Killing Pretties

by Rob Ashman

  KILLING PRETTIES

  DS Malice Series

  Book 1

  By

  Rob Ashman

  To Gemma and Holly, for keeping my feet on the ground whether I needed it or not.

  Copyright © Rob Ashman 2020

  Rob Ashman has asserted his right under the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988

  To be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual person living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher, or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licencing Agency.

  Table of Contents

  Also by Rob Ashman

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Acknowledgements

  How to get in touch

  Also by Rob Ashman

  The Mechanic Trilogy

  Those that Remain

  In Your Name

  Pay the Penance

  The DI Roz Kray series

  Faceless

  This Little Piggy

  Suspended Retribution

  Jaded

  Preface

  ‘I encourage you to take a moment … take a moment to imagine what it must be like to wake in the morning and have the world smile back at you. Imagine floating through your day on a kaleidoscope of beaming faces; each one happy to be in your presence; each one hoping some of your sparkle will land on them.

  ‘Imagine a life where no one is interested in your competence or your conduct, not your beliefs nor your personality. The only thing that’s important is the way you look. The way you shine.

  ‘Imagine being born with a privilege that paves the way to a lifetime of success and riches. Success you don’t deserve and riches you have not earned.

  ‘That is the life of a Pretty.

  ‘Pretties are everywhere. I see them at work, in the supermarket, in bars and restaurants. All of them ghosting through life with an effortless façade with which to dazzle others. Unlocking opportunities with a flash of a smile.

  ‘In a world that values looking good above all else, being ugly is a raw deal. I should know.

  ‘Pretties are the focus of my psychosis. The passion that gives the demons in my head purpose and direction. But not all Pretties are the same. Some are imposters, hiding talents beneath an attractive wrapping. These people run their own businesses, speak several languages, play musical instruments, paint amazing pictures or race cars for a living. These are not true Pretties. They have something to offer; something valuable to contribute; something to enrich the life of others.

  ‘The Pretties I loathe are the ones that have nothing to offer. The ones that are guilty of breathing air that is meant for others. These are the ones that make the cut. Male or female, it doesn’t matter. I’m all about equality.

  ‘My name is Damien Kaplan and killing Pretties makes me happy.’

  Chapter 1

  V ictims are like buses. You wait for ages for one, then two turn up at once. I know Callum is a Pretty but Elsa hasn’t finished playing with him. I have no choice but to wait.

  The headboard thumps off the wall like the bass drum in a rock band. I had fixed blocks of polystyrene to the wall to deaden the sound, but Callum’s energetic performance has made short work of them. Elsa is moaning and panting like a pack of bitches on heat. I know I should be horrified. But I’m not.

  Three hours earlier Callum had rapped sharply on the front door, the sound echoing around our vaulted hallway. I had butterflies in my stomach the size of condors. This was his fourth time and his second visit to our house. Tonight could be the night.

  I’d answered the door to the tall man dressed in a jacket and jeans, his white shirt gaping open to reveal a well-sculptured chest and silver chain. He was late twenties and greeted me with a dazzling smile.

  ‘Sorry I’m a little early,’ he’d said, giving me the full benefit of his perfect teeth while handing over a bottle of red wine.

  ‘No problem. It’s lovely to see you again. Please come in. Elsa’s in the lounge.’

  We’d shaken hands, a ridiculous ceremony given where his hands were going to be in a short while. I had ushered him inside and he disappeared through the archway towards the sitting room. I’d glanced outside to see his car parked next to ours in the driveway. My heart skipped a beat as I imagined myself disposing of it.

  I closed the door and followed him into the lounge. Elsa was on her feet greeting him with a kiss… a lingering kiss. She was dressed in a long maxi dress with a split running up the front. I had watched her dress for the occasion, so I knew the only thing she was wearing underneath was body lotion and Chanel No.5.

  I watched as Callum ran his hand down her body, letting it rest on her hip. Now he knew as well.

  ‘I’ll fix us some drinks,’ I’d said. ‘Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes.’

  ‘That’s great,’ Callum replied, peeling himself away from Elsa.

  I had gone into the kitchen and filled three glasses with champagne. When I returned, Elsa was sitting in the armchair opposite Callum. I handed over the drinks and parked myself next to him.

  ‘Cheers,’ I’d said, raising my glass. ‘Here’s to us.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Callum had replied, holding his glass in the air.

  We both settled back into the soft cushions. Callum was looking across at Elsa whose skirt had fallen either side of her legs. If he had been in any doubt about the underwear situation before, he wasn’t now. Elsa smiled at me and raised her glass.

  ‘How have you been?’ asked Elsa. It was my cue to leave.

  I returned to the kitchen to prepare dinner: baked sea bass with braised vegetables followed by individual chocolate soufflés. I could hear her giggling in the other room. My heart had been beating so hard in my chest I couldn’t concentrate.

  This could be the night …
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  This could be the night when Elsa says ‘yes’.

  The night when it’s my turn to play.

  I’d tried to focus on making food but my mind kept wandering, fantasising about what lay in store for Callum. All I needed was for Elsa to give me the green light. All I needed was one small word — Yes.

  I could hear the pair of them laughing. I went into the lounge to refill their glasses. Elsa was next to Callum, he had his arm draped around her shoulder.

  ‘Top up, anyone?’

  ‘Yes please,’ Elsa said unwinding herself from his embrace. Her one hand held up her glass while the other rested high on his thigh. I filled her glass and she settled back against his chest, leaving her hand on his leg. He held out his glass and I did the honours. She reached up and whispered in his ear. They both laughed. It was time for me to leave again.

  Back in the kitchen I downed my drink in one. My hands were shaking. How the hell I managed to cook dinner I’ll never know. I went to tell them food was ready to find her straddled across his lap, kissing him hard. Callum’s hands were inside her dress.

  ‘Dinner is ready if you’d like to…’ I struggled to tear my eyes away as she ground her hips against him.

  ‘Let’s eat,’ Elsa said climbing off. ‘It smells gorgeous.’ She picked up her drink and then stroked my cheek with her hand as she wafted by. Her perfume was more intoxicating than the wine.

  By some miracle dinner had turned out to be delicious, even if I do say so myself — the soufflé the crowning glory. The conversation around the table had been light and airy, confirming what we both knew — Callum had nothing to contribute, save for his electric smile and chiselled physique. He was a classic Pretty.

  By the time we’d finished the main course, Callum’s eyes were beginning to glaze over. I could tell that Elsa had been running her foot up and down his leg under the table. When I returned from the kitchen with two plates of dessert, her half-reclined position told me she’d reached his crotch.

  More drinks had followed and Callum was fit to burst.

  ‘I’ll clear up,’ he’d said, eager to move things along. Elsa had flashed me a look.

  ‘No, no, I’ll sort the dishes,’ I replied, stacking the plates and taking them into the kitchen. After all, it was my job to do the dishes, his job to do my wife.

  I returned to collect the glasses just in time to see Elsa take Callum by the hand. She led him out of the dining room into the hallway. They began climbing the stairs hand in hand. I held my breath.

  This could be the night…

  Elsa smiled at me as she made her way upstairs. She shook her head. The answer was ‘No’.

  ‘Shit,’ I muttered under my breath, downing the last of the red wine. I had been sure that she had grown tired of this one and it was my turn. But no, she wanted more.

  The banging and wailing continues unabated. I roll over and look at the clock on the bedside table: 1.25am. The one thing you can say about darling Callum is the boy has staying power. I have to be in court in eight hours’ time and I’m not sure what’s keeping me awake the most – the sound of Elsa coming like a train or my cock standing to attention.

  Chapter 2

  K henan Malice smashed his gloved right hand into the bag and snorted through his nose. Then he pivoted his broad shoulders and slammed his left fist into the heavy leather. A straight right completed the combination. His skin glistened with sweat under the harsh lights.

  ‘And again,’ a short wiry man with a face the same beaten complexion as the leather bag barked an instruction. Malice’s right hand hooked once more. The wiry man rocked back on his heels under the force of the blow. The next two punches landed hard.

  ‘Time!’ the man holding the bag yelled. He unwrapped a towel from around his neck and tossed it at Malice. ‘The power is there but you’re too damn slow. But then, you were always too damned slow.’

  ‘Yeah and you’ve always been a miserable bastard,’ Malice wiped his face and arms.

  ‘Piss off.’

  Malice doubled over with his hands on his knees, sucking air into his bursting lungs. The miserable bastard had a point. There was a time when his hands were a blur, but then there was a time when he was two stone lighter and twenty years younger. The wiry bloke had coached him to an ABA Championship belt and a shot at turning professional. But an ankle injury during training and a botched medical procedure had brought the curtain down on his fighting career and his time in the limelight was over. He could punch a hole in a brick wall but he moved about the ring with all the balance and grace of a drunk pensioner.

  Malice glanced over at the clock on the wall – 6.15am. The morning sun was trying its best to break through the grime on the windows. It was time to get a move on. He had a busy day ahead; things to do, people to scare.

  He went to the changing room and pulled on jeans, trainers and a black hoody. He called out a ‘see ya!’ and left the building. In the carpark he looked up at the sign emblazoned above the door. It read Jim’s Gym. In the twenty-seven years he had known him, it was his friend’s one and only attempt at humour. Which was probably just as well.

  He gunned the motor and sped away.

  The streets were still waking up and the traffic was light. He had plenty of time but seemed to spend his entire life in a permanent hurry. The traffic lights turned red, causing him to cruise to a stop. He saw Burko leaning against the wall under the flyover. He was partially hidden in darkness but his ridiculous hat gave him away, a choice of woollen headgear that gave his head the same profile as Marge Simpson.

  Malice was not due to squeeze him for a couple of days but it paid to keep them on their toes. The lights turned green and Malice shot across the junction, screeching to a halt against the kerb. Burko jerked his head up, panic spreading across his face. He ran on the spot trying to decide his best escape route, but before he could orientate himself Malice was out of his vehicle, bearing down on him. Burko stopped dancing, resigned to his fate.

  ‘Hey man, how’s it hanging?’ Burko said with as much bravado as he could muster, trying to mask the fact he wanted to be anywhere but here.

  ‘Hanging low, brother. You been busy?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s been a long night, if you know what I mean.’ Burko nodded like a dog performing for a treat. His towering hat bobbled around.

  ‘You got something for me?’

  ‘Hell no, man. Today is Wednesday, you said Friday!’

  ‘Friday… Wednesday… what’s a couple of days between friends?’

  ‘Oh, man, give me a break.’

  ‘I’ll break something…’ he raised his hand and Burko flinched. A shard of light caught his face. Malice could see an angry bruise under his left eye and his lip was split.

  ‘You been upsetting people?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing.’

  ‘Is someone leaning on you?’

  ‘It’s nothing I can’t handle.’

  ‘Looks like you handled it by putting your face in the way.’

  Burko fingered his swollen cheek. ‘Like I said, it’s nothing.’

  ‘If you say so. Now, let’s pretend it’s Friday.’

  ‘Okay, okay, but it isn’t going to be the full amount.’

  ‘That’s fine, I’ll see you at the end of the week for the balance.’

  Burko pulled out a roll of notes from the side pocket of his combat trousers. He peeled off five twenties. Malice eyed him and wagged his finger. Burko reeled off another two plus a tenner.

  ‘That’s it, man. I gotta stock-up,’ Burko said, shrugging his shoulders.

  Malice snatched the notes, balled them up and stuffed them in his pocket. He seized a handful of Burko’s tracksuit top and pulled him in close. Malice could smell the remnants of cheap alcohol and kebab sauce on his breath. Burko looked away and jigged from one foot to the other like he needed a piss. He forced a smile in an attempt to diffuse the situation, treating Malice to the full glow of his yellow crumbling teeth, the product of too much crys
tal meth. He wondered how much longer Burko was going to be around.

  ‘See you Friday. Look after that eye,’ Malice touched his right hand to his forehead in mock salute and walked back to his car. ‘You stay safe now.’

  He could hear Burko cursing. It was always good to keep them off balance.

  Malice spun the car around in the road and roared away. The clock on the dashboard read 6.40 a.m. He shoved his right foot into the carpet and the big six-cylinder engine lurched the car forward.

  The houses and shops flew by as Malice powered his way out of town and onto the dual carriageway. The morning commute was starting to build and he kept having to jump on the brakes.

  Come on, come on!

  He could see the building up ahead in all its glory. The white cladding of the new office block fluoresced in the first glow of sunshine. He screeched to a halt and held his card against the black box. Nothing happened. He repeated the process but the barrier remained down. So he pressed the intercom button.

  After what felt like an age, a disembodied voice cracked into life.

  ‘Helloooooo.’

  ‘Stop dicking about. My card’s not working again.’

  ‘I told you to get that fixed, Mally.’

  ‘Yeah, well why don’t you fix your bloody barrier.’

  ‘It’s not the barrier, it’s your damned card.’

  ‘Are you going to let me in?’

  ‘Say please.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Say pretty please.’

  Malice buzzed down his window and stuck out his arm. He flipped the middle finger on his right hand into the cool morning air. The security guard hunched over the CCTV monitors, laughed and raised the barrier.

  Malice parked the car and leapt out, running across the concourse to the main entrance. He opened the big glass door and took the stairs two at a time to the second floor. He yanked on the handle and was enveloped with the smell of steam and deodorant. A couple of men were getting dressed in the changing room.