While distracted with thoughts of my funeral, the lift doors opened, and a tall blonde woman emerged, guessing in the dim light, in her mid-thirties. She walked while struggling with a mobile held to her ear with a hunched shoulder as she searched her bag, I guessed for the keys to her car. In the car park’s hollow concrete walls, I could hear her talking to whoever was on the other end of the phone.
‘I don’t give a fuck what your problem is. The deadline is nine o’clock tomorrow morning. and I expect to see it on my desk, is that clear?’
Further up, the echo of a car door being slammed. A man stepped out into the aisle, a hundred metres or so away from me. It was him; he carried an enormous bunch of daffodils. He moved towards the woman with long strides, his grey mac fanning out behind him, Jenna pinned under his gaze.
She hadn’t yet noticed as she clicked a car fob to unlock the mini. The man’s pace quickened. The sound of his footsteps on the concrete ground now alerted her; she gazed up, meeting his eyes. For a moment she smiled, as she slipped her phone into her coat pocket, maybe thinking the flowers were for her, which in a way they were. A few metres away, he tossed the flowers aside, revealing a gun, stretching his arm to aim.
Terror swept through my body, and I thought about what Paul had once said, ’You don’t think; you just react.’ Wouldn’t admit it to him, but he was right. The hitman strode towards Jenna. He hadn’t seen me, so taken by surprise as I launched myself at him from behind the concrete pillar with all my weight. Hitting him like a rugby player with a grunt as nothing else would come out of my mouth.
We both fell back onto the bonnet of a silver Peugeot. The gun flew from his hand, landing on the ground, sliding under another parked vehicle on the opposite side. The overhead lights flickered over the three of us like we were in one of those old silent movies.
I mouthed to the woman to get in the car, jabbing a finger in that direction. Way ahead of me, she was already pulling the car door open. I hurried to join her on the passenger side.
The man staggered to his feet, standing in our path, a look of utter shock on his face, not quite grasping what had happened. His eyes then shot to the ground, searching for the gun. He leapt out of the way as Jenna gassed it and shot forward, then stalled. I stared at her, rolling a finger for her to start the engine. While the man was on the ground, struggling to retrieve his gun.
I leant across to turned the key, jogging her out of a trance and noting her hands were shaking. We shot forward and stalled again. This was no good. The woman was falling apart while the man stretched his arm beneath that vehicle. I jumped out of the mini and slid over the bonnet to the driver’s side, which I didn’t mind saying was a pretty cool move. Then pushed Jenna to the passenger seat; she only too relieved to hand over control to me. All she had done until then was stare ahead, this faint cry coming from somewhere deep in her throat.
I fired up the engine as the man retrieved the weapon and sped off: pop, pop behind us. The back window shattered, a glanced at Jenna; she was whimpering, her face buried in her lap.
I followed the signs for the exit. Pop, Pop again, a splinter of a concrete pillar flew off as a bullet struck it. The man was running behind us. Jenna kept her head down to her knees, hands covering her ears. Now comprehending the situation, she was screaming a string of expletives, actually the same one.
Taking a bend pointing upwards to the exit, I skidded around the back of the car, scraping the walls, the sound screaming behind us.
We emerged into daylight, going through the barriers landing on the road in front of a shocked taxi driver. Who, in a delayed action, honked his horn while making a gesture with his fist.
‘What the fuck?’ cried Jenna, emerging from her lap, squinting out of the shattered back window. Her high-pitched scream cutting through me as I headed towards the police station.
‘Bloody talk to me! What’s going on?’ she demanded. ‘Who the fuck are you?’
I gestured with my hand to my mouth in the hope she’d realise I didn’t have a voice. If possible, I would have said, her hubby had paid to get her knocked off.
‘Who are you?’ She repeated loudly in my ear.
Jenna wasn’t getting the whole I’ve lost my voice’ thing. I headed towards the third exit at the roundabout—no sign of the hitman. The police station was a minute away, and Jenna had given up asking me pointless questions, her eyes staring at the road ahead with terror. Screaming as I jumped a red light while pedestrians started across, grabbing onto the seat like her life depended on it.
I needed to calm down. My heart was pumping so hard in my chest; I swear I could feel my ribs move. Breathe, I told myself. I tried to recall the one meditation class I’d attended. One was enough, never been so bored. Breathe in and feel the breath emerge; count one to six. I made it to four before blowing it out.
The station was in sight. My eyes zeroed in on the building, my fingers tightening on the steering wheel. I swerved across the oncoming traffic with Jenna screaming in my ear. I was in the police car park skidding to a stop just short of a police car complete with two officers. I hadn’t noticed the reversing lights, but frankly, it wouldn’t have made much difference.
Hysterical Jenna fell out of the car, screaming at the officers who had emerged from theirs. While Jenna struggled between panting and sobs to explain what had happened, I got out. Both officers were looking in my direction, eyes moving to my arm. Following their gaze, blood was seeping through my expensive white jacket. My arm hurt, hurt a lot. At that point, my legs gave way, and everything went black.
6
I found myself on a trolley, an ambulance behind me, and a pair of concerned eyes assessing the wound on my arm. I could hear Jenna sobbing close by, a soothing male voice trying to calm her.
In my head, I was screaming, ‘Tell the police about the hitman.’
‘Just lay back. You’re on your way to the hospital.’
’Hospital?’ I mouthed. My head dropped back in shock. Had I been shot?
‘She knows him.’ I heard Jenna say. ‘Ask her.’
I opened my mouth to deny all knowledge. A female paramedic pushed my head down, telling me everything would be all right. Then slid me into the back of an ambulance, the door closed behind me, drowning out the sound of Jenna’s cries.
Detective Inspector Hampton walked into the cubicle where a nurse was dressing my arm an hour later. It turned out a slither of glass from the back window had sliced it. Five stitches later and now being dressed, I was told I could leave once completed. I stared at my beautiful jacket draped over a chair, ruined. Even if I could have got the blood out, the glass had sliced through it. And anyway, the sleeve had been cut off from my arm by the nurse. No coming back from that.
‘I need to talk to the patient?’ said the detective, his eyes flickered over me.
‘She’ll be free to leave in a minute. If you’d like to wait in the waiting room down the hall,’ said the nurse glancing at him like he was an annoyance. Reluctant to go, his rather nice brown eyes were assessing me. I say, ‘Nice.’ They were an incredible brown. But the way they looked at me gave me the shivers. I felt under pressure as if I’d done something wrong. Did my silence make me look guilty? I pointed to my mouth to let him know I couldn’t speak. He had already turned, muttering under his breath about not leaving until he had spoken to me. And something about a statement.
‘There, all done,’ said the nurse, looking pleased with her handy work. I flashed her a brief smile as I just noticed three of my acrylic nails were missing. When did that happen? I knew I should have been in shock, trembling all over, traumatised and stuff. And maybe I would be later. Just then, I wanted to clean up, have a shower and find my phone and bag, still somewhere in that car park.
‘The waiting room is down the corridor, can’t miss the signs,’ said the nurse as she stood, waiting for me to do the same. I mouthed my thanks.
‘Hope you feel better soon. Are you taking something for it?’ She asked, pointing to
my throat.
‘Lozenges,’ I struggled to get out.
‘Good, but rest it, and it will heal faster.’
I nodded and left the cubicle, stepping out into a long, brightly lit corridor. I waited as two elderly ladies with walking frames hobbled past me, followed by three nurses, discussing what they were going to have for lunch. The smell of coffee drifted under my nose. But still not allowed. Needed to find the waiting room. Where did the nurse say it was? Standing just to the left of me was a uniformed officer. He had been caught by the three nurses that had just passed me, being chatted up. Everyone loved a uniform.
The officer distracted, I decided I needed a wee before seeing the detective. Not to mention making myself look respectable. The toilets were further along in the opposite direction. I moved through the ambling visitors and staff, headed for the ladies. Even though the nurse had placed plasters on my heels, they still hurt, causing me to limp.
In front of a mirror in the toilets, I did the best I could, flattening my hair with my hands. And using the loo roll cleaned off the lipstick smudged on my chin. Once I had wiped the mascara from under my eyes and looking less of a mess, I braced myself for the detective. I needed to tell him I didn’t know the guy with the gun. It was all a coincidence, springing from a conversation I’d overheard in the men’s loo. That sounded so bad. I needed to get my head straight. Practise what I would say, write, since I couldn’t talk. I wanted to come across as confident, not embarrassed, mad, or impulsive. After all, I saved the woman, so why did I feel uncomfortable?
I opened the door, determined to look the detective in the eye to explain he needed to protect Jenna from a paid killer still out there. And I didn’t make a habit of using the men’s toilets. With that straight in my head, I was ready.
***
Vincent watched as the ambulance carried off the girl with red bits in her hair. What the fuck had happened? Who the hell was she? A competitor, she wanted the kill. Had the stupid husband hired two of them? His gut was saying no. What self-respecting assassin would turn up dressed the way she did to kill in a car park? Yes, she might if about to seduce a target. She looked more like a sex worker than an assassin. Useful, he supposed, if lulling the target into a force sense of security. Yes, he could see how that might work.
On the other hand, perhaps the husband changed his mind and sent her to stop him? No, he had only spoken to the man less than an hour before. Then what? He needed answers. He must find out who she was. His reputation was at stake. He lived or could end up dying on the strength of that. It wasn’t so much he wouldn’t get another commission. He had enough to retire on if he desired. The problem sprung from being a liability to the agency even working on private contracts, which this was. As a liability, he would face being hunted and eliminated. The prospect set his pulse racing. An angry surge in his chest that this could happen to him.
Having followed the ambulance to the hospital, he parked and watched as they took the woman out. An hour later, he was still waiting. There was no difficulty tracing her in the hospital. He just followed the uniforms. What was going to be harder was grabbing her. His own life depended on his success. Take her somewhere, then interrogate, find out who she was, then finish it. Once done, he would conclude his business with the original target. No one need know what had happened. However, he must act quickly. Deal with this problem, then get to the target before she had time to recover and go into hiding. It had already occurred to him he might have to deal with the husband too—no loose ends.
He hovered in the corridor, faking a check of a notice board. He watched as a detective walked into a cubicle out of his sight. Shit, he was going to interview her before he had the chance to interrogate. A moment later, he was out again, and Vincent released a breath.
The corridor was alive with traffic wandering back and forth, giving him cover as he stood by the notice board. Then he saw her step out from the cubical, willing her to walk his way. For a moment, she hesitated with a glance towards a uniformed officer talking to nurses; her eyes then flickered towards him. Vincent turned his head, again gazing at the notice board. Enough people were moving around to obscure his figure, yet if she spotted him… was he stupid to pursue her? He held his breath, daring to check her position from the corner of his eye. Then an orderly appeared before him, holding a hot drink.
‘Can I help you, sir, are you lost?’
Vincent smiled at the young man, who had probably seen him there before he went to get his drink. By the smell, hot chocolate. Then returning with said drink, concerned for the stranger studying the hospital map.
‘Just waiting for someone, thank you for asking, though,’ returned Vincent, his eyes catching the woman walking towards him. The orderly moved on.
The woman, he noticed limping, continued to venture his way. His luck was changing. He waited, ready to walk behind her, take her by surprise. If she was an assassin, she might fight. He needed to ensure she didn’t—his hand gripping the revolver hidden under the mac over his arm.
She was getting closer. Then she turned into a door. Fuck. Vincent went to follow. It was the ladies. Okay, he would wait. He was a patient man. He flicked a look at his watch. A few minutes later, another look. She had been in there for 10 minutes. How much longer? What the fuck was she doing?
***
Funny what you think about when stressed. Waiting outside the ladies was the hitman. And I thought he was at the wrong door. Gents were further along the corridor. It took a second to appreciate he was there, waiting for me, his coat over his arm, pointing the gun in my direction. Gliding behind me, I could feel his warm breath on my ear. He was a smoker.
‘Unless you want to be responsible for a blood bath, do exactly what I tell you.’
He pushed me through visitors as we headed toward the elevator a few metres away. My head spun, working through scenarios that saw me legging it without getting a bullet in my back. The elevator doors opened. I turned my head in the hope of catching the policeman’s eye; he was still engrossed with the same nurses. Further up, I recognised the detective that had been waiting for me. He was surveying the corridor. If only he looked to his left. The man prodded me to move into the elevator.
We stood there with two orderlies: glancing to us, one asked,
‘Up or down?’
‘Down,’ said the man.
The lift jerked into movement, and my eyes flicked to the lift lights progressing through the floors, the fingers on the man digging into my shoulder. It stopped at level two. The doors slid open, and another orderly, pushing an empty wheelchair, stepped in, acknowledging the other two. The three chatted about their holiday plans for the summer as we continued down, stopping at level one. The orderlies left; the door silently closed behind them. An onslaught of panic gripped my chest. I couldn’t even scream. What did this man want with me? Did he think I knew where Jenna was?
Emerging on the ground floor, he had one hand on my arm, the other behind my back, holding the weapon. Steering me out towards the reception, where he froze as several officers stood by the door. We spun around, going back in the direction we’d come from. He, swearing under his breath, the fingers digging into my shoulder, getting painful. We walked along a corridor, guessing he was hunting for another way out. I could sense his panic. He would have been better off, leaving me and escaping through the front reception. No one knew what he looked like. I guessed the reason he wouldn’t let me go. I could identify him, and so could Jenna. But she was safe, for now. It was then I realised what would happen. My legs froze. He was going to kill me.
His lips touched my ear as he whispered, ‘I will shoot you here and anyone else.’ There was a beat. ‘So, move.’
I continued. My heels hurting, my limp getting worse.
A few more metres, he found a door leading to an exit. We were standing in the delivery area with a notice to keep clear for deliveries displayed on the brick walls. But just my luck, it was empty, with no deliveries. Further along, there was the
hospital parking. We moved toward parking area G, where I noticed a CCTV attached on the wall the lenses pointed down at us. Glancing up, I mouthed, ‘Help.’ The guy hadn’t noticed as he clicked a car fob triggering the lights of a dark blue Vauxhall parked in a disabled bay to flicker.
With a shove in my back, he pushed me around to the driver’s side.
‘Get in,’ he ordered, opening the door before placing his hand on my head, pushing me down, and inside, the door slamming behind me. He moved to the passenger side, making himself comfortable, before turning to me.
‘Who are you, and how did you know I’d be at the car park?’
His steel eyes fixed on me, waiting. I couldn’t answer. And not just because I had lost my voice. The terror had frozen my body. I could barely breathe.
‘You have until the count of three,’ he said, lifting the gun over his arm, aiming at my chest. My eyes flickered around the car park. It was raining again, and though the bays were all full, there was no one to witness me being abducted. Though in the distance, I spotted several hospital workers having a crafty cigarette behind a steel pillar. Too far away to call, even if I could. I considered jumping out of the car, make a run for it. Then reasoned I would have a bullet in my back before I got far. And he would simply drive away over my body. The sound of the shot mistaken for a car backfiring.
‘Look at me, and answer,’ he said. ‘Two.’
I mouthed, ‘Can’t speak,’ and pointed to my throat. Still, I tried, ‘Lost my…’ The words trailed off. But he got the message. Settling back in his seat, he looked satisfied, grinning.
Kim & The Hitman Page 3