‘If you’re gonna be sick, tell me and I’ll stop,’ the driver told the drunken pair. ‘Don’t chuck-up in the back of my fucking cab – OK?’
‘We’re not gonna puke,’ Martin replied, interrupting his singing.
Greg wanted, needed, the taxi driver to remember them.
They reached their destination. Greg carried their Indian meal. Greg paid the driver, giving him a generous tip for his troubles, for both the detour to collect their meal and for the aural abuse his eardrums had suffered en route. He would definitely remember them.
‘Thanks mate, enjoy the rest of your evening,’ the taxi driver gleefully told Greg.
Greg and Martin clambered up the stairs and bounced their way into Greg’s flat. Once in, Martin fell on Greg’s sofa with a joyful bounce.
‘I’ll get us some beers,’ Greg announced.
Greg slipped into the kitchen and retrieved two chilled bottles of larger from the fridge. He had strategically placed two Rohypnol pills on some kitchen towel on the work surface, before dropping them in Martin’s bottle of larger and waiting for the fizz to settle.
Martin had remained on the sofa, wearing a drunken smile, completely oblivious.
‘Down in one,’ Greg said, passing Martin the spiked bottle of lager.
‘On three,’ Martin said, adding a hiccup. Martin did the countdown and the two men raced, gulping the contents of each bottle down as fast as they could. They finished level.
Greg took both empty bottles back to the kitchen, placing them both on the work surface. He would need to dispose of the drugged bottle carefully later…
Greg returned with two more bottles, this time neither was spiked.
‘Where’s my curry?’ Martin cried.
‘Hold your horses, I’ve only got one pair of hands,’ Greg said smiling to himself.
As Greg entered the living room, he noticed Martin had slid down the sofa, in a doubled-over sleeping position.
‘What are you doing? Are you alright, mate?’
Martin did not reply – he remained still.
Greg dashed to the kitchen, the clock was ticking. He knew that he had twelve hours. He needed to consume vast amounts of coffee in order to sober himself up and quickly switched the kettle on. Pouring generous amounts of milk into a large mug, along with two heaped spoonfuls of coffee, Greg proceeded to gulp down the contents. He rushed around in an almost frantic panic.
***
The following three hours were a bit of a blur. Martin had been securely placed in the back of Greg’s van. His hands and legs were fastened by plastic zip-ties and duct tape was placed over his mouth as a precaution.
Once the pair had reached their destination, Greg donned his mask and retrieved Martin from his makeshift confinement, heaving the unconscious man onto his shoulder, fireman style.
Hector opened his eyes, ‘Who’s there?’
‘Hector, I’m glad that you’re still with us,’ Greg replied, ‘You might recognise this man – a relative of yours I believe,’ Greg laughed.
‘What the fuck is he doing here?’
Greg gently placed Martin on the ground, securing him by fastening a handcuff around his ankle. Greg then removed both zip-ties and the duct tape and slid his hand into Martin’s trouser pocket, removing his mobile phone. Martin did not stir.
‘What’s he doing here?’ the gravelly-voiced South African asked for a second time. He sounded like a beaten man.
‘He’s going to decide both of your fates,’ Greg answered without making eye contact. Turning to the South African, ‘What do you prefer, Beer or whisky?’ he asked.
‘Water… I don’t feel like celebrating!’
‘Just answer the question. Water was not on offer, Hector.’ Greg’s head turned sharply bringing Hector’s pathetic body into his sight, ‘I asked you a question, or do I have to decide for you?’ he barked.
‘I don’t care – I don’t have a fucking choice,’ he replied, his whole body trembling with fear.
Greg turned away and went over to the table. Opening one of the draws he removed an unopened bottle of whiskey. He then produced a key and held it up.
‘Use the whiskey to swallow this key. Don’t try anything stupid, you will swallow this key – either the easy way, or the other way.’
The overweight man looked at him completely bemused as to why he was being asked to swallow this key. He was calling the shots and in a dominant position.
‘You’re going to have to help me, my hands…’
‘Your hands are free enough. Don’t fuck with me Hector.’ Greg glared, before sending a thunderous open-handed slap across Hector’s face. Hector’s head rocked with the impact, his only response was a small shriek; his spine tingled with panic.
‘You can let me go, please let me go. I will change. I’ll do whatever you tell me to. I’m asking for another chance to save myself,’ Hector begged.
‘It’s too far gone for that – there’s no second chances in the game of life Hector.’
‘I’m in agony, why the bottle? Why the bottle? Please take it out.’
‘The bottle is to prevent you shitting out the key.’
Greg passed the bottle of whiskey to Hector and forced the key into his mouth. ‘Swallow it!’
Hector started to cry as he placed the bottle to his lips and opened his mouth. Gripping his arm, Greg tilted the man’s head back and began assisting with pouring the whiskey down his fat throat. Whiskey was overflowing out of the sides of Hector’s mouth. He choked, trying to swallow the liquid as fast as it was being poured. He found it hard to breathe and tried to pull away.
‘Enough,’ Hector pleaded, gasping for air as he did. ‘My head is fucking doing summersaults!’ Greg did not have time to sympathise and continued to pour the remainder of the whiskey over Hector’s head. ‘OK, OK,’ Hector screamed, as the alcohol started to sting his eyes.
Greg stepped back, just in case Hector was going to vomit.
‘I think you owe it to me.’
‘What do I owe you Hector?’
‘Tell me my fate – please, think of my children, I’m a family man.’
‘Martin is going to decide your fate. All will become clear when he wakes up. Until then, all you can do is wait.’
‘Look at me, look will you? I’ve pissed myself, I’m fucking freezing and I’m starving. I will never go with another man, if that’s why I’m here.’
‘Hector, Hector, Hector,’ Greg laughed. ‘Who else can see you in this state? No one can. So no one gives a fuck what you look like. You’ve spent most of you putrid life in this state. Come on, let’s be honest, personal hygiene doesn’t rate high in your to-do list, does it? So why are you worrying about it now? A bit too late for that isn’t it?’
‘How long have I got? My family… what about my family?’ Hector begged.
‘Martin will wake up in a few hours, you can ask him. I’ll be back to see you both later. All will become clear Hector. Try not to worry too much…’ Greg replied, not answering any of the wasted questions he had been asked. Greg walked away…
Chapter Twenty-One
‘What the fuck’s going on?’ Martin demanded, as he woke.
‘Martin, it’s me, Hector. We are prisoners.’
‘What the fuck is going on Hector… and what the fuck are you doing here?’ Martin demanded answers, his voiced raised, anger raging through his veins.
‘Do you remember the guy in the black suit that they were talking about on the news? He bought us both here.’
‘Fucking hell my head hurts. Why?’
‘He didn’t explain that bit. I think it’s me he wants, you are just here to make up the numbers.’
‘Fucking hell Hector, where are we? We need to get away. How long have we been here?’
‘I’ve been here since yesterday… I think. You arrived a few hours ago.’
‘You look like shit; you’ve been given a right fucking kicking,’ Martin said, as he checked himself. ‘He doesn’t seem to
have touched me.’
‘That’s why I said he only wants me!’
‘Hold on a minute,’ Martin sat up, ‘I thought she was making him up, if it’s the same guy, he made that girl kill her fella. Oh no – fucking hell Hector!’ Martin panicked.
‘You’re here to kill me Martin. And there’s no way out.’ Hector said pointing to his posterior, ‘It’s a bottle and, yes, it’s been stuck there. I’ve tried to remove it but it’s too painful.’
‘Why?’ Martin gasped. ‘What have we done?’
‘It’s me, what I’ve done, I think you’re here for the same reasons he used the girl.’
‘We need to stop him, to tell him to stop,’ Martin said urgently.
‘When he bought you here, he stuck that handcuff around your ankle and then made me swallow a key. I would place money that the key he made me swallow is the key to that handcuff and the bottle is to stop me shitting it out!’
‘What are we gonna do?’
‘Wait for him to come back. Listen Martin, I know I haven’t been a brilliant husband to your sister, and I’ve not been there for our kids. All this is a little too late I know… but I have to make peace, there’s no way that we can escape. I’ve tried begging him but he is cold. I have to face it, I’m going to die here. If you don’t do it, he will. You might not have a choice – make no mistake. You have to do it, to save yourself.’
Martin couldn’t take it in, ‘I was out with Greg, but I don’t remember getting back to Greg’s. I was gonna stay at his… I don’t remember leaving the pub… oh my fucking God, this must be a fucking bad dream.’
‘He got me from around the back of The Penny. Listen, it’s no secret that I swing both ways – Mandy knows, and always has done. He must hate gays.’
‘I never thought it was true. I thought you were just a mouthy bastard!’
‘It’s common where I come from.’ Hector coughed the pain from his broken ribs more potent now. ‘I know that…what I’m trying to say is that Mandy accepts me for who I am.’
‘That’s fucking bullshit! If Mandy knew, you would have been history – and if I had known…’ Martin started to cry, saddened by what he had just been told.
‘Cut the bollocks Martin. Mandy would never have allowed you to do anything and you know that!’
‘She’s protected you for years Hector. But look where you are now – look where we are now,’ Martin snapped, tripping on his words. ‘This is your fault, you dirty bastard. I’ve been dragged in.’ Once again, Martin paused, his anger intensifying his hatred for Hector. ‘I’ll tell him to fucking kill you; then my sister will be rid of you. I’ll tell him that I ain’t gay and he’ll let me go. That shit ain’t got fuck all to do with me.’
‘Well, he seems to think it’s got plenty to do with you, or you wouldn’t be here would you? You stupid bastard!’
‘No. If you fucking understood what your fucking arsehole was for, then neither of us would be here, would we? And he wouldn’t have shoved a bottle up it, would he?’
‘Be as angry as you want, it doesn’t change anything. We’re both here, and we ain’t fucking going nowhere, unless he says so.’
‘You know that, whatever happens, it’s all down to you. It’s your fucking fault.’
‘I know one thing… he’s not bothered what we think.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Karen walked at a steady pace, making her way to the exit of the tube station.
‘Hello sexy!’ she called out.
Greg stood, casually leaning against a wall reading a newspaper. He slowly looked up on hearing Karen’s voice.
‘Are you catching up on yesterday’s football?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, something like that – West Ham lost, again and Chelsea only managed a draw,’ he laughed. ‘How are you? You look gorgeous,’ he added, as he gave her a full kiss on the lips, complemented with a big hug.
‘Wow. I’m much better now. Did you miss me last night or something?’ she asked, as she took hold of his hand, gripping it tightly.
They both started to walk in the direction of the restaurant.
‘No!’ Greg replied, teasing Karen with his answer.
‘What did you get up to last night then?’ Karen tried to keep the conversation going. ‘You don’t look too worse for wear.’
‘Met up with Mart, stayed in The Blackbirds all night, so I owe you twenty quid.’ He turned, giving her a kiss on her cheek. ‘Mart came back to mine – we got a curry on the way, had a few beers at mine, before we both crashed out. Old Mart was up early though, gone before I got out of bed.’
‘He must have had stuff to do?’
‘You’ll never guess what Mart told me about his brother-in-law.’
‘Hector?’
‘Yeah, Hector.’
‘Go on, tell me.’
‘Hector went out Friday night and hadn’t been seen since.’
‘What?’
‘He hadn’t gone home and Mart told me that his sister, Mandy, Hector’s wife, had called The Old Bill.’
‘Well, we’ve all heard the stories he comes out with.’
‘That’s what I said – I said that he’s probably been beaten up or something.’
‘When he does go home, he’ll have some explaining to do,’ Karen laughed.
Greg smiled to himself – Karen was eating out the palm of his hand. ‘Yeah, I know, he’s in deep shit!’ Greg laughed as he opened the door to the restaurant and, being the gentleman, held the door open for Karen to walk through.
‘Hello, sir, madam, have you a reservation?’ asked a well-presented middle aged man.
‘Yes,’ Greg replied. ‘Mr O’Hara, table for two for one o’clock,’ Greg smiled politely.
‘Yes, Mr O’Hara you are a little early. Would sir and madam like to have a drink at the bar while I check if your table is ready?’
‘Yes, why not?’ Greg smiled.
As the pair reached the bar, they could hear a man and a woman having a heated discussion. Karen looked at Greg and shrugged her shoulders. ‘Leave it at home,’ she giggled.
‘Ignore them. What would you like to drink?’ Greg asked.
‘I’ll have a dry white wine please,’ Karen replied.
Greg ordered Karen’s wine and himself a pint of lager. Moments later a waiter appeared. ‘Mr O’Hara your table is ready. May I take your drinks to your table for you?’
‘Yes please – and can you put them on my bill?’
‘Certainly, sir.’
The waiter took their drinks, placed them on a silver tray and led the way. As they were being seated they could hear the heated conversation that Karen commented on at the bar. A couple seemed to be having an argument.
‘Listen Brent, if you don’t like it you know what you can do,’ the woman firmly told the man sitting opposite.
‘No, you listen to me Val, it is not happening,’ the man replied, trying to stand his ground.
‘Well, it’s all a bit too late for you to decide what is and what isn’t happening – don’t you think?’
‘We can sort this out. We always have in the past.’
‘You think you can call the shots?’
‘Listen to me, you silly cow. He who pays the piper, names the tune, just you remember that, hey?’
The whole restaurant could hear the couple though, for some reason, the staff were reluctant to ask the couple to keep the noise down.
Brent and Valerie Hope were a very wealthy couple, their money had come from Brent’s software business which was doing as well as it ever had. Valerie was a lady of leisure. Brent had spoilt her from the day they married; she got whatever she wanted which was the main reason she stayed with him. He, on the other hand, worshiped the ground she walked on, she was a very attractive woman for her years. Brent had just turned forty and his wife was three years his junior. It was evident that a cosmetic surgeon had lent a hand in sculpting her statuesque figure.
‘I’m telling you that if you don’t put a stop to this,
I will leave you,’ Valerie told Brent.
‘Leave me and you’ll get nothing,’ Brent snapped.
‘I’ll bleed you dry,’ Valerie snarled.
‘OK, time out. I can’t understand why you two have to share your matrimonial problems with the rest of us. Can’t you take your personal problems somewhere else and let us enjoy our lunch in peace?’ Karen interrupted, she could not listen to any more.
‘Mind your own business,’ Valerie barked.
‘We would love to, but you two won’t let us,’ Karen bitched back.
‘I don’t have to put up with this – Brent, say something,’ she ordered her silent husband to speak.
‘He can’t get a word in edgeways, poor bloke.’
‘You leave my husband alone!’
‘Ha! I think you should listen to yourself and maybe you should leave him alone,’ Karen was beginning to enjoy this. It was obvious that no one had ever challenged this woman.
‘I’ve always thought that this place was going downhill. I don’t know why they’ve lowered their standards by allowing riff raff like you to dine here.’ Valerie decided that it was time for the gloves to come off, and to direct her aim below the belt.
‘Firstly, you snotty bitch, we are not riff raff, and secondly at least we know how to behave in places like this, you stuck up cow.’
One of the waiters came marching over.
‘George can you please remove these people, they are upsetting my husband and I…’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Greg said, standing up. He had remained silent for too long, ‘If you and your husband want to argue, bitch and fight, please, for the sake of the rest of us, don’t do it here. We work hard so that we can eat in places like this – today is a treat for our sort, whatever sort we are,’ Greg turned, glaring at the waiter, ‘If you’re going to kick anyone out, it’s going to be her – understood?’
Another man walked over, ‘I’m the manager, what seems to be the problem?’
‘There is not a problem here, just a misunderstanding, that’s all. My wife and I are leaving. May we have our bill please Frederick and I would like to buy these two fine people a drink, by way of an apology,’ the woman’s husband said, giving Greg and Karen an apologetic smile – immediately switching it to a glare at his wife. The look sent shivers down her spine. ‘I am very sorry if my wife offended you, will you accept a bottle of champagne with our complements?’ he continued.
The Ultimate Selection: Be Careful Who You Talk To Page 14