The Ultimate Selection: Be Careful Who You Talk To (5 page)

‘Told you,' Brian said, as he fought to get air back in to his lungs.

The train doors opened and Brian bundled his way into the carriage, not bothering to let the passengers inside the carriage alight. Greg waited and then followed.

Brian looked up at Greg from his slumped seating position opposite. His face was bright red and his eyes were almost half-closed. Still struggling to get his breath back, he was unable to speak.

The carriage they were on was empty apart from the two of them.

‘You all right, mate?' Greg asked, thinking that Brian looked rather drunk.

‘Yeah, I'm all right,' Brian paused, ‘it's the others,' Brian said with a little chuckle, following his attempted quirk.

‘Is that the best you can do?' Greg said in a way to suggest that Brian's attempt at humour was not very good.

‘OK flash, let's hear one from you!' Brian said defensively.

‘OK then,' Greg smiled, ‘What do you call a man standing in-between two houses?'

‘How do I know?' Brian replied, slightly over enthusiastic.

‘Ali!' Greg shouted with a roar of laughter.

Brian looked at him with a puzzled, lost look on his face.

‘I don't get it,' Brian said innocently.

Greg stopped laughing, paused and looked at Brian. Then, all of a sudden, Greg started to laugh again. After a couple of minutes, Greg said to Brian, ‘What do you call a man with a number plate on his head?'

Brian simply shrugged his shoulders.

‘Reg,' Greg announced, though this time he paused his laughter.

Brian belched, ‘I needed that,' Brian said loudly. ‘Better out than in,' Brian concluded, choosing to ignore Greg's last joke.

Their train journey would not take them very long as Swiss Cottage was only a couple of stops away from Baker Street.

As the train was preparing to stop at Swiss Cottage Station, Brian had already left his seat and was standing by the doors, ready to depart the train.

‘Come on, mate,' Brian said.

Greg looked up at him, said nothing and rose from his seat.

The pair travelled up the escalator and made their way to the exit.

‘Tickets please,' an Asian guy said as he folded his crumpled newspaper, placing it on a shelf in his ticket booth.

Greg turned to Brian and said, ‘I've got our tickets.'

Brian gave a gesture with his hands as if to indicate that Greg was free to take control of the situation.

‘We haven't got any tickets,' Greg told the Asian guy.

‘Why not?' replied the Asian guy.

‘The ticket guy at Baker Street told us not to bother because there wouldn't be anyone at this station collecting tickets.'

The Asian guy looked at Greg, ‘You're having me on aren't you?' he said with a smile on his face.

‘ No, mate, straight up. That's what he said,' Greg was enjoying this.

‘I will tell my supervisor at the end of my shift. In the meantime, you must pay me please… two pounds each please.'

Greg reached into his pocket and pulled out two travel tickets.

‘Here you go, mate,' Greg laughed.

‘A clown, hey?' the Asian guy said joining Greg's laughter.

‘Sorry, mate, I was just pulling your leg,' Greg said, winking at the Asian guy.

‘No problem,' the Asian guy replied, as he started unfolding his crumpled newspaper.

Brian and Greg walked out of the train station. Greg paused to let Brian lead the way. The two men walked in almost complete silence. Brian's mind seemed to be away with the fairies whilst Greg's mind remained focussed on the here and now. Every now and then, Brian would make a comment, mainly because he found being quiet hard. His mouth had always ran away from him. Putting his mouth in to action before putting his brain in gear was simply an occupational hazard for Brian.

‘I'll wait out here, mate,' Greg said, ‘that way we'll get to the boozer quicker.'

‘OK, I won't be long.' Brian walked up a few stairs and banged on the door, too lazy to use his own set of keys.

‘Come on!' Brian ordered.

Through the frosted glass, a silhouette in the shape of a female approached. It could only have been the abused Sharon. The door opened, an exchange of words could be heard before Brian disappeared inside the building. Greg waited, surveying the lay of the land – the surrounding area.

***

‘I haven't got any money Brian!' Sharon yelled.

Greg could not help but overhear the heated exchange inside the building.

Sharon looked downtrodden. Her hair was untidy; her clothes looked as if their better days had passed by a long time ago. Her faded, creased, shapeless baggy RELAX T-shirt looked as if it had outlived its sell-by date and hundreds of hot washes and spin cycles. The black well-worn leggings clung to her thighs; her idle weight gain gave them a much harder life than they deserved. As she opened her mouth, her nicotine stained teeth aided her halitosis. The bags under her eyes gave her a well-worn appearance.

‘Course you fucking have! What about the family allowance? That came today!' Brian growled in response.

‘That's for nappies!'

‘You don't need any more nappies. You've already got a fucking cupboard full!'

‘They're not for me, you idiot!'

‘Just give me the fucking money!'

Sharon ran out of the hallway back in to the living room. Their young baby had been woken by the couple's arguing and had started to cry.

‘I'll see you later,' Brian growled as he snatched the money from Sharon's purse.

‘Don't be too late,' she pleaded as she picked up her baby.

‘Don't fucking tell me what time to come home,' Brian spat, slapping Sharon with a thunderous clap.

‘Don't hit me. Please don't hit me!' Sharon begged trying to hold on to her baby whilst absorbing the blow Brian had administered.

‘If you behave, I might come home early. But you'll have to make it worth my while.'

Sharon did not answer at first, the idea of Brian laying his grubby, sweaty hands on her, turned her stomach.‘Stay out as long as you like,' she said, grimacing.

Brian left the room, opening the front door. Sharon was quick on his heels. ‘Bring your mate back with you, and I might let him fuck me!' she scowled.

‘You'll pay for that, you fucking bitch!'

Sharon slammed the front door; their baby's crying faded.

Greg knew that although Sharon may have seen him, she had not heard him speak.

Brian trembled with anger. Sharon had stood up to him, she always did, but she seemed to be getting tougher these days.

‘Women…' Brian commented.

‘Looks like you've got your hands full there, mate.' Greg could not help Sharon at this time, her time to help herself would come.

‘Tell me about it, mate. But she's nothing I can't handle. I had to give her a slap before she'd let me have my fucking money – cheeky slag. A few more fucking slaps is what she needs. That'll sort her out!'

It was not long before the two men had arrived at their destination. Brian entered the pub first, followed by Greg.

‘We all right for a late one?' Brian asked.

‘Of course you are, big boy!' A slutty-looking over-the-hill woman replied from behind the bar.

‘Two pints then Trace… are your tits getting bigger?'

‘No, they've always been this big, cheeky, and don't ask to see 'em either. I'll flash 'em to your mate for a fiver. Where do you come from, handsome?' Her attention now focussed on Greg.

‘I'm not from round here Trace,' Greg smiled.

Trace had bought The Cottage – a small run down backstreet pub, after returning from her short emigration to Tenerife. Previously married to a local East End mobster, she had decided that the Mediterranean life was no longer what she wanted. She packed her suitcase and returned to England. Her divorce settlement was just enough for her and allowed her to buy The Cottage. Now in her early fifties, she looked liked she had been tangoed. Her fake sun bed tan, bleach-blond hair, hoards of yellow gold combined with her oversized breasts seemed to appeal to most middle-aged men. Though, for a man with high standards, Trace would be lucky to get a second look.

‘I know that. Do you have a name?'

‘Greg's one of my best mates, Trace,' Brian lied, interrupting.

‘Well, Greg, do you wanna spend a fiver?' Trace said, trying to flirt as she placed two pints of lager on the bar.

‘No offense, but I've never paid to look at a bird's tits before, Trace, and I don't intend to start now!' Greg replied, giving her a smile followed by a wink.

‘I like you Greg,' Trace said, winking back before turning away to pour herself a large glass of wine.

Looking around, Greg noticed that the place was not overly busy, though being tucked away meant that The Cottage was the type of public house that would never attract new clientele. It was more of a locals only place. If you were not from the area, you would never know it was there.

During the rest of the evening through to the early hours. Brian got increasingly drunk, as did Trace. Before Greg had realised, The Cottage had only three people keeping the bar busy, and Trace was one of those people.

‘I'm glad your mate's pissed off to the loo Greg. I'll get rid of Brian and we'll have a nightcap. What do you say?' Trace asked, thrusting her cleavage at Greg.

By this time, Greg was flat on his feet. The alcohol had made its way around his blood stream four times over and Tracy's invite was a very tempting one, despite her appearance. He tried to think clearly and battled his alcohol-leaden thoughts away. It was no good.

‘OK, what side of the bed do you sleep on?'

‘I don't. I sleep in the middle,' Trace replied.

Brian staggered his way back in to the bar, his trousers wet where he had not managed the correct aim angle into the urinal.

‘I'm closing up now, Brian.'

‘OK, Trace. Drink up, Greg, we've gotta fuck off Trace is closing.' Brian's alcohol-filled grey cells would not allow him to comprehend that Greg was sitting next to Trace when she made the announcement to close the pub.

‘Greg's gonna stay on and have a nightcap Brian.'

‘You jammy bastard...' Brian slurred, ‘give her one for me, my son,' Brian's vulgarity was not his fault, he didn't know any better.

‘I will, mate,' Greg smiled.

‘All right then, give me your mobile number and we'll meet up for that piss up you said we'll go on!' said Brian trying to hide his disappointment, wishing it was him staying for the nightcap.

‘OK, mate. Ready?' Greg said as he prepared to give Brian the Radio One flirt-divert number.

‘Yeah, go on then.'

Greg read out a number that he had memorized from listening to the radio.

‘Thanks mate,' Brian said, between hiccups.

The two men shook hands and went their separate ways.

Trace bolted the only entrance, turned to Greg and beckoned him to follow her up the stairs by the side of the bar. It was not long before they were both naked and sexually fulfilled.

On the train home, the next morning, Greg did not feel any sense of guilt by the way he had slipped away, leaving Trace still sleeping with a smile on her mascara-soaked face. He thought about Karen, though only briefly. He could not help feeling a massive sense of achievement. Greg had managed to find out so much information in one night. He knew where Brian lived, as well as who else was living there, Brian's girlfriend's name, her age and that Brian had no friends.

This was going to be easy, though Greg knew it was impossible for him to think like that. That is how others before him had been caught.

‘You must never become sloppy!' Greg told himself, over and over.

The hard work was now about to begin. Greg had to find out if Sharon had a routine – an evening routine.

Greg already knew that Brian's evenings were spent in the pub that was the same day in, day out. Greg had to watch Brian though, he may have spoken to Sharon like she was shit, though was it another story at home and was that why he hit her and treated her so bad? Greg had witnessed a fracas of sorts take place during the previous evening. Greg had gained a lot of information from Brian, though Greg was unsure about the credibility of the information that Brian had given him. After all, Brian told so many lies that he did not know what was fact and what was fiction!

Chapter Five

Greg had not slept very well for obvious reasons. Despite her age, Trace was a bit of a whore in bed and had managed to zap Greg's energy reserves. The sleep he did have was alcohol-induced. He was feeling rough. His focus would not allow him to think about anything other than Brian.

As Greg was drinking the last of his second cup of tea, he decided that he would send Karen a quick text. He picked up his mobile phone and began to type.

Good morning. Hope u had a great night and your reunion went OK? We must go out sometime. Talk 2 u soon. Greg. X

Greg hit the send option and put his mobile phone down. As it was Saturday, he went into the bathroom and had a shower. Once he had finished, he shaved, brushed his teeth and got dressed. Greg then made himself another cup of tea. As he sat down on his leather settee, his mobile phone bleeped. He picked up his mobile phone. It was Karen answering the message that Greg had sent her earlier.

It must be a good morning! Good 2 c u again. School friend OK! Luv 2 go out sumtime SOON! Will talk 2 u anytime. Karen. XXX

Greg smiled to himself. He thought that he might text Karen again later and find out how keen she really was.

Today was going to be a busy day. Firstly, he would have to go through his plan in his head and roughly work out timescales. He would have to find out which day would be best. People's routines intermingle with other people's daily life. So he did not want anything that he did to set off any alarm bells. He needed to get himself away from there as quickly as possible. He also had to get rid of anything that could link him to the crime. He would have to formulate a plan that was foolproof. Greg's mind was racing now.

‘I must not leave any evidence. Those forensic scientists are clever bastards,' he reminded himself.

He needed to get himself a special outfit, something that would cling to him from top to bottom; made of a material that would be easily wiped clean. He would need to be able to simply wipe away any debris should any blood or bone fragments land on him. Greg gave careful attention to what he was going to wear on his feet.

‘Boxing boots,' he said to himself.

The great thing about boxing boots is that the soles do not have any tread so it would not leave a patterned indentation – only a plain footprint.

Greg thought that was a brilliant idea. He would get himself some cheap, plain, dark jogging bottoms and one of those hooded tops that the young skateboarders wore. They did a great job of concealing your face and would hide the fact that Greg was wearing a mask. Greg would wear his outfit under his loose overgarments. The mask would require a lot of thought. It would have to be a mask that was both easy for Greg to put on and take off, though difficult for anyone else to try to pull off. The internet was a great source of information. Greg started to think about what he would wear on his hands. Gloves were the obvious choice. The only thing about wearing run of the mill gloves is that the forensic scientists were very clever in pinpointing a particular make of gloves from a single fibre. There was also the choice of surgical gloves. Or maybe the internet would supply him with an alternative.

Greg had to think of ways to make it as difficult as possible for the authorities to track him down and catch him. He would have to stagger his purchases of all the tools and weapons of his new-found trade.

He knew that he would have to overpower his victims so that they would not question his authority. He would have to take control and maintain that control throughout the ordeal. Fear would be his stealth.

Greg decided to drive to Brent Cross, a large shopping centre near Colindale, North London, which was next to the beginning of the M1. Brent Cross was a good place for Greg to buy the things he needed without sticking out from the crowd. Greg knew that he would have to be willing to travel and even alter his appearance as he may be caught on CCTV in the various shops and stores that he would have to visit. Greg would also have to visit some DIY stores as tools made very good weapons. He needed rope and some strong tape. He had heard that type of tape called duct tape, though that must have been from a film he had seen. He purchased a simple knife set for the kitchen. He would be able to use the various knifes, or at least his victims would use them.

Whilst at Brent Cross, Greg decided to have his hair cut – just a trim.

Greg was sitting in the barber's chair when he overheard a couple of guys talking about going to a fancy dress shop as they needed some costumes for a birthday party. Greg thought that the fancy dress shop could hold the answer for a couple of ideas that Greg had. He needed a mask and some props to help him change his appearance. Greg also planned to visit a few of the charity shops. You could find all kinds of great things in those kinds of shops, the kinds of things that Greg could use and the people that worked in those kinds of shops were all volunteers, semi-retired or even retired. He was confident that they would not remember him, though he still had to remember that more or less all shops now had CCTV installed.

Once the hairdresser had finished cutting Greg's hair, he brushed Greg's neck, took away the gown and gave Greg a tissue. This was all done in a single well-rehearsed move.

‘That'll be twelve pounds please, sir!'

Greg gave the guy fifteen pounds.

‘Keep the change. Buy yourself a beer tonight!' Greg said with a flashy tone in his voice.

The hairdresser looked at Greg. ‘Thank you, sir. Enjoy the rest of your day!' and, without pausing for breath, the hairdresser turned away. ‘Who's next?'

Once Greg was outside the hairdresser's he paused to get his bearings. After a few moments, Greg made his way to the fancy dress shop to research what they had to offer and the layout of the shop. Greg did not plan on purchasing anything else today; he wanted to know exactly where he was going to get his tools of the trade from. He needed to know the layout of each shop, so that he could pin point where the security cameras were, and conceal his true identity.

After a couple of hours, Greg returned to where he had parked his van. He had one more stop. It was on the way home anyway, so it was not out of his way. The place he wanted to visit was a very big DIY superstore. By this time, Greg was feeling very hungry, so he thought that he would also call in at McDonald's, though he never went through the drive-through as he felt they would tamper with your food. Greg always sat down and ate inside the restaurant.

Greg ordered his food, the young girl asked for payment, Greg obliged and the girl then gave him his order.

‘Please enjoy your meal,' the young girl said.

The girl serving him looked and sounded as though she had missed her last couple years at school. Deep down, she must have regretted her stupidity and her deepest wish must be to turn the clock back.

Greg did not answer her. He just felt sorry for her. She was obviously working very hard and trying her best. Greg thought that she could not be any older than seventeen and she was on the minimum wage. That was what wound Greg up the most. All the money that the McDonald's Empire was making in pure profit and the way it showed appreciation to its loyal, hard-working staff was ripping them off! At least his job was well-paid and he did not have to work as hard as that poor young girl did – at least she was trying to contribute something back to society.

Greg sat down; his thoughts quickly changed to the journey of the day. He thought about the places he had been and then, all of a sudden, he began to laugh quietly to himself. He was thinking about the hairdresser that had cut his hair and how Greg had given him a three pound tip, and how the smile and thanks that Greg had received seemed to be false. Greg could not help thinking that the hairdresser was also unhappy in his job – maybe not unhappy in his job, unhappy in constantly having to chase the pound.

‘How many haircuts would the hairdresser need to do before he started to make a profit?' he asked himself.

Greg thought that the next time he went there he would not give the guy a tip, though he would give him the same false smile and false gestures. Greg got pleasure from taking the piss out of ungrateful dickheads, as he liked to label them. He thought that people like that should be happy with what they had got because there were people out there with a hell of a lot less. Most people could only ever dream of working for themselves, having their own business.

‘You never know what you've got till it's gone,' Greg thought to himself.

Once Greg had finished his meal, he cleared his own mess away, got back into his van and drove home.

As he was walking up the stairs to his flat his mobile phone beeped.

‘Ah a message,' Greg said out loud, both his hangover and Trace now a distant memory.

As he got inside his flat, he took his phone from his pocket and selected to read his message.

Hello u! Wen we gonna av this drink then? Finkin bout u. K. xx

Greg decided that he would amuse himself by answering a question with a question; play a little game.

He selected the reply option and began to type.

Well then! Wenz OK 4 u 2 buy me this drink then? Who r ya? XX

Greg giggled to himself, as he pressed the send button on his phone because he knew what Karen's response was going to be. Karen liked the fact that Greg was always joking, though he never treated her as anything less than a goddess. Karen knew that Greg respected her and that was why she could not understand him ending the relationship.

Greg's phone bleeped very soon after he'd sent his message.

‘Wow you're on the ball!' he said.

R u going 2 b thirsty L8er? xx
Karen's message read
.

Always thirsty on a Sat nite! Why? XX
Greg replied.

Greg did not get a reply from Karen so he assumed that Karen had got bored with the game. Then, out of the blue, his phone rang. Greg picked it up and looked at the caller display to see if it was someone he knew.

The display read ‘
HOT KAREN calling.'
Greg had not changed the caller I.D. Greg smiled, and then answered the phone.

‘Hello?'

‘Who are ya?' the voice at the other end asked.

‘Who's that?' Greg asked, pretending not to know who it was.

‘You know who it is, you cheeky sod!' the voice snapped back.

‘If you are planning to buy me a drink tonight that's not the way to greet me, is it?' Greg laughed down the phone.

Karen thought that he seemed very relaxed compared to when they had bumped in to each other on the train. Then, Greg had seemed as though he wanted to be anywhere else but on that train with Karen.

‘Who said I wanted to buy you a drink?'

‘You seem very keen!' Greg replied.

‘What makes you think that?' Karen asked, as she giggled.

‘I'm the one who was supposed to phone you, not the other way round,' Greg said answering Karen's question for the first time.

‘Wow, you actually answered one of my questions! Anyway, if I waited for you, I'd be waiting forever,' Karen giggled.

‘How keen are you?' Greg asked.

‘Not overly keen. Just at a loose end,' Karen replied. Her tone suggested that she was toying with Greg.

‘Well, this call must be costing you a bomb… mobile to mobile… across networks,' Greg stated with a sarcastic, juvenile tone to his voice.

‘How do you know I haven't changed networks and kept my number?' Karen answered.

‘Maybe you have. But it still doesn't hide the fact that you're keen,' Greg replied.

The conversation seemed to be going full circle.

‘How do you know that?' Karen asked, trying to make Greg play her game.

‘I know you, that's why,' Greg felt on the back foot, ‘How do you know I'm still with the same network? I may have changed networks and kept my number,' Greg said quickly trying to turn Karen's earlier question back on her.

‘Cos I know you. Anyway, enough of the games. Are we going for a drink tonight or what?' Karen asked. She was beginning to think about how much this phone call was going to cost her if Greg really had changed mobile phone networks.

‘I don't know… Hmm, let me think…' Greg was still trying to continue the game.

‘Greg!' Karen said, abruptly, ‘this call is costing me an absolute bomb! It's a simple question.' She paused, thinking that she might scare him off, coming on too strong or maybe rushing things. But they had been here before and he knew her well enough. ‘Where and what time shall we meet?'

‘How about the Punch and Judy?' Greg replied knowing that Karen was being serious.

‘New Covent Garden?' Karen replied, wondering why they could not meet somewhere nearer to home.

‘Why not? It's nice there,' Greg tried to explain his choice.

‘It'll be packed and we live close to each other, why not meet up nearer to home?' Karen said wanting not to travel too far. The truth was that she was feeling tired but it was Saturday night and she wanted to see Greg.

‘OK, where then?' Greg asked.

‘How about… The Broadway?' Karen replied once again answering a question with a question.

‘Yeah,' Greg answered, ‘we like it in there.'

‘At least we'll be able to hear each other talk in there?' Karen replied.

The Broadway was a very nice pub located in Kingsbury, close to Wembley Park. Greg would catch a train from Wembley Park and be at Kingsbury Station ten minutes later.

‘What time do you want me there?' Greg asked.

‘Is half eight OK?' Karen replied.

‘Sounds good to me… see you then.' Greg was now bored with the conversation and wanted to concentrate on other things.

‘OK. Don't be late,' Karen said sounding cheerful.

‘See you later – eight-thirty on the dot!' Greg confirmed, before terminating their telephone conversation.