“Harry, I’ve just had this marvellous idea! Will you murder my husband? I love you so much, and I reckon it’s the only way we can be together.”
Wow!
I mean, just wow!
I was in bed with Lipstick Linda, mesmerised by the crow’s feet under her eyes which were more noticeable today, as were the black roots of her blonde hair, and the lines around her mouth which I had once thought were so erotic and sensational. Our mad passionate love affair had been a sensational journey, certainly, but, frankly I was finding it hard going to keep up with her demands. I was all-in, physically and emotionally knackered, absolutely worn to a frazzle.
And now this, the mother of all bombshells!
Why was she called Lipstick Linda? It was because she was famous for wearing a differently coloured lipstick on every day of the week. Bright scarlet, vibrant orange, dark purple, vivid green, even those kissable lips could be speckled with flecks of gold! It was as if she knew her lips were her sexiest feature, so they got star treatment.
“I know I never told you I was married,” she continued apologetically, “or that my hubby, Johnny Bellinger, is just about the most notorious gangster this side of the river. The point is, people have often tried to kill him before, but no one with a weapon can get within miles of him. But since you told me that when you were in the SAS and had been trained to kill a man with your bare hands, I realised that you were the answer to my dreams! You could get past all his minders, kill Johnny, find a way to get away with it, and then I’ll get all his money, and we can be happy forever!” She looked across at me as I was hurriedly dressing, anxious to get away from this batshit crazy sex-mad lady as fast as I could.
She was frowning now, evidently expecting me to stay in bed and carry on where we’d left off an hour ago, even though right now, after all the exertions of the night, I reckoned that I was incapable of making love for about a week!
“Listen, Harry, you do realise that I’m serious about you, don’t you?” A light of anger had entered her eyes, and her voice had become sharper, more intense. “You’re so lucky. You see, this isn’t just a one-night stand for me. I’m, serious about you, serious enough to cause you big problems if you ever plan to leave me! I won’t take no for an answer.” Her smile was like the bite of a snake. “And I warn you, I always get my way in the end.”
Even though I had only just moved into this part of South London, it would have been impossible not to know about ‘mad dog’ Johnny Bellinger, the crime boss known as the ‘Killer of Catford’. He was the kind of terrifying hoodlum whose minders have minders, and if I’d known that Linda was his wife I’d never have embarked on this crazy whirlwind romance, that had suddenly gone distinctly sour.
That’s one of the big drawbacks, I realised, of telling a lot of lies in order to impress a girl. It’s true that I am six-foot six and have the physique of a macho-than-macho bodybuilder, and I’ve only recently finished a tour of duty in the army.
But I was never in the SAS, and was barely tough enough to complete the basic squaddie training. In fact during all that time I never even saw action in any kind of conflict at all. I was in the catering corps at Aldershot, and the closest I’d ever come to using a weapon in anger was getting in a temper while I was wielding a sharp knife to cut the crosses in the tops of Brussel sprouts!
I made my excuses and left quickly, absolutely terrified that I had inadvertently got involved with a gangster’s moll, realising that I’d got myself into very deep doo-doo. If she turned spiteful and told ‘The Catford Killer’ that I was having an affair with his wife I was as good as dead.
At the police station, I poured my heart out to one of the detectives, who listened gravely to what I was saying.
“The trouble is,” he told me, “that police can only respond to a crime once it’s been committed. Sure, you’ve told me that Johnny Bellinger’s wife wants you to kill her husband. Now if you had agreed to do so, and acted upon it, then that is conspiracy to murder, a serious offence. But since it’s obvious that you have no intention of doing so, then we can hardly charge Lipstick Linda with anything, can we? She would deny anything you accused her of saying.”
“You know her?”
He smiled. “Oh yes, Lipstick Laura is well known around here. She, er, let’s just say that she has a bit of a reputation.”
“For what?”
“I believe psychiatrists call it an addiction to sex. She’s a nymphomaniac.” He aimed a toothy grin at me. “It’s every man’s fantasy isn’t it? Trouble is they tell me that the reality is absolutely terrifying – more than any one man can possibly handle, if you get my meaning. Let’s just say you’ve joined a long list of her admirers, and some of them have fallen foul of Mr Bellinger.”
I gulped. “What should I do then?”
“Just cut all contact with her and hope that she soon replaces you with a younger model, which I assure you, she will, very shortly.” He looked me up and down, nodding cheerfully. “And don’t worry too much, mate. If Johnny Bellinger hears any rumours, you’re an ex-army man, and to be frank, you look like a guy who is more than capable of looking after himself if trouble comes your way.”
“But that’s the whole point. I might look like a brick outhouse, but frankly I can’t fight my way out of a paper bag. I’m a lover, not a fighter,” I confessed.
All day I pondered and fretted, wondering what I should do.
Then, when I turned off my phone, as a way of ignoring all the texts from Linda, I decided that my best plan was to confront things head on.
So I went to the pub where I’d met her, and asked the landlord if he could arrange for me to meet Johnny Bellinger.
“Johnny Bellinger?” he asked me, looking shocked. “Do you know who he is?”
“Yes.”
“Are you looking for trouble or something? Why on earth do you want to see the Catford Killer?”
“I’ve got some important business to discuss.”
“Oh well, it’s your funeral, pal. I only hope you know what you’re doing.”
He made a phone call and gave me an address, which turned out to be a flat over a dry-cleaning shop. A heavily built man in a perfectly tailored dark suit met me in an office, after I’d been frisked by two different guards, who were both almost as big as I was.
He listened as I told him my story.
“So you see, Mr Bellinger, I just hope you believe me when I tell you I had no idea that Linda was your wife, and if I had, I’d never have started seeing her. When she asked me to kill you, because she knew I’d been in the SAS, I don’t mind admitting I freaked out a bit. I thought the best thing to do was be totally straight with you, so you don’t get any wrong ideas. I’ll never see her again. I don’t want any trouble. Blimey, I’ll even clear out of town if you want me to. I just want an easy life.”
“Don’t we all?” He stretched out behind the desk, leaning backwards, narrowing his eyes. “Do you have any idea what I’ve had to put up with since I married her two years ago? Constant boyfriends, making me look a prize prawn, so I have to keep giving them boys a slap, risking trouble with the police, just in order to keep my reputation as a hard man. I get so fucking tired of it. And I’m tired of her, I don’t mind admitting. She only thinks of one thing.” He looked strained anxious and weary, passing a hand across his eyes. “Non-stop sex is all very well in theory, but sometimes a man just wants a bit of peace and quiet – know what I mean?” He chewed his lower lip, shaking his head slowly. “So, Harry. You were in the SAS, you say? An elite fighting unit, the revered green beret. I admire you. I’ve heard that lots of guys fail the course and only the toughest men get through. I must say I’m impressed. Is it true that you guys can kill a man without a weapon, just using your hands? That you know how to break someone’s neck, and how to press on special nerves that cause paralysis and death in seconds?”
“Well, er, I wasn’t actually in the—”
“Because. . .” He wasn’t listening. “. . . between you and me, Laura is becoming more and more of a problem to me. She’s going with guys all the time, and I really don’t know what to do about it. I’m losing my respect and that’s something I can’t afford. I killed one of them once, hospitalised another, makes no odds. She just picks up another one to take his place.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. I’d help if I could.”
“Perhaps you can.”
I looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“Would you kill her for me?”
“What?”
“I’ll make it well worth your while.” He leaned forward, his eyes alight with joy. “Say yes, mate, please! I warn you, I won’t take no for an answer. . . And I always get my way in the end.”