Nothing but Meat: A dark, heart-stopping British crime thriller Read online

The Ghost watched from across the street as she greeted a colleague and entered the building together. He looked at his watch, it was eight-thirty now, he had some things to take care of that morning but he knew she probably wouldn’t be out for about eight hours. He would return this afternoon, buy a newspaper and a big cup of coffee and wait for her on the bench opposite. He couldn’t imagine a better way to spend a sunny afternoon than waiting patiently for her to come out at the end of the day. And if he missed her because she had to finish work early, then he would come back tomorrow, and the next day if needs be. She was his, and now he knew where she worked he would always be able to find her.

  At half past four he positioned himself closer to the doors and waited as the staff began to spill out of the building and onto the street. His heart raced with delight when he saw her again and it didn’t take long for him to notice she that had removed the dark tights she had been wearing that morning. As he followed her high heels and naked legs he imagined her sliding the tights from her legs and wondered why she had taken them off, had she laddered them, or was she simply too hot? He wondered if she had them in her handbag and he imagined strangling her with them. He kept his distance and noticed with delight that she wasn’t heading directly to the Underground. He loved it when he got a better insight into their lives. It was a Thursday, his favourite day as they would often meet with friends directly after work. And it seemed she was going to do just that. He was dizzy with excitement when he followed her into a trendy wine bar.

  He waited a beat before following her inside. The bar was busy with after-work drinkers and it took him a while to locate her, but when he did, he saw her sitting at a table with three other girls. He ordered a drink and took a table close to theirs, making sure she had her back to him. He opened the newspaper he bought earlier and listened to their chatter while pretending to read.

  The Ghost drifted between the sports section and the banality of their conversation until a young man with a loosened tie approached their table and sat down next to her. The Ghost watched them over the rim of his pint glass and felt a surge of anger when the man kissed her quickly on the lips. The man said, ‘Hi babe, I missed you yesterday.’ Her reply was lost against an eruption of macho laughter from the bar but he saw her snatch another kiss and rest her head on the man’s shoulder.

  They ate and drank and after a couple of hours the group broke up and she left the bar with her male friend.

  As he followed them he wondered if they lived together and if not whose house they were going to go to; he wanted to know where she lived and knew he would be disappointed if it wasn’t hers. The couple rode the Underground oblivious to the fact that they weren’t travelling alone and when they reached their destination The Ghost followed them from the train and into the streets. They walked along the main road and then cut into a narrow street of houses. They soon turned and walked the short path to the front door of one of the town houses and as the Ghost got closer he made a mental note of the number and watched carefully to see who produced the keys and unlocked the door.

  A swell of satisfaction rose in his chest and his mind flooded with glorious possibilities when she turned the key and went into the house.

  Their door snapped shut and the Ghost walked slowly by as if he wasn’t there at all.

  The following morning he battled the rush hour on the Underground and got to her house just in time to see her leave. He was careful when he broke in and was vigilant not to be seen, he rang the doorbell first to make sure the house was empty as he couldn’t afford to be caught breaking and entering by the boyfriend or a flatmate.

  It was warm inside the house and it and smelt of toast and coffee, but also of perfume. He buzzed with nervous energy and excitement and found that he suddenly needed the toilet, the sensation distracted him and he was startled when a cat silently appeared from the utility room. It looked at him with vacant disinterest and padded back to its hiding space.

  He moved from room to room and even though his hands were gloved he was careful not to touch anything as he went and made sure he kept well away from the windows.

  His heart jumped and he stood statuesque when the letterbox rattled and envelopes hit the floor. He waited for the postman to move on and looked through her mail. It was addressed to Miss Mia Venditti. He liked it when he learned their names.

  The thrill of being in her space was exciting enough but his heart pounded when he entered her bedroom, it was, after all one of the main reasons for being there.

  He stood by the door and looked around, the bed was unmade and a messy pile of clothes filled a nearby chair but other than that the room was in good order.

  He went straight to the linen basket and flipped the lid. There was a tumble of clothes inside and he picked them out one by one and put them on the bed, a work shirt, three days’ worth of underwear, and a couple of pairs of tights. He worked his way through her scent, he knew what he wanted but he teased himself with the armpit of her work shirt and the perfume on the collar, then her tights, the feet first and then the crotch. Finally he got to where he wanted to be, and he had three days’ worth of used underwear to revel in. He fingered the material; soft, lacy and used, he savoured the moments before and after he brought them to his face and inhaled the intoxicating sour tang.

  He put them in his jacket pocket with the tights and went to search the drawers of her bedside cabinet and dressing table. He was satisfied with what he found; fifty pounds in cash and some jewellery; a few gold rings and a necklace made for a reasonable haul.

  His stomach cramped again so he undressed completely, he laid his clothes neatly on the bed and squatted in the middle of the room while he emptied his bowels in a thick nervous stream that splattered onto the carpet and over the back of his legs.

  He showered, dressed and closed the bedroom door behind him. He continued to search the rest of the house until he found a tin in the kitchen with some more cash hidden inside.

  He saw the cat again, staring at him from its basket in the utility room and coaxed it from its hiding place by making kissing sounds and saying, ‘Here puss puss.’ It appeared slyly with slinking suspicion and when it was close enough he kicked it against the wall and stamped on its head with enough force to crush its skull like an egg.

  He was pleased with himself and wished he could see her face when she returned home from work but he knew it wasn’t to be, so he left through the back door and slipped away into the streets, and back to the Underground.

  She sat in the armchair smoking and she knew he was watching her.

  The Ghost had gone to see his fence, Jimmy; a small time drug dealer and buyer of stolen goods.

  It didn’t take long for Jimmy to look through the items of jewellery and offer a price. When the cash was paid and the jewellery moved into its hiding place the business side of the evening was over and Jimmy asked if he wanted to watch some TV, ordinarily he would have refused but Jimmy had a new girlfriend.

  Jimmy was watching a VHS of First Blood and it soon became apparent that he was a fountain of knowledge and bona fide expert in all things Sylvester Stallone. Jimmy was talking about Stallone’s early years but no one was listening.

  The Ghost sat in the other armchair and instead of watching First Blood, he watched Jimmy’s new girlfriend. She was way out of Jimmy’s league; granted he was a tough guy and had a bit of money in his back pocket, but he wasn’t exactly Billy Baldwin. He had dirty skin and beady eyes and his nose was as flat as his head was square. She on the other hand was a looker; she was dressed for a night out and her short skirt was riding high. He watched her legs as she crossed and uncrossed them, sliding the naked calf of one leg over the shin of the other slowly and seductively while Jimmy droned on about the Rocky years. Her feet were bare and she looked bored. She made eye contact with the Ghost and held it – it was just a flash but it was enough and then she put her head back and melted into the seat in a cloud of yellow smoke.

  ‘Al Pacino was considered for the role
of John Rambo,’ said Jimmy as he produced an enormous block of pot. ‘Babe?’ he said to his stoned girlfriend. ‘Babe? Karen?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘How many quarters can you shift tonight?’

  She shrugged a lazy shrug. ‘Give me whatever; I’ll get rid of it.’ She caught his eye again through the flame of her lighter as she relit her joint.

  ‘Students have a hunger,’ said Jimmy as he pulled a knife from a drawer in the coffee table and began heating the tip with his lighter. The knife caught the Ghost’s eye; it was long and curved, majestic in its age and even more alluring than the thoughts of raping the shit out of Jimmy’s girlfriend.

  Jimmy saw he was watching and assumed he had his eye on the drugs. ‘You wanna buy a quarter? I can let you have more if you want it but at the rate her and her student mates get through the stuff this bar’s gonna be gone soon.’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m good.’

  Jimmy used the hot tip of the knife to slice small chunks from the nine-bar and wrapped them individually in tin foil. ‘Watch this bit,’ he said and pointed to the TV with the knife. ‘Karen, watch.’ They all watched Rambo jump from the side of a cliff face and free-fall into a tree. ‘This bit is real,’ he said. ‘Stallone does his own stunts. Most of them anyway; I don’t reckon he jumped off the cliff but he definitely did the rest.’ Rambo crashed through the tree, hitting branch after branch until one finally broke his fall. There was a crunching sound and Rambo screamed in pain. ‘Broke a rib doing that,’ said Jimmy. ‘That scream is real pain. Real pain. Stallone’s the best.’ Jimmy stood up. ‘Wait there mate,’ he said as he left the room. ‘You’ve got to see this.’

  Karen took advantage of Jimmy’s absence and said, ‘I’m going to a house party tonight. You wanna come?’

  ‘Is Jimmy going?’

  Her lip curled. ‘No. He hates students. Intelligence intimidates him.’

  ‘I might be a little too old.’

  ‘You’re never too old.’

  ‘Still. I don’t think so.’

  ‘Shame.’ She shrugged and glanced in the direction of the door. ‘He works every day until half five,’ she said quickly. ‘Come round on Monday morning after nine. We can have some fun.’

  The Ghost stole a look at the knife on the coffee table and nodded. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Tuesday as well if you’d like,’ she said and leant back in her chair at the exact same moment Jimmy came back into the room. ‘Look at this mate,’ he said handing him a sheathed knife. The Ghost slid it from the leather covering; it was an exact replica of the knife Rambo used in First Blood. ‘Check out the serrated edge. It’s got a compass in the top and everything.’

  When Karen let the Ghost into her flat on Monday morning she was expecting a good time.

  ‘What would Jimmy do to you if he knew I was here?’ he asked while they shared the joint and savoured the excitement of the moments before sex.

  ‘At best throw me out,’ she said. ‘At worst kill me.’

  ‘So it’s better for you if he never found out about this?’

  ‘Better for you too.’

  He shrugged. Jimmy was a dangerous man and she was playing a dangerous game by porking every scumbag in town behind his back, but she was young and stupid and couldn’t really comprehend the consequences.

  Her assumption was a fair one, thinking that they were both in danger if Jimmy found out. She had no idea that he was dangerous too, eminently more capable and more vicious than Jimmy. In terms of psychosis he and Jimmy were leagues apart but she wasn’t to know that.

  ‘Undress,’ he said when they moved into the bedroom. She did as she was told and began to move like a stripper at a stag party as the clothes fell to the floor piece by piece. She tried to be sexy by grinding her hips and showing him how flexible she was but he found her squirming movements distracting and irritating, and he felt nothing but shame when she sat on the edge of the bed and unzipped his fly. He sat limply in her hand and she tried her best to coax him into life but it was to no avail and his shame quickly turned to frustration and then frustration shifted to anger.

  He told her to get on the floor and she did as she was told but still she moved. She writhed around and ran her hands over the curves of her body and touched herself in an attempt to turn him on. To anyone else it would have worked, but not to him.

  ‘Lie on your back,’ he said. ‘Arms by your sides and stop moving.’ She obeyed, thinking it was a little weird; but maybe it was some kind of kinky game.

  He stood above her with his trousers around his ankles and she watched his groin.

  ‘Look at the ceiling, not at me.’ He kicked his trousers off and knelt down next to her. He put his face really close to hers and studied her skin, he poked a finger into her cheekbone and then moved her lips apart and looked at her teeth in the way a veterinarian would inspect a dog’s mouth. His behaviour was strange and it began to worry her, she glanced at him.

  ‘Don’t fucking move. Just stay still. If you move I will hurt you.’

  He stood and left the room for a few seconds and when he came back he was satisfied to see she was in the same position as when he left her and he knew it was fear that kept her there. He dropped to his knees again and produced the antique knife. The sight of it made her gasp and when he pushed the tip of it into the underside of her right breast the pressure was just enough to break the skin and make her scream in a high-pitched yelp. She squirmed and tried to get away from him but he pressed her chest down with his free hand and held her to the floor.

  ‘Make another sound and it goes in your throat. Move again and it goes in your eye.’

  She lay still while he touched her throat and her breasts, he slid his hand down her belly and when he forced her legs apart she shuddered and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  ‘What you crying for?’ he said softly. She didn’t look at him she just stared at the ceiling and sobbed as a puddle of urine darkened the carpet beneath her. He let it run over his fingers and he could smell it in the air as he knelt next to her in silence and watched her cry. He could feel the anger building up inside him and he screamed in her face. ‘Stop crying!’ He wanted to bite her nose off but resisted the urge. Afterwards he would wonder why he didn’t do it.

  He stood over her, his erection now raging and he made sure she saw it before he touched himself without shame. It took only second for him to finish and when he did he ejaculated into his palm. He turned his back on her and sucked it into his mouth.

  He spoke to her with his back turned as he pulled his trousers back on. ‘The knife is mine,’ he said.

  He didn’t look at her again; he just left her naked and crying on the wet carpet. ‘Don’t get up,’ he said as he left the room. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

  The Ghost stood in his room, naked in front of the full-length mirror and held the knife out in front of him. The metal was dull and the tip blacked from the heat of Jimmy’s flame and the stains of cannabis resin but he knew he could restore it to its former glory in the way the dark angels would expect. They had rewarded him again and he wouldn’t let them down. He could sense them behind him, peering over his shoulder and wished they would show themselves to him in the reflection of the mirror.

  He admired his body and held the knife close to his chest. He ran the tip of the curved blade across his skin with pressure enough to leave a red line dotted with blood and he shuddered with the sensation. He held it out again and covered his face with his hand and looked at himself through his fingers. He gripped the handle tightly and screamed at the top of his lungs, letting the surges of overwhelming fury rush through his system. He wanted to cover his face and hunt them with his knife, take them down and cut them up.

  He turned away and took his discarded vest from the bed; he stabbed crude eye and mouth holes into it, pulled it around his face and tied it at the back. This is what they’ll see he thought as he looked at himself through the ragged holes in the mask and made stabbing motions with
the knife.

  I am the Ghost, and this is the last thing they’ll see before I tear them apart.

  Part 3:

  Nothing but Meat

  19

  Danielle had just spent the past ten minutes telling Natasha how she was trying to quit smoking and then excused herself and left Natasha alone at the table while she went outside for a cigarette.

  Natasha looked across the restaurant at the waiter that just served them; she pictured him naked and then contemplated how she was probably old enough to be his mother. What I’d give to be twenty-two again she thought and tapped her wedding ring idly against the wine glass. She wished Sylvia would hurry up and get to the restaurant because as much as she liked Danielle – their friendship had, after all, lasted for more than thirty years – she had recently taken a disliking at being alone with her in restaurants because Danielle was the sort of person that had little or no interest in anything anyone else had to say and possessed the unnatural ability to talk about herself for hours on end. She also had the really annoying habit of answering her mobile phone whenever it rang and entering into lengthy conversations with the person on the other end while being completely oblivious to the fact that the person she was actually with was left with nothing to but wait for her to finish. Her other annoying habit was to leave the other person alone at the table while she went for a cigarette. Natasha checked the time on her mobile; Sylvia was half an hour late, which was unusual enough for her and Natasha knew she would normally ring or text if she was going to be delayed.

  Natasha decided to give her a call to make sure she was okay and to remind her about their brunch date in case she had forgotten. Her phone went to voicemail. ‘Hi Sylvie, it’s Tasha we’re at the restaurant and we’re wondering where you are – well I am, Danielle is outside smoking. No surprise there. Call me if you can’t make it sis, you know I worry. See you soon hun.’