we should get out of here,’ he insisted, and grabbed her hand.

  He led her through a dark corridor, which she didn’t remember coming down before. Her head was spinning, the taste of champagne branded on her tongue; she longed for a glass of water.

  He opened a door that blended into the black walls and suddenly they stood in an office with a large screen on the wall. It was sparsely furnished with a desk and chair, leather sofa and a small bar in the corner.

  ‘Where are we?’ Angela asked, but the stranger turned and quickly slipped out of the room. She heard the door lock.

  ‘What the hell?’ she yelled, banging on the door.

  She tried opening the door but it didn’t budge. The door on the opposite wall was locked too; the desk didn’t have any drawers. There wasn’t anything in the room that gave her any clue as to why she was there. Maybe she was more drunk than she thought. She’d allowed herself to be led on by one of Webster’s men.

  ‘Hello?’ She wondered whether anyone could see or hear her. Maybe this was one of Webster’s tricks? Perhaps the screen on the wall was a two-way mirror?

  Suddenly the lights went out and the room turned pitch black. Angela backed against a wall, preparing for an attack. She was defenceless and didn’t have a weapon. She slowed down her breathing and tried to listen for any sound, perhaps a door opening or someone approaching her, but the room remained silent. She wished that she was closer to the bar so she could use a bottle for a weapon.

  Minutes passed until the door on the other side of the room opened and Damien appeared in a thin vein of light.

  ‘Hello, Angela,’ he said, smiling.

  She steeled herself, wondering what was about to happen. Damien flicked a switch and the lights came on. Angela blinked in the sudden brightness. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’

  ‘Calm down,’ he told her. ‘Sometimes I like to indulge in little games with my guests. And tonight’s Halloween: the night for such games.’

  ‘Well, this “little game” is over now. Unlock the door. I’m heading back to my father,’ she told him.

  The smile fell from Damien’s lips. ‘The game hasn’t started yet.’

  Leaving the door open, he turned and walked out of sight, back into the room that Angela hadn’t seen. She didn’t want to follow him but she was curious about the other room and what was in there. Although she felt like a mouse being toyed with by a large black cat, she couldn’t help herself and walked towards the open doorway.

  Damien sat down at a table in what looked like an interrogation room with dark grey soundproofed walls and a buzzing fluorescent lamp overhead. Sitting next to him was a thin naked girl tied to a wooden chair. She visibly shook and was crying, gagged and blindfolded with two strips of white cloth. She was covered in bruises and a bleeding gash down her cheek.

  ‘This is Anna. Say “hello”, Anna,’ said Webster. ‘Oh, of course…’

  Taking a penknife from his pocket, he sliced through the thin material wrapped around the girl’s head, slashing her skin. She flinched and Angela could see the fear in her eyes when the blindfold fell, her lips trembling, fresh blood dripping down her face.

  ‘Say “hello”, Anna!’ Webster repeated his request.

  ‘Hello,’ Anna muttered in an Eastern European accent.

  Angela stood frozen, wondering what the hell Webster would make her do.

  ‘Trick or treat?’ he asked Angela, standing up and walking towards her with the knife in his hand.

  ‘Neither,’ she said. ‘Unlock the fucking door and let me out.’

  Webster shook his head. ‘That’s not how this game works.’

  ‘You’ve just become my father’s partner, and now you threaten me? He’s not going to be happy when he finds out.’

  ‘I haven’t threatened you.’ He slipped the penknife back into his pocket and pulled out a chair from the table, indicating for her to sit down opposite him. ‘But I hear that you don’t like me very much. You want to get rid of me... Is that true?’

  He reached into his jacket and slowly pulled out a revolver. Angela felt intimidated, which she hated, but tried not to show her vulnerability.

  ‘It’s not a secret that most people don’t like you,’ she said, sitting down.

  Damien glared at her. ‘That doesn’t answer my question. I don’t care what other people think of me. I care what you think, the daughter of my new partner.’

  She didn’t know what to say and looked at Anna, trying to form an answer.

  Damien slammed his hands down on the table. ‘Well? Speak!’ he shouted.

  ‘My father likes you enough to partner with you, so that’s good enough for me. But I don’t trust anyone and I don’t trust you.’

  Damien nodded as if he approved of her answer. ‘Have you ever played Russian Roulette?’ he asked, changing the
subject. He unlocked and spun the cylinder on his revolver.

  ‘No,’ she said, trying to hide her fears about what would happen next.

  ‘Maybe because you don’t have the balls,’ he said under his breath, and he locked in the cylinder. ‘This game is based on Russian Roulette. There’s one round in the cylinder and Anna will be our target. So, what’s your choice? Trick or treat?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s your decision. Will it be me or you who pulls the trigger? Trick or treat?’

  Angela contemplated her two options. Webster was crazy and unpredictable and she couldn’t see where this game was going. She should answer, ‘Treat.’ But that was the obvious answer and perhaps reverse psychology was in play. She knew Anna was likely going to be killed either way, but would Webster try something on her too?

  ‘Angela? Come on, what’s your answer?’

  ‘Trick.’ There was nothing she could do for Anna now.

  ‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Webster. ‘I wanted to have a go at this myself.’ He cut the ties from Anna’s chair. ‘Stand the fuck up. Go and stand against the wall.’

  Anna stood up and retched. Watery vomit pooled on the floor and trickled down her chin. ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Please, stop this. Let me go.’

  ‘Stand against the fucking wall!’ he shouted, hitting her shoulder with the butt of his gun.

  She fell back and staggered towards the wall, cowering against it. Webster changed his position and aimed the gun at her.

  ‘I don’t want to die. Let me go, please,’ pleaded Anna, collapsing to the floor and holding her hands up in front of her face.

  Webster adjusted his aim and laughed as he pulled the trigger. Anna flinched but the chamber was empty.

  ‘You’re in luck,’ Webster told Anna. ‘But earlier I told you that tonight you would die, and I never make idle threats.’

  ‘OK, you’ve had your fun, but this is enough,’ said Angela, rising to stand. ‘Let us both go.’

  ‘I haven’t revealed my trick yet,’ Webster told her. ‘The trick is that there isn’t a round in this gun.’

  He dropped the gun on the floor and strode towards Anna, grabbing her by the hair to pull her to her feet.

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to settle for a different treat instead,’ he said, and he flicked open his penknife and slashed Anna’s throat.

  ‘No!’ Anna mouthed, clutching her neck and looking down in horror.

  Webster threw her to the floor and walked towards Angela, taking out a handkerchief to wipe away the blood that had spurted across his face. Angela tried not to look at the blood pooling out of Anna’s thin body and how she squirmed on the floor, focusing instead on Webster and what he would do next. Anna stopped moving, her body lying still on the ground.

  ‘You might not like me,’ Webster told Angela, waving his knife at her, ‘but if you ever try to stop me working with your father, what happened to Anna could just as easily happen to you.’

  Angela felt sick. He’d killed an innocent girl for no reason except for his own amusement and to scare her. She didn’t know what to do and stood there mutely, waiting to see whether Webster would let her go.

  ‘Did you hear what I just said?’ he asked.

  ‘I heard.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, and he threw a key on the table. ‘You’re free to go.’

  Watching Webster to see whether he would make a move on her, she grabbed the key and hurried out of the room and into the office again. Webster didn’t follow her but she picked up a vodka bottle from the bar in case she needed to defend herself.

  Unlocking the door, she flung it against the wall and prepared to swing the bottle at anyone who tried to stop her leaving, but no one stood outside. She cautiously edged out into the corridor. It was empty; she could only hear the music from the stage and men in the distance laughing.

  She hurried back to their booth to find her father and Vincent.

  ‘Webster…’ she told them, dropping the vodka bottle on the table. ‘He just killed a girl in front of me.’

  ‘What the fuck?’ Vincent stood and moved to guard Angela and Leon, taking out his gun. He looked around and indicated for his men to be alert. ‘What happened?’

  ‘He locked me in a room with him and this girl, one of the dancers I think. She was naked and tied to a chair. He slashed her neck in front of me; he said he’d kill me too if I stopped dad working with him.’

  Vincent said to Leon, ‘We need to get out of here.’

  ‘Gentlemen!’ exclaimed Webster, appearing from the doorway. He was dressed in a clean black suit; the same clothes he’d worn earlier. ‘I trust the girls are treating you well?’

  ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ Leon said. ‘Angie just said you killed some girl in front of her.’

  ‘What?’ asked Webster, feigning innocence. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What girl?’

  ‘You locked me in the room and made me watch, you sick bastard!’

  ‘Really, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe you’ve had too much to drink? Or you’ve taken something?’

  ‘I haven’t “taken something”! I know exactly what I saw… I can show you the room he locked me in,’ she told Leon and Vincent. ‘Where her body is.’

  ‘I saw you go off with a gentleman earlier. Did you take something with him?’ Webster asked.

  ‘No!’ Angela protested. ‘He was one of your men and he locked me in that room with you.’

  She stood up and asked everyone to follow her. Her father looked at her doubtfully, wondering whether she was telling the truth.

  ‘I’m not making this up,’ she told him.

  ‘If he slashed her neck then he’d be covered in her blood,’ he said. ‘I can’t see any blood on him.’

  ‘He’s cleaned himself up… He planned this!’ Angela fell silent, wondering why her father didn’t believe her.

  ‘Planned what?’ Webster asked her. ‘What the fuck are you talking about?’

  ‘Ange, let’s see the room,’ said Vincent, asking Arnie and Tony to come with him for backup.

  Angela headed back the way she’d come with Vincent, Arnie and Tony, and her father and Webster following. She was angry with her father for not supporting her and not killing Webster where he stood for having threatened her.

  The office looked the same as before, and Angela strode through to open the door to the interrogation room. Now it was empty except for the chairs arranged neatly next to the table. Anna’s body had disappeared and the room had been cleaned. There were no arcs of blood on the walls and floor.

  ‘Where is she?’ Angela asked.

  ‘Who?’ said Webster.

  ‘You know who. Anna!’

  ‘Oh, Anna! She’s onstage at the moment,’ he told her, looking confused.

  ‘What?’

  ‘She’s onstage… I don’t know what you’ve taken. It must have been strong.’

  ‘I haven’t taken anything… You’re a fucking liar!’ she shouted at him.

  Vincent held out his arm to calm her down. He looked meaningfully at her, trying to convey that he believed her but now wasn’t the time to argue with Webster when they were in his club and could be surrounded by his men in seconds. She tried to control her anger.

  ‘Let’s see whether I’m a liar,’ said Damien, heading back to the stage.

  The others followed him through the corridors to the main room again, and when Angela saw the girl onstage she swore under her breath. A woman circled the pole who looked exactly like Anna, but her skin was unmarked; there were no bruises or cuts on her body.

  ‘Anna!’ Webster called out to her.

  She stopped dancing and walked off the stage, heading down the steps in red sequinned platforms towards them. A girl from the floor stepped in to take her place.

  ‘This is Anna,’ Webster said, wrapping an arm around her waist and smiling at Angela slyly.

  Anna looked puzzled, holding her hand up to wave at them mee
kly.

  ‘She doesn’t speak English,’ Webster told them. ‘But then she doesn’t need to speak very much… Anyway, I hope this clears everything up. I heard that you don’t like me, Angela, but that’s no reason to make up a hideous lie about me.’

  Angela knew what she’d seen. She wondered whether it was possible that Webster had staged the whole show; whether the bruises and cuts on Anna’s skin were makeup, the knife that sliced her throat was plastic and the gushing blood had been fake. Yet she didn’t think that Anna put on an act. No one could fake such fear and pretend to be tortured and killed in such a way.

  ‘Go back to the stage,’ Webster told Anna, indicating towards the pole.

  Angela glared at Webster for what he’d subjected her to, for putting her through this whole charade.

  ‘Angela, maybe you did have too much to drink,’ said her father. ‘And with all the decorations, you fell asleep and had a nightmare, which you thought was real.’

  ‘No, I didn’t dream it. He knows what he did!’ she told him. To Webster she said, ‘You’re one sick son of a bitch. I’m leaving.’

  ‘Oh no!’ said Webster, clutching his heart and pretending his pride was hurt.

  Angela turned and hurried towards the foyer, her chest full of anger. She needed her coat and fished a torn paper ticket from her pocket to hand to the woman in the cloakroom. She waited impatiently while the woman went to find her coat, feeling paranoid and looking around her in case Webster tried anything else on her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ whispered a voice.

  She turned to see the man who’d locked her in the room hiding behind a door.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ he exclaimed. ‘I don’t want anyone to see us talking.’

  She turned back to the desk, trying not to look suspicious.

  ‘I’m Marcus. Anna was the girl who Webster killed. It’s her twin onstage and earlier he asked her to pretend to be Anna,’ he explained. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know what he’d do. I didn’t know he’d kill anyone.’