Beautiful Beast (Gypsy Heroes)

&nb

sp; Jake

I ring on the little cunt’s bell and wait, nausea clawing at my guts. He put his filthy hands on my woman.

His disembodied voice comes through the intercom. ‘Yeah?’

‘You hurt one of my employees this evening. I’d like to come up and talk to you about it. Discuss some compensation.’ Jesus, I sound calm.

‘What? You’ve got the wrong guy, mate. I’ve been in all day.’ He does offended and indignant very well.

‘Or if you prefer I can go to the police and let them sort it out. You decide.’ I do rational and threatening very well.

For a moment there is silence and I think the coward is going to take his chances with the police, but then the buzzer sounds. First mistake, Motherfucker. I push open the door and run up two flights of stairs to his door. I lean the baseball bat against the wall next to his door, ring his bell, and affect a relaxed pose. He looks at me through the spy hole, then takes his time about opening the door. But he does.

‘I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong guy,’ he says strongly.

I shove him hard and he flies backwards and lands sprawled in his corridor. His eyes widen with terror as he sees me casually retrieve the baseball bat from its place. I come in and kick the door closed. Shame. He has cream carpets.

He starts moving backwards. ‘It wasn’t me. You’re making a big mistake,’ he whimpers like a fucking pussy.

I throw him a ball gag. He doesn’t catch it. It bounces off his body and falls on the floor. ‘Put it on.’

‘I’m not going to put it on. I’m innocent. I want the police here. Now.’ His voice trembles with fear.

I lift the baseball bat and strike him in the gut. He doubles over in agony, staggers back two steps and drops to his knees clutching his stomach. Then he starts blubbering like a fucking two-year-old brat!

‘Not so big and strong now, eh?’

‘You got the wrong guy,’ he sobs.

‘Yeah? Put the gag on or I’ll crush your skull with one blow. A beating or a quick death. Choose.’

He is struggling to breathe through the pain. He takes wet-sounding breaths. The ones people take when they are dying. It sounds like a rattle. But he is not dying. Not by a long shot. Oh no. Death would be too easy. I watch him put the gag on with shaking hands. Cowards never fail to fascinate me. Fucking idiot! Why would you put something on that is meant to silence you?

A savage growl tears from my throat. The rage in the sound surprises me. I thought I was through with all that years ago. I haven’t swung a baseball bat in ten years and yet here I am. For her.

Using my foot I push him to the floor.

Then I lift the bat high over my head and bring it crashing down on his kneecap. The shocking pain makes his eyes bulge and roll upwards. I think he might pass out, but fortunately he doesn’t. Cold sweat pours out of his skin as his hands rush to hold the smashed bone. I pick up the bat and shatter the other kneecap. He spasms with shock.

After that I rain his body with blows. Each one precise and destined not to kill but to maim permanently. Finally I am done. I stand over him. He is lying on his side: alive, but only just. His breathing is shallow and his eyes are half-closed. I use the tip of my shoe to tip his inert body on his back. A groan escapes his bleeding mouth. Two of his teeth are lying on the carpet.

‘This is just a little warning. Open your fucking mouth and heavy comes next,’ I say mildly.

I take a handkerchief from my pocket and wipe his blood off the bat. How strange! So many years since I did something like this and I still carry a pristine white handkerchief on my person and a baseball bat in the boot of my car.

Calmly, I walk out of his flat. There is a phone box around the corner. I get into it and call nine-nine-nine. I change my accent to a Cockney one and tell them a man is dying in his flat.

‘Looks like he’s been beaten bad. Get an ambulance, man.’

I ring off and look at my hands. Dead steady. I feel ice cold. I get into my car and drive to Lily’s apartment.

Melanie opens the door.

I go through and come to a dead stop. My hands start shaking. Tears sting my eyes. Shit. I haven’t cried since I was fifteen years old, when I saw my father fall down dead at my feet.

Hell! This hurts so bad I want to bellow.