Mr. Suit

by Nigel Bird

  Mr Suit

  by nigel bird

  Published by nigel bird, 2013.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  MR SUIT

  First edition. July 21, 2013.

  Copyright © 2013 nigel bird.

  ISBN: 978-1301001538

  Written by nigel bird.

  Table of Contents

  Mr Suit

  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

  Thanks

  for the birds

  Also by Nigel Bird

  Dirty Old Town (and other stories)

  Beat On The Brat (and other stories)

  With Love And Squalor

  Into Thin Air

  Smoke

  In Loco Parentis

  Nigel’s work also in:

  Speedloader

  True Brit Grit

  Grimm Tales

  Pulp Ink

  Mammoth Best British Crime 8

  Mammoth Best British Crime 9

  Protectors

  Both Barrels

  Chapter 1

  The urge to hit out at her husband grew inside Liza like Triffids. Living like this was driving her insane. She moved her hands behind her back and gripped tightly to her chunky bangles to make sure a slap didn’t escape her thoughts.

  This was going to be a special day, so she’d chosen a special outfit to match, the daffodil yellow two-piece she’d worn on their honeymoon. It clung to her as well now as it had done in Majorca the day after their wedding. The low cut of her dress and the dizzying height of the hem of her skirt were perfect for what she had in mind.

  When she finally found out for certain that she’d married a gangster, Liza got used to the idea that Archie might end up doing a spell in prison. Even so, this wasn’t what she had in mind. Locked-in Syndrome had never entered the picture. She’d always thought of him behind bars on 3 square meals a day, not as this living shadow of a man.

  Archie closed his eyelids:

  1, 2, 3 blinks – ‘C’.

  It took so long for him to tell her anything.

  Liza’s body filled with impatience top to toe, like cement was being poured into her from a great height. Felt like her head was a pressure cooker needing to let off steam. She twisted her slender fingers into her long, blond hair, ever hopeful she might make it curl. When the twists became tight enough the roots lifted her scalp. She pulled as hard as she could for as long as she could bear the pain.

  4, 5, 6 ...

  It wasn’t his fault, after all. A bullet to the brain would have done for anyone. Still, it was difficult to see the man she married in the wilting frame before her, head lolling into the wheelchair’s rest, the residue of dribble crusting at the corners of his mouth and leaving slug trails down his black beard.

  7, 8, 9 ...

  ‘Till death do us part.’ That’s what they’d promised each other all those years earlier, three grown up children and two dogs later. And they’d meant it at the time.

  They hadn’t been an average family, not with Archie’s line of work, but there had always been plenty of money around. They’d mixed with the well-to-do lot they met at the independent schools their children attended. Not that the quality of the company had raised their status or that the children’s education had made much difference. They never really managed to clean the muck from their working class roots. Couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was looking down at them.

  Jenny, their eldest, had turned to dancing to get her away from home. Was working cruise ships on the Med. They hardly heard from her unless she needed cash.

  The middle child, Greg, had been to university. Not to Oxbridge. Not even to the North East. Took a third-class degree in sports psychology with him when he left the University of North London; his grandparents would have been so proud. Shame he hadn’t managed to find a job after graduating. He spent most of his time down the bookies or perfecting the art of game-playing on the X-Box these days.

  Miriam was the youngest. She was also the black sheep. Left school with no qualifications to her name and nothing going for her other than that she had a body that was a carbon copy of her mum’s - shapely legs, tight buttocks, tiny waist, pert breasts and a beauty spot just above her lip on the right-hand side of her face. Since the age of 16 she’d been dating minor celebrities and appearing in the paper from time-to-time. She’d slowly worked her way up to footballers from the lower leagues, but the latest flame had been kept a secret for over a month. Must have been someone very important for her to keep her mouth shut for so long.

  Mostly Liza’s family were a typical dysfunctional unit. Until the shooting that was.

  Since then it had been a nightmare. All Liza could think about was stopping it all. And Archie felt just the same.

  “End it,” he’d tell her. “Plese.” He never could spell. Never saw the need to learn. Breaking bones and intimidating the opposition didn’t really require that kind of muscle.

  10, 11, 12...

  She’d thought about doing it. A pillow over the head. Crushed meds in his food. Thing was she still loved him in a funny kind of way. Enough to keep her from doing anything about it. And even if all her feelings had gone, she didn’t fancy copping a murder charge.

  That’s why she was off to see ‘Mr Suit’ Martin.

  “Anything you want. Just name it,” Mr Suit had said. And up until then he’d been true to his word. Paid for a nurse for a couple of hours a day. Bought in some respite care at the weekends. Forked out for all the hospital bills.

  12th letter. L.

  “Love you too,” Liza said, leaning over and kissing Archie on the cheek, checking her makeup in the chrome of the chair as she got close. The mascara showed off her blue eyes nicely and she thought the flicks at the end of her lids made her look like a fair-haired Cleopatra. “Got to rush. Won’t be long. If I get held up, one of the nurses will be here at 3.”

  He started blinking again.

  Liza didn’t have the time to mess around. Pretended not to notice her husband’s pleading.

  She turned up the volume on the snooker with the remote and shifted him round so that he faced the TV.

  Her bag was all ready by the coffee grinder. She grabbed it and ran for the door. Wondered if Mr Suit was going to do the right thing by them in their hour of need and just how far she might have to go to persuade him. It was time the boss made right for what he’d done once and for all.

  Chapter 2

  The meeting took place in the breakfast room.

  Liza had been escorted there by someone she hadn’t seen before, a tall, black guy with a goatee beard who wore sunglasses even though the lights in the house weren’t on.

  She was grateful for the assistance – these Millionaire’s Row mansions might not look like much from outside the big iron fences, but inside they were like warrens. Last time she’d been there, she’d had to take a pee in a sauna because she’d forgotten the directions to the bathroom.

  The sun shone through the glass patio doors and brightened the place up enormously. That was the cue for the escort to take off his sunglasses.

  Through the glass of the doors she could see a neatly manicured lawn, at the far end of which was an undulating, golfing green with its very own sand-trap and flag.

  Mr Suit didn’t bother to get up when they entered. Just sat at the beautifully designed chrome
and glass table that his wife had picked up in the Habitat sale for less than 5 grand.

  Liza took a quick peek and noted that he was wearing his trademark spats. She almost laughed at the sight, but thought better of it.

  The guy was all show. Oiled, black hair, Italian suits and a hat for every occasion. It was all about class for Mr Suit. Nothing but the best for the ugly bugger.

  Today he was in pink. Suit, shirt, tie and car-shaped cufflinks.

  The tie was hand-painted. Had a naked lady standing by the sea in the centre, the froth of the waves breaking against the rocks at her feet. It was probably an original from the 1940s. Looked good on him the way it drew the attention away from his face.

  Liza made her proposal as soon as the escort was dismissed. Mr Suit carried on eating his pasta as she spoke and grunted or nodded every once in a while.

  When the food was done, he leant back in his chair and poked at his teeth with a wooden pick. Looked like he was doing some thinking and some dentistry at the same time. A real multi-tasker this guy.

  Liza couldn’t look him in the eye. Instead she stared at the empty plate on the table and at the crumpled serviette that had been decorated with red smears of tomato sauce by Suit’s mouth.

  “It’s a big ask, Liza.” Which wasn’t exactly a 'no'.

  “He’d do it for you if it was the other way around,” she told him and kicked off the silver stiletto from her right foot. She stretched over until her toes found Suit’s leg and massaged the insides of his thighs. They were hard. All muscle. Made her think she might actually enjoy a little action. It had been so long since she’d had a man that the prospect of rubbing against his acne-scarred skin didn’t seem as awful as it sometimes did.

  “If the money turned up, maybe things would be different,” he said.

  It was a complication she’d not considered.

  “He can’t remember a thing.” She pulled her foot back a little. Rested it on his knee. “It might have something with you shooting him in the head.” Which reminded her why she hated the guy in front of her as much as she did. An urge to kick him hard in the balls rose and she had to screw up her toes to make sure her feet stayed where they were.

  Mr Suit dropped the toothpick onto his plate and put his right hand under the table. Took hold of Liza’s foot and rubbed her instep with his thumb. He had the touch, she’d give him that. Sent a few volts through her stomach.

  “It was an accident for Christ’s sake.” He held up his left hand like he wanted to surrender. “A bloody accident. When are you going to get that through your thick skull?”

  “I always said Archie had a thick skull.” And she had. “Until you proved otherwise.”

  Sensing she was getting closer to the answer she wanted, she pushed her foot back between Mr Suit’s thighs. A little further this time. Enjoyed watching confusion conquer his eyes. Pushed far enough to feel the bulge of his thrill.

  “Let’s say you’re right. That he won’t remember where he put my money. And say that I arrange to...” He tilted his head and brought it back again when he’d found the words he needed. “...put your husband out of his misery. What’s my compensation?”

  She’d played enough footsie. Pulled her leg back and slipped her shoe back on. “A clear conscience for one.” That should have been enough, but she wasn’t going to take the chance. “No more hospital bills for another.” Plus the icing on the cake. “And I’d be a free woman. Free to do whatever I please.” Not that she needed to tell him what that might actually be.

  A big smile spread across his face. Showed off his wrinkles and the shine of his crooked teeth. “Then I’ll make sure it’s done.”

  Liza pushed her chair back to give herself room to stand. “Thanks Suits. Just one more thing. I don’t want to know when you’re going to kill him, who’s going to do it or how. Understand?”

  “Capische.”

  She stood. The way he rolled his voice around Italian words turned her on something chronic. Her knees buckled ever-so-slightly, though she didn’t think Suits had noticed. She straightened her skirt casually as if nothing had happened.

  Liza winked at Suits and decided to go and buy herself a summer dress to celebrate.

  Chapter 3

  Two weeks since the meeting with Mr Suit and there hadn’t been an angel of mercy within a mile of the place.

  Not that things had stayed the same.

  Ever since her little flirt with Suits, something had been stirring within. Something she hadn’t felt for years.

  Liza’s sex life had fizzled way before Archie’s accident. She’d put up with a weekly romp, but left to her own devices she’d rather have spent the time jogging or down at the gym.

  She blamed it on having kids so young. All three of them by the time she was twenty-one. And if it hadn’t been for Jenny’s miscarriage, she’d have been a grandma already in spite of having a mere forty-two years on the clock.

  At first, Liza’s newly-born desire came like scratches she could easily ignore, but she soon needed to pay them some attention and took matters into her own hands for the first time in the shower on Easter Monday, finding a different kind of resurrection. It had been fun.

  Masturbation, she decided, was a lot like riding a bike only without the feet or the pedals; whatever, she was certainly enjoying being back in the saddle.

  It came as no surprise to her when she found herself admiring the neat behind of a young man in tightly fitting jeans while she pushed the wheelchair around the Marks and Spencer food department. He was trim and tidy, like a fashion model from the Next catalogue.

  The guy caught her looking and gave her as good as she got, his gaze moving down, up and down again and seeming to settle somewhere between her waist and chin. Gave her that fizzing in her stomach again. Made her wonder if the guy could see her desire through her tightly fitting dress, the new floral number with tiny lavender bouquets in the pattern.

  Which was why, as she headed up the ramp and towards the checkout, she decided to give her hips a little extra roll. The movement was the reason for her distraction. The toppling of Archie’s chair as the left wheels slipped over the ramp’s edge was the consequence.

  Archie may have only weighed about the same as a primary school child by then, and Liza had done enough time in the gym to be able to lift a large pig, but the angles were all wrong and everything toppled.

  From her basket the Mediterranean Couscous, Low Fat Hummus, Greek-Style yoghurt, four vegetarian ready meals from the low-calorie range and the family sized Key Lime pie that she’d been carrying in her basket fell to the floor.

  The sound of the food hitting the tiles wasn’t loud enough to prevent her hearing the crack of Archie’s head against the edge of the step.

  When everything came to rest and she looked down, it was like some kind of anarchic still life.

  Archie’s leg lay in a white slick of yoghurt. His eyes were closed and a small pool of blood formed on the ground just above his ear.

  It occurred to Liza that there might not be any need for a mercy-killing after all. Like God had intervened and decided to let her off the hook.

  And then the young guy with the nice arse ran over to spoil things.

  He took the pulse. Listened to his breathing. Twisted the body before him into the recovery position then twisted it back again. As he banged on Archie’s chest and did the mouth-to-mouth, Liza seemed to lose the sense of sound.

  A lady in overalls spoke into a phone.

  An older man ran over and took over the job of chest compressions.

  Paramedics arrived. Loaded her husband onto a stretcher.

  The young guy took Liza by the arm and shepherded her to the ambulance. Sat her down underneath the flashing lights. Left her to wonder what might have been.

  Chapter 4

  Concussion was what the doctor’s at the hospital suggested, but there wasn’t a great deal for them to go on. They didn’t know him like she did, however, and she knew something wasn’t rig
ht.

  She’d pointed Archie at Coronation Street as a kind of test. He watched like he was a regular. Only he hated the soaps, especially the ones set up North. ‘Bloody Northerners,’ he’d used to shout. ‘Can’t understand a word that comes out of their mouths.’

  She added ice-and-a-slice to her third gin and tonic. The glasses and her bracelets rattled tunefully every time she sipped.

  While she drank, she watched Archie carefully, on the lookout for some indication that he was still with her.

  It was when a horn from the advert for car insurance blurted out from the set that she saw it. Like someone had switched on the lights behind his eyes.

  Then came the blinks.

  Hundreds of them at once, like a swarm of butterflies.

  “Hang on love, let me get the pen.”

  She went over to the mock Victorian bureau and took out a pencil and a pad of penis-shaped Post-Its, a present for Jenny a couple of Christmases earlier.

  Post-Its in hand, she sat down to note down the code.

  All she got from Archie was a load of gibberish. He didn’t pause until he’d given her 50 blinks in a string.

  “Oh, Petal,” she said as tears rolled down her face. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t.”

  All she could think of was getting him back. Back the way he was, glued to the sports’ channel and blinking out that nonsense of his.

  And then the blinking began again. This time it was slow and deliberate. He stared at Liza to make sure she understood that he was back.

  20 blinks for the first letter. 8 the second.

  “The?”

  Two quick drops of the eyelids for yes.

  13. 15. 14. The urge to slap him was back. She took a swig of gin and tried to forget it. 5. 25.

  “The money? Charlie Suit’s cash?” She took his hand and held on tight. “Blimey Love, you took your time.”

  The doorbell rang before there was any time to think about what it could mean.