How To Kill Friends And Implicate People

by Jay Stringer

  Maybe that’s all it is.

  Outside, the PI gets up and walks away. Joe hasn’t given the signal. He gets up and goes the other way.

  Sam’s said something to Pennan, brushed him off maybe, and then she’s standing up. Shite, the dumb wee bastard has annoyed her.

  But maybe that’s good. If she leaves, I can end this guessing game that I’m playing, and go back to wondering how to ask her out for real. Online, where things are a wee bit less scary.

  Then she turns and sees me.

  I think she recognises me, too.

  Oh shit, decision made.

  Fergus, you gotta go for it now.

  Girl meets boy . . .

  FORTY-SIX

  SAM

  16:07

  Alex Pennan couldn’t have picked a worse moment if he’d tried. Hanya and Joe were wrapping up. This was the key moment. He’d agree with what she was saying, and I’d be in the clear, or he’d want to kick up a fuss, and I’d be in trouble.

  Before I could hear what he said, Alex tapped me on the shoulder.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. He sounded nervous. Jumpy. I don’t know why, because I’m not that impressive. ‘It’s Sam, right? We met yesterday.’

  ‘Mr Pennan, hi.’ I smiled, but it was a rigid, perfunctory gesture. I hoped he read it. I also didn’t add, I’ve been paid to follow you.

  On that score, he was making things ridiculously easy for me.

  ‘Good to see you,’ he said.

  Neither of us really believed that. There’s a feeling you get. You know when someone is stalling. They’ve picked you as the random distraction from something else. Maybe I’m more attuned to it, because I’ve had to do it myself plenty of times while tailing people.

  I just didn’t know why Alex Pennan was doing it to me.

  I caught movement outside in the corner of my eye. Hanya was standing up. I’d missed the end of the conversation. Crap. I picked up my book and smiled again at Pennan, a Well, thanks for chatting gesture.

  Then Joe got up and walked away. The meeting was definitely over.

  ‘Good to see you, Mr Pennan.’ I nodded and took a step away.

  Pennan took the hint. He looked at the table that Joe had just vacated and nodded to himself. He stepped out toward the empty seat, putting his hand on the back of the chair before anybody else could take it.

  I didn’t want to follow him straight away. There was always the chance he might try to restart the conversation. I gave him a few seconds, and took a look around the room.

  I locked eyes with Fergus Fletcher.

  There’s usually doubt when you meet someone that you’ve only known online. Profile pictures don’t always look the same as the person you’ll see in front of you. Even the honest photos will look a little different.

  But I had no doubt about this one. I knew straight away that it was Fergus. He looked good, too. Annoyingly. In his video I’d seen someone who looked a little vulnerable, hiding something beneath the surface. I still saw that in his smile as he walked toward me, but it was buried beneath a confidence, a cool.

  It was a good mix.

  ‘Sam,’ he said.

  I gave him a smile, and hoped it looked as genuine as I wanted it to. ‘Hiya.’

  Not now. Please. This is the exact wrong moment for this.

  ‘I was just looking up,’ he said. His Scottish accent was less pronounced than I’d assumed from the video and messages. He sounded almost trans-Atlantic. ‘And I thought, that’s Sam.’

  We both stood there for a second, and an awkwardness crept it. I didn’t know what the right response was to this. Should we shake hands? Hug? We’d only been talking for a day, but we’d been doing it a lot.

  ‘What’s the right thing here?’ he said it with an easy grin. ‘Do we shake hands? Are we hugging people?’

  How did he read my mind like that?

  I needed to leave. I didn’t want to. It caught me by surprise, but what I really wanted to do was stay right there and wait for him to smile again. I hoped he could read my mind about that, too, because I was going to have to cut this short.

  ‘I, um, I’m sorry, but I need to go.’

  I turned and walked out the door, fast, before my common sense lost control of the rest of me.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  FERGUS

  16:10

  She hates me.

  Shit.

  Shite.

  Shiteybaws.

  She couldn’t leave any quicker if she tried. Practically has a jet pack on. It must have been my joke about hugging. It came off as creepy, aye? Baws. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. I’ve not even been talking to her for a full day. But I know it’s a lie. I’ve been getting my hopes up.

  And just for a second there, when we were both smiling, I was sure there’d been . . . I don’t know. Something.

  Fuck it.

  Note to self, don’t mention hugging a lassie within the first sixty seconds of meeting her.

  Well. I’ll back off. Can’t stand those guys who think it’s fun to keep pushing. I mean, I don’t believe the bullshit about plenty more fish in the sea, either, because I’ve seen too many fishermen who come back at the end of the day without a catch. But if a woman isn’t interested, it’s time to move on.

  You have a job to do tonight, Fergus.

  And first, you need to finish this one.

  I call Joe’s mobile, and he answers pretty quickly. ‘No, you didn’t miss it,’ he says. ‘Calling it off. She’s no problem.’

  ‘Looked hot,’ I say. ‘The PIs in New York were all cheap and old.’

  I’d been friends with a PI, in Astoria. He’d been the exception to half of the rule; he was the same age as me, but still cheap.

  ‘That wasn’t her,’ he says. ‘They were being clever. That was a cop, sent in her place to make peace.’ His tone changed a little, tired, shrugging it all off. ‘And it worked. What the hell? Now’s not the right time to be dropping any more bodies.’

  He says he’ll send me some money as payment for backing him up, then hangs up.

  Right.

  I’ve got the whole evening to kill before I head back to Scott’s place.

  I feel like shit.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  SAM

  16:40

  I met Hanya back at FuBar as we’d arranged. Pennan and Fergus had slowed me down, so Hanya had two gin and tonics lined up at the table by the time I got to the bar.

  ‘I missed the end,’ I said. ‘How did it go?’

  She took a sip at her drink and nodded as she set it back down. ‘He’s going to leave you alone.’

  ‘Now the real question,’ I said. I still hadn’t touched my drink. It felt a little early. ‘Are we going to leave him alone?’

  ‘I think you should. We don’t know what’s going on yet but if it involves him, then I don’t think you should pull the thread.’

  Hanya was right, of course. The year before, I’d linked a series of arson attacks and a decades-old murder, and along the way I’d walked right up to the edge of something big. Hanya had talked me out of taking it any further. She said the same thing she was telling me now, This is a thread, and if you pull on it, you don’t know how high it goes.

  I’d got justice for a dead woman, and exposed the people behind the fires. I’d left the rest of it alone. But now, this was another mystery, and there was another thread dangling in front of me. I’ve said it before: I’m the queen of stupid decisions. I’d made the right choice once; asking me to do it twice was expecting a miracle.

  No way was I leaving this alone.

  ‘You’re right.’ I took a sip of the drink, a prop to cover for my lie. ‘I’ll leave it alone.’

  ‘Cheers.’ Hanya waved at the air with her glass. It was a distraction; she was playing the same game as me. I looked at her eyes and could see she was trying to read me. ‘So, why were you late?’

  Oh, that.

  She didn’t know I was lying about the case.

  Han
g on. The case. Pennan. He’d left the office. I checked the trackers on the phone. Both his and Kara’s cars were still where they had been earlier. Alex Pennan was out and about, but I was sure that if he was on his way to an affair, he wouldn’t have been stopping to talk to me.

  Kara could wait.

  ‘There was this, a, there was a guy.’ Crap. I could feel my cheeks reddening. It wasn’t the alcohol. ‘I was talking to someone.’

  ‘Someone?’

  ‘Remember the one guy I liked? The video? Well, we’ve been sending each other messages all day. I like him, he’s funny.’

  Hanya made a high-pitched noise somewhere between a squeal and a giggle. ‘You’ve met someone?’

  ‘No. Well, yes. But not now. I messed it up. He was at the café, wanted to talk, but I brushed him off because of our thing. I was pretty rude.’ I sighed. ‘I blew that one.’

  ‘But you like him?’

  ‘I think so? I mean, how would I know? All we’ve been doing is messaging. I’ve only spoken to him for about a minute, and I was crap to him. It’s not like I really know.’

  ‘Rubbish. You know. Online is like the best way to know, these days. You talk to people in advance, get a feel for whether you’ll get on. What did you feel like when you met him?’

  The good news was I couldn’t blush as I answered.

  The bad news was that the only reason I didn’t go red was I was still flushed from a few seconds before.

  ‘I liked him,’ I said.

  ‘Well then.’ She drained her glass and stood up to get another. ‘You like him, you know he’s in town. Ask him if he wants a drink. Now.’

  ‘Now? While I’m dressed as Messenger McMessengerson?’

  ‘Okay. Maybe after you’ve changed.’

  FORTY-NINE

  SAM

  19:15

  I met Fergus outside a Mexican restaurant on Candleriggs, a street in the Merchant City. I was fifteen minutes late, and he was polite enough to tell me he hadn’t been waiting long. I hadn’t earned it. First I’d been rude to him at the coffee shop, then I’d texted him, out of the blue, asking if he wanted to meet up. He’d rolled with it each time. That felt too good to be true.

  I’d taken an hour deciding what to wear.

  An hour.

  I’m not sure why. I didn’t really have any intention of anything happening after the date. Sure, with the messenger boys we jumped in bed straight away. And Milo had wanted sex from the minute we were introduced. But this felt different. I wanted to be a grown up about it.

  I just wasn’t sure what that actually meant.

  I looked at the clothes I was wearing when I got home. Cargo shorts and a hoodie. It was a practiced look, and it said, Don’t date me, I’m too much of a fixer-upper.

  I knew Hanya was at least right about that. I’d spent the past year seeking out the men least likely to be a long-term proposition. That’s why Milo managed to hurt me. I was used to being with guys who I could finish with. Walk away just as I see them turning the sex and the laughs into something deeper, when their eyes go all puppy dog.

  But Milo finished with me.

  And right after I’d bought him a load of Star Wars toys.

  Growing up with Phil had made me think all geeks were nice. Milo taught me a lesson; I should probably thank him.

  In the end I went with the basics. A black pencil skirt, tight but not too tight, and a matching blouse. Battered biker jacket over the top. That was just the right mix. It was like, Hey there, I want to look cute for you, but I’m still wearing a dead cow as armour, don’t get ideas.

  The waiter sat us at a table for two out front, in an area cut off from the street by a small canvas barrier that bore the logo of a Mexican beer.

  He’d dressed simply in dark blue jeans and a thin jumper that clung in just the right places, showing a little bone on his shoulders that ran into the strong definition of lean muscle. I recognised a runner’s build. I thought for a few seconds about what it would feel like running my hand along the lines that showed through his clothes, then reminded myself to take several steps back along that board.

  ‘Hey,’ Fergus said as we looked down the menu. ‘I know I’m meant to be making a good impression, but you don’t mind if I eat the biggest bowl of chilli you’ve ever seen, do you?’

  ‘Hell no,’ I said. ‘After the impression I made this afternoon? Go for it. You don’t mind if I laugh when you make a mess?’

  He smiled at that. It was an easy smile.

  Fergus was hard to read, but not in a bad way. On the video he’d looked vulnerable. When I’d met him in the café, he’d seemed tougher. More sure of himself. He kept shifting between the two, but he didn’t seem to be trying to hide either of them from me.

  There was an honesty to it that made me far more comfortable than any of the immature guys I’d been with in the past year. They were always working so hard to show me something. It got exhausting just watching them.

  ‘I want to eat a burrito,’ I said. ‘But I might make a mess.’

  ‘Go for it. Food of the gods. I’d usually be having one, too, but I had one earlier.’

  ‘This is your second Mexican of the day?’

  ‘I don’t mean to brag, but sometimes I can fit in three.’

  We both ordered the beer that was advertised on the barrier. It seemed only polite. When it came, the drink was sweet but heavy. I was going to need to sip it. Fergus put the drink to his lips and I saw him calculating for the first time. Should he sip? Swig? How fast was it okay to drink in front of me on a date?

  ‘If it makes you feel any better,’ I said. ‘If I let you buy me a gin later, I’ll be downing it like an alchy.’

  He laughed and took a long pull on the beer.

  ‘So how has your day been?’

  I played offended. ‘Oh, we’re at the “how was your day” chat already? Have we got that bored of each other so soon?’

  ‘Okay, let’s talk about something else.’

  ‘No.’ I grinned. Let him see I was joking. ‘I’m kidding on. How was your day?’

  I wasn’t completely joking. I’d been dreading this part of the conversation. I was interested as hell to find out more about him, but I wanted to hold off on telling him about my detective work. Once someone found out I was a PI, they would either drift away from me, or they’d draw in closer but only want to talk about the job. So far all he knew about me was that I was a bike messenger.

  FIFTY

  FERGUS

  19:32

  I tell Sam about my weird day. Not all of it. Well, not any of it, really. I tell her I’m self-employed, and I do security consultant work. I also tell her I’ve not been enjoying it lately, and that I’m thinking of getting out.

  She gets right to the point. ‘What do you want to do?’

  Damn. I have no idea.

  ‘No idea. I’m thirty, I thought I’d have figured out what I wanted to do by now.’

  She raises her drink. ‘To never growing up.’

  ‘How about you. Figured out what you want to do?’

  ‘What I’m doing now,’ she said.

  Sam must really like riding that bike. I mean, I get it. I love running. But winter in Glasgow can last for whole decades, and I’m not sure I’d want to be a cyclist in all that rain.

  The food comes. It looks amazing. I’m glad we’ve set the ground rules on embarrassing ourselves, because we both make an arse of it while eating. I get full halfway through. Sam’s burrito comes on a plate and coated in sauce. I go on a playful rant about how burritos should be eaten by hand, wrapped in tin foil. Sam tries to play along by picking it up, but then the bottom falls out and she’s basically eating a plate of something that looks like paella.

  She keeps getting some on her chin. The first couple of times I find a polite way to do it; I touch my own chin and she gets the message. The third time I just go for the funny, ‘God’s sake, lass, do you need a bib?’

  She laughs, which is good, because the al
ternative would have been the end of the date.

  There’s this weird energy between us.

  I mean good, but weird.

  Like, suddenly I want to tell her the truth. I know she’ll walk away the minute I say it, but I want to be honest.

  And that scares the crap out of me.

  I change the subject from relationships by talking about relationships. See, I’m a clever guy like that.

  Master tactician.

  King of all logic.

  ‘Okay,’ I say, draining the last of the beer. ‘You can sleep with any man you want, from any time in history—’

  Sam makes a show of looking around the restaurant. ‘What, right now? In here?’

  I smile at that. ‘But in order to qualify for this magic spell, you need to sleep with one woman first.’

  She gives me a well-judged comedy side-eye. ‘Is this really where you’re going with your attempts to impress me?’

  ‘Come on.’ I feel myself blush. Does she notice it? ‘Play along.’

  She nods. ‘Okay, but first, you need to buy me that gin. And I need time to think about it.’

  As I wave the waiter over I catch Sam shiver a little, and, because I’m such a super guy, I ask the waiter if we can move inside to the bar. He says no problem, and so Sam and I hike up onto stools inside while they get us two fresh drinks. A gin for her, and a second beer for me.

  I want to stay here.

  I want to get drunk, and flirt like hell.

  But that voice at the back of my head is saying, Remember you’ve got a job later. Make this your last beer.

  Spoilsport.

  FIFTY-ONE

  SAM

  20:12

  ‘Okay,’ he said, after I’d sipped my gin. ‘Let’s get to it. People need to know.’

  ‘People?’

  ‘Well, okay, me.’

  He was persisting with this game of his. I didn’t mind it, really. It was fun, and it replaced all the stupid small talk of a date. We weren’t trying to size each other up while pretending to talk about politics, we were getting straight down to the important stuff. Which movie stars we’d have sex with.