Nailing the Bitch
Chapter 12 Nailing the Bitch
In the modern world the motor car rules supreme. Not only does it dominate most people’s lives, helping ruin their health in the process and in some cases killing them, it alters the environment to suit its own pernicious needs. So it was that on a suburban road just alongside the huge Royal Hospital she stood next to a car park hoping to see their quarry.
The car park had once been a field, a playing field for a nearby school, but then the needs of the hospital trumped it. Now it held a little over 100 vehicles all contented in their little spaces waiting for their servants to claim them.
Faye had arrived, by bus, at a little after 2 pm as directed by her patron Clive. She still had not met the real Clive but her hopes were high that he would turn up in something like his real self. At about 6ft in height and with a medium frame, and after 9 months of contact she felt she could find him in a crowd. Here female nurses and staff dominated the scene.
She stood by the pedestrian entrance, facing the hospital, a busy road between car park and hospital , decorated by a pedestrian crossing and a bus stop very close. The weather was benign, sunny but with a cold wind.
Clive had argued the main reason anyone went down the passage way where he had first smelled his quarry would be to make a short cut to the car park. His reasoning appeared sound so she had agreed to meet him at this point were nurses, cleaners and a multitude of health staff cross this road to retrieve their vehicles in the car park. Doctors, forever the elite tended to use a different car park.
A variety of staff, mainly female crossed the road having finished their shift at 2 pm while a number made the opposite journey. She scanned the other side of the street ,following the wall that marked hospital ’s southern boundary. Near the exit to the hospital grounds which regularly spewed out the staff she could see nothing except a tramp sitting on the pavement, begging, three people waiting at a nearby bus stop and a traffic warden making sure no one parked on the road itself. He appeared to be a perfect raptor perched near a lone tree, ready to swoop on any car daring to abuse the double yellow lines.
In Faye’s hand she held two instruments, the obligatory mobile phone and the cigarette packet which had been on the kitchen table the night before. In the packet was hidden a small, expensive camera which could take clear pictures at considerable distances.
By 3pm after countless health workers of both sexes and all ages had crossed this patch of mother earth, Faye pressed a speed dial and heard the voice.
“Yes” the tone was sharp, to the point.
“I have been here an hour, no sign or sound of anything, not even you.” she said a little peeved.
“I know , I have been watching you .”
“You have? Where are you?” she looked around desperate to see him.
“The tramp” was the short reply.
Now she looked closely at the tramp. He had red hair which was dirty and unkept, a stained old over coat and a very world worn face with deep lines containing , she guess a sediment of street dirt.
The most remarkable thing was on his leg was a metal frame of a contraption, the kind she had seen in old photographs of polio victims. The effect of this leg brace was that passers by appeared to feed generously his little white begging bowl.
“The real action starts around 4 ” came something of a command.
‘Keep quiet’ she told herself in something more than a whisper.
It was indeed, a little after 4 that the volume of human traffic picked up markedly.
She scanned the faces of the females making a quick note of what they were wearing, ignoring any males. Face after face flashed by in her memory, discarded almost the moment they had been seen.
Her concentration must have wandered for she found herself thinking of the collective noun for
human females. She had heard the term ‘bevi’ in an old film recently, while the word clutch
appeared more ‘henish’ as did a ‘brood’, while again, she thought, a ‘company’ was too formal.
Perhaps the modern feminesta would call it a sisterhood but that did not roll off the tongue. A
‘team’ sounded professional, relating to a purpose which did not apply here.
How long she played with these thoughts she had no idea but this line of enquiry was suddenly halted by her phone.
“She is here” the voice said.
“Which one for Christ sake.” Faye was both excited and nervous, what if she fouled up?
“Wearing a blue uniform, and white scarf with light blue jacket.
In near panic she scanned the faces, there was well over 20 females here all in some kind of
uniform of various colours of blue, green, white and any combination of the above. A tribe of
females she reasoned fitted this situation.
Then she spotted her quarry, nearly on her side of the road. Click, click she frantically took pictures hoping the face would be recorded in millions of pixels. Almost instantly she decided the woman was mid twenties, with a short , no nonsense hair cut, typically of a nurse she thought.
Suddenly the tribe or crowd turned towards her blocking her off from her target.
Rather than wasting energy swearing she push against the throng clearing a path for herself.
On the other side there was nothing.
Now she found the energy to swear, “Shit” she said into the phone, “I appear to have lost her.”
The one word came back sharp and angry, “Faye!”
She was making her way towards the queue of cars waiting to exit the car park, in the hope of
getting the number plate when out of the corner of her eye she spotted the white scarf. Turning to a low structure near the entrance was a woman mounting a bicycle.
“She’s on a bike for Christ sake, not a car.” she blasted into the phone.
She stood there watching the cyclist move away and disappear to the far end of the car park to a single gate exit. The phone was silent.
“Tell me you got photographs.” said the phone at last.
“I am certain I did.”
“Come and help me to my car, I need to remove these leg irons.”
“Brilliant way to raise sympathy money.” Faye said smiling into the phone knowing she was
“Hell no, it was to prevent me from following her and giving my position away.” the phone said.
‘Bill Plant Theatricals’ the sign said on the door. It was a door with peeling paint on a run down
industrial estate. Wooden pallets scattered here and here, litter of plastic drifting around aimlessly. Faye followed the tramp up a short flight of stairs and was amazed at the space
A grey carpeted office with a sofa, desk, filing cabinet , in short all things that live in the office
environment and a kitchen.
The tramp pointed to the desk on which an expensive laptop nestled.
“Load the photographs onto that.” he said, adding, “While I change.”
“Not bad, ” she said to herself as the finally got the girl in the white scarf to fill the laptop screen. She was impressed with the quality of the photograph given the circumstances.
In addition she decided the woman in the photograph took a good photo. It was on the next frame that she got a little spooked for the young woman was looking straight at her. It was as if she was posing for the bloody photograph. The eyes had a searching look, as if she had just asked Faye a question.
“nay ” thought Faye ” she could never have expected someone to photograph her with a cigarette packet.”
Just then a male voice which she did not recognise said, “Well this is the real me.”
He was standing by the door that Clive or Bill Plant had walked through and was completely
different. Tall, with very short spiky black hair, long thin nose with a small mouth, he was no one she had seen before, expect, that is for the eyes. They shone with a light of relief come mischief.
“Come through.” he said beckoning to follow him.
Now she was in a large room full of manikins all of which had a different face. The one nearest to her was Clive, old, with a silver grey wig, next a smart business man with a suit, next to that a char lady, rotund with dirty apron, and so one. She walked along them as if inspecting troops on parade until she suddenly stopped and gasped.
She pointed, almost lost for words, “You the black man?”
“The genus is Negroid but no one uses that. He is modelled on West African, Nigerian, the facial features are alone four days work, I researched the features for weeks. It is as authentic as I can get.”
“No, No” she stammered, “The Black and Tan gang, it was you who put the frighteners on them?”
He feigned surprise and said casually, “I don’t understand.” Then added, “I cannot imagine your ex- gang knowing anything about Irish history in the first half of the twentieth century.”
She saw the diversion for what it was.
“They called themselves that for one leader was as black as night the other a half caste, sorry mixed race, light brown.”
But then turning to face him with some determination, “I was told this story. Late one night a black man approached 4 of them wanting to sell them a Rolex watch. He insisted they all handle it and inspect it to make sure it was genuine. Within minutes they are all lying on the floor paralysed and gasping for breath. He says to them, “there are 500 ways I can kill you, this is but one of them. Stay away from the girl you stabbed in the allotment or I will put my creative talents to good use. Blink your eye lids if you understand.” Apparently, their eye lids was the only part of them still moving.
He then put something like smelling salts from a scent bottle under their noses and they began to recover. He left taking the watch with him.”
“Was the watch real?”
“Sod the watch, ” Faye said with a laughed, “I often wondered why that scum avoided me like the plague.”
He smiled a great big warm smile, shall we assess your photographic skills?”
Sitting in a large executive chair he wore a stern frown as he looked at the laptops screen.
“Oh , dear” he said,
She sat on the desk facing him, her legs adrift from the floor.
“I thought they were good, ”
A strange silence followed, one with all the tension of a pupil facing the headmaster, “This is
terrible he said at last.”
Faye , felt crest fallen for the picture was indeed very clear and a good likeness but perhaps , she thought, she had missed something, like the bike .
“But she is human.” he exclaimed in a loud voice that shook her.
“Of course she bloody well is.” Faye fought back.
“We will have to find her, and kill her” he said in a determined voice, as if he had just made the
decision and that was the end of the discussion.
There was silence except for a heavy goods engine in the distance.
“Hold on, we agreed to nail the bitch, I did not think that meant killing the bitch.” Faye said at last.
Turning the most soulful and tormented pair of eyes , that she had ever seen, towards her, he
explained, “She is very powerful, I cannot resist her and she will be the end of me. My guess, she has been modified to be the most delicious bait ever tossed into the sea of humanity to catch me.”
“Well” Faye said slowly with emphasis, “I suggest we find her, interrogate her then kill her.”
“Agreed” came the reply.