Page 51 of Thief

He thought little of it. His mind was full of Kat, full of what he wanted to do with her once he had her alone in his apartment. He could almost picture her naked. She’d shown enough cleavage for him to imagine the weight of her breasts in his hands, and he was sure her skin would smell of petals and taste of sherbet.

“Evening,” Nick said as he walked past the stranger and went to open the door.

He never made it.?He didn’t stand a chance.?With one hand outstretched for the handle, a sudden crushing force dug into both sides of his neck. He went to turn and fight but was rammed against the chipped wood of the door. It took three seconds for the pressure on his carotid arteries to stem the flow of blood to his brain. Darkness travelled inwards from his peripheral vision, and by the time it centralised, he’d given himself over to unconsciousness—completely helpless in his fight against it.

* * * *

John felt Nick’s slumped body drag downwards, his legs no longer supporting him. But he held the pressure hard on his neck for a few more seconds to be sure he was out cold.

He kicked open the nearest toilet door and hooked his hands under Nick’s armpits. He dragged him into the cubicle and shoved him against the grimy wall. John helped himself to the car keys, stepped backwards out of the cubicle and pulled the door shut with the tips of his fingers. With his knife, he spun the sign to occupied, locking it at the same time.

He didn’t feel guilty. The sucker would have a stinking headache when the landlord found him in the morning. But at least he wouldn’t remember anything important.

He pulled the gents door open and strolled into the bar area.

“Time to go,” he muttered as he reached Kat.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, snapping shut her compact and glancing at the gents.

“Change of plan.” He pulled her up by her elbow.

“What do you mean change of plan? I haven’t got the keys yet.”

Urging her along, John shouldered the door open and pulled her into the cold night air. He whipped the Mercedes key from his pocket and swung them from side to side in front of her face. “No, but I have.”

“Bloody hell, what have you done with Nick?”

“He’s having a little sleep in the gents. No one will hear from him until morning. Now come on, we’ve a job to do.”

Kat stood rooted to the spot. “You hit him?”

“Well, no, not technically. There are other ways to render someone unconscious you know.”

“Yes, I know that. But I’ve never actually left someone unconscious in a toilet. What if he chokes on his own vomit or something?”

“He won’t choke.” John reached down for her hand and pressed the key into it. “Let’s get going. The lecherous Mr. Turnbull will be fine.”

Kat still didn’t move. “I don’t want accessory to murder added to my already impressive list of crimes. We have to tell someone.”

John stepped forward, wound his arms around her waist and snapped her close. He looked down at the anxious shadows etched on her face and, in her eyes, caught a hint of stubbornness. “You’re playing with the big boys, Pussy Cat. People get hurt. Let’s just hope it’s not you.” He pressed a hard kiss on her mouth. “Now, for fuck's sake, get to the drop off point.”

* * * *

Kat killed the headlights and rolled the Mercedes to a halt directly outside the bank. Fifty yards up the street, she could see Carlos waiting in his red BMW.

She glanced around, looking for John’s outline. She had no idea where he was, but he’d be lurking somewhere in the inky shadows.

Pulling her nerves together, she pushed open the car door and climbed out. She walked towards Carlos who’d already shifted his bulk out of his car. Someone in the car’s passenger seat slid across and started the engine. The headlights clicked back to full beam.

Her heart thudded so loudly she was sure it could be heard externally. She fiddled with the key as Carlos grew closer and swallowed hard, but her mouth was dry and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She tried to keep up a steady pace and walk in a straight line towards him as she usually did. She didn’t want anything to be different.

The light of an orange lamppost sent a scatter of shadows as he walked directly under it. His menace was palpable in the cold air as he hulked along, swaying his bulk from side to side. Finally meeting, his arm rubbed against her shoulder and she dropped the keys into his upturned hand. There was no break in his heavy footsteps, no change in his rhythm. He kept on walking, pounding the pavement towards the Mercedes.

Kat breathed out. She hadn’t realised what a big gulp of air she’d been hanging onto.

She braced as a gang of youths spilled from a doorway. Laughing and blowing fragrant smoke from roll ups, they glanced her way and laughed harder as one of them made a lewd comment.

She saw Carlos’s red BMW drive off. Its driver, presumably one of Carlos’s lackeys, now satisfied his boss had made a successful scoop.

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