Mr. Suit Read online

  Liza leaned over to kiss her husband on the forehead. He tasted of disinfectant and hospitals.

  She downed her drink, tucked her violet blouse into her mini-skirt and went to answer the door.

  She turned the knob of the door and it flew open. Missed the tip of her nose by millimetres.

  In barged an oaf of a man in a ski-mask and camouflage fatigues. Without the John Lennon shades, he might have looked menacing.

  “Oi Love, do you mind?” she shouted.

  He didn’t seem to. Went straight over to Archie, dropped a bag on the sofa and clicked it open. Within seconds he had a hypodermic syringe in his hand with a needle that would have made an elephant faint.

  Liza’s mind went into overdrive.

  What a time for the Suit’s euthanasia squad to show. It was bloody typical of her luck.

  If this thug managed to get the contents of the syringe into Archie, then the £250000 he’d stashed the day the kidnapping went wrong would never see the light of day, like a pirate’s buried treasure.

  On the last day Archie had spoken, he’d sloped off before Liza was awake and went off to do ‘some business’. The business happened to be the handover of money for the return of a child to its parents. As it happened, the child they’d nabbed lived next to Suits on Millionaire’s Row in a tasteless new-build with the trappings of Ancient Greece. Working out the family’s routines had been easy. So had the snatch. Only thing that went wrong was at the exchange. The police arrived as well as a gang of hired nutters and things imploded. Archie was the only one to get away. He hid the money and headed back to report to Suits. Suits, who had a twitchy trigger finger on account of things going pear-shaped, ended up shooting Archie while he fumbled the door open. Suits never got his money and Archie never used his limbs again.

  Nothing had been easy since.

  Now, just as there was a ray of sunshine in her life, the clouds were going to come over and hailstorm all over her new good fortune. If Archie’s end came right then and there, she’d never get her hands on the cash.

  Her mind clicked through all the possibilities like an old fashioned carousel of photographic slides working at a crazy speed. In her mind’s eye she saw herself on the Costas, soaking up the sun and the cocktails and being waited on by a handsome Spaniard. She pictured herself with the Botox lips and the little extra support for her breasts she’d invest in to guard against future sagging. Imagined cruises and film premieres, being driven around in limos and eating expensive chocolate. It was all within her grasp. A few more minutes and she’d have had the location of the cash.

  The killer’s timing was bloody awful. All wrong.

  Negotiation with the stranger might work. She considered it. Let the idea flash through her mind. They could go 50-50. Or better still, 60-40.

  The only problem was, the guy already had the syringe at Archie’s throat and looked like he was ready to dig in and push the plunger.

  Liza picked up the golf club they kept by the door for emergencies and headed swiftly over to the action.

  Archie’s chest pumped in and out like that of a tiny, captive bird. It wasn’t pretty.

  The sight made Liza hurry all the more. She strode over and swung for all she was worth, powerful enough for a par-5 tee-off at Augusta.

  When the wood connected with the back of the ski-mask it made the sweetest sound, the kind of ping that normally would have meant she was hitting long and making the middle of the fairway.

  The man’s head fell forward and for a moment his body stood, stationary. A couple of seconds later, he crumpled to the floor. Head bouncing right off the cow-skin rug they’d brought back from Spain on their honeymoon.

  Her first thought as she looked down at the body? “How the hell am I going to get the blood out of that?”

  Chapter 5

  It took no end of stroking and humming to settle Archie’s breathing.

  When she eventually let him go, let him flop back into the chair, he stared blankly at the body.

  The failed-assassin’s blood hadn’t spread in the way she’d expected. Gave her hope for the rug after all.

  The intruder looked like a marionette whose strings had been cut. His Lennon shades had slipped from the bridge of his nose and his blue eyes were crossed as if he were looking at something on the tip of his nose.

  “Don’t look too good, does he Arch?” She bent down to find out who she’d just sent into the next world. “Wish you could do this.”

  She took hold of the bottom of the mask and pulled it carefully, as if trying not to hurt him. Had to lift his head from the floor to slip it off. Felt the skull give under the pressure of her touch like it was made of trifle sponge soaked in sherry.

  First she revealed a square chin. Next a mouth a bit too small for the rest of the body, thin and narrow and tightly closed together. The nostrils were overgrown, the blackheads like a child’s dot-to-dot. The face all-too familiar.

  Liza was up and onto her feet in a flash, hand over her mouth in case a scream came out, but no sound arrived until the words articulated her thoughts. “For pity’s sake, Archie. We’ve landed right in it this time.”

  As if they hadn’t landed in it before.

  Archie had moist eyes. Looked like a puppy who was about to be put down. Which was pretty much what he’d almost been.

  A wave of nausea reminded Liza of her part in the arrangement. Gave her conscience a prick-and-a-half. What she needed to do to keep her in the clear was to make sure Archie didn’t suspect her. “Must have been Mr Suit’s idea of doing you a favour.”

  Which seemed like a plausible explanation.

  “But sending his brother round to do the job, eh? Who’d have thought?”

  Charlie Suit’s brother, Willie. Christ. It wasn’t going to go down well with Suits and his mob. Not well at all.

  Liza sat on the floor. Needed to find a way forward.

  It wasn’t much fun thinking for two.

  Back in the day, Archie would have been sorting things out already. Taking control in that manly way of his. Now all he did was sit dribbling, unable to wipe away the tiny tears that trickled down his cheeks and came to rest to make tiny, glistening jewels in his bristles.

  “Soon as Mr Suits finds out, we’ll be sleeping with the bloody kippers.” The tears on Archie’s face grew, forming streams down through his beard and wetting his Arsenal Football Club bib. “So we better not be here when he does.”

  She stood quickly and straightened her skirt. “Wait here,” she said, then tutted at her own stupidity. “I know exactly what we have to do.” With that, she disappeared up the stairs and packed her bags as if it bag packing were a new Olympic sport and she had her eyes on nothing other than the gold.

  Chapter 6

  The boats stood head on against the canal bank, hull-to-hull, tightly squeezed together like cigarettes in a new pack.

  At the top of the banks, the white Edwardian buildings gleamed in splendour.

  Liza wheeled Archie along the towpath checking out what was happening in the tiny gardens of the boaters while keeping an eye out for dog shit.

  “That’s nice, Arch,” she said, nodding at Sara’s new bench. “And look at what Carl’s been up to now.”

  Carl was the know-it-all of the mooring and the biggest snob there. He’d installed a rowing boat next to the fence since they’d last been down. Filled it with soil and used it as a planter. The bright sunshine of daffodils and the cheery heads of pansies grew from it, ready to cheer up the greyest of days when they came. “Who the bloody hell does he think he is, putting that there?”

  Archie didn’t bother to respond. Wouldn’t have bothered doing so even if he could have.

  Liza spotted the long, ginger dreadlocks of Mandy who was sitting on the wooden deck of her barge, rubbing sun-cream into the back of the girl next to her who was most likely her latest flame. Whoever it was, she didn’t look like she needed any more tanning.

  “Hi,” she called.

 
Mandy looked up and waved, the silver ring in her nose glinting in the daylight, then returned to her massage.

  “She looks like a bit of all right, Arch. Looks like Mandy’s landed on her feet for a change.”

  This time Archie would have nodded. She was a real stunner.

  And then they arrived at their own boat, Wol.

  She was a thing of beauty. 45 foot of shiny, apple green trimmed with cherry red for the hand rails and gunnels. Between the windows were white roses and the new fenders were neatly woven plaits of rope. She wasn’t everyone’s idea of a canal boat, in fact to many she was like the ugly duckling. That didn’t matter – Liza and Archie fell in love with it at first sight.

  Archie had bought Wol back in ’94 after a job on a jewellery store. She’d served them well on many a family holiday. Had served Archie well as a shag-pad, too – Liza had her suspicions, but never the evidence to back them up.

  As far as she could remember, it was the mention of the quarter-inch steel hull that closed the deal back then and it no doubt helped that the roof and the walls were the same. Sounded more like an armoured vehicle than a leisure craft. What had persuaded Liza was the name. It was straight from Winnie The Pooh, chosen by the previous owner who’d used it as a floating classroom for dyslexic children.

  Liza wheeled Archie down the ramp.

  The boat rocked and rolled like Jerry Lee Lewis when they boarded. That was something else about Wol. She had a round bottom. Made her different from the rest under the water as well as above and far more unstable.

  Liza opened the doors and pushed Archie in. They were greeted by the usual scent of wood polish and diesel oil. Nothing Liza had tried had ever made a difference to that smell. It got so her clothes would stink of it after a long stay. Still, she would just have to get used to it if it was going to be their 5 miles-an-hour ticket away from Shitcreek.

  “Now, let’s put the kettle on,” she said, doing her best to sound like it wasn’t all about finding the money and getting the hell out of town. “Have a nice cup of tea.”

  She turned on the tap. Let the water run for a while and listened to the clicking of the water-pump. She lit a gas ring, filled the kettle and put it on to heat up.

  She walked past Archie, between the toilet and shower and into the bedroom in the front.

  They were regulars at the mooring, so when Archie had told her the money was on the boat she had her doubts. It certainly wasn’t anywhere obvious.

  First place she looked was under the bed. The stumps of badly cut timber that Archie’d used for supports reminded her of how shoddy his DIY skills had been. She managed to crawl quite a way under in the gap between the set of drawers and the old seat they’d built the bed upon. All she found was an old condom, a couple of coins and huge balls of dust.

  “Looks like one of the kids has been bringing back their lovers, Arch. Filthy buggers could at least manage to take back their rubbish.”

  She hooked the condom on the end of a pencil and held it at arms’ length until she dropped it into the bin.

  Next she went to look in the storage under the original seat. There were the sleeping bags and some life-jackets, but no cash.

  “You sure the money’s here?” she called to her husband who seemed to be looking out of the window, gawping at Mandy and her friend.

  She kept looking until the whistle of the kettle blew. By then she’d checked the wardrobe, the kitchen cupboards, beneath the shower tray, in the engine housing and all the under-seat storage. The flower boxes were full of nothing but soil and weeds and the containers for the gas bottles and the useful bits-and-bobs only had what was supposed to be there.

  “Stupid, bloody bitch,” she muttered to herself as she poured hot water into the mugs, straight onto the teabags. Imagine trusting the memory of her husband after all this time. She could have let Mr Suit’s brother deal with the whole thing. Sorted Archie out with those injections and left like he’d done nothing more than fix the taps.

  What’s more she could have been shagging Charlie Suit and getting him to spend his millions on some of the finer things in life. Like a little nip-and-tuck and a holiday on the Riviera.

  The thought of shagging snagged her attention again and she wondered what Charlie Suit might have under his shirt.

  She took a peak at Mandy and her partner. Watched as their tongues slid against each other. When Mandy’s hand disappeared under the girl’s skirt, Liza felt her knees buckle again. She needed to lean on the cooker to remain upright. Almost knocked over the mugs in the process.

  Closing the curtains helped her regain her composure and she shuddered as she glimpsed herself in a new lesbian future. And then she remembered what she was actually doing.

  Instead of a millionaire’s life, she was about to do the slowest runner in the history of getaways, just to end up under Spaghetti Junction somewhere and be surrounded by Brummies. There’d be no money, no plastic surgery, no luxuries and no way back.

  And a life with a man who could only blink his way through a conversation, who wouldn’t be able to get it up if she smeared herself in KY and danced around a pole .

  “Are you sure the money’s on the boat?” She squeezed out the liquid from the tea-bags imagining she was draining the life out of her husband. “Think man. Think.” She was being harsh and she knew it, but spending the early afternoon dragging Willie Martin’s dead body from pillar to post until finally putting him in the garden shed as a final resting place wasn’t her idea of the perfect day. The effort had sapped most of her patience.

  Blink. There was Archie, off again.

  2. 9. 12. 7. 5. 19.

  “The bilges. You’re a bloody genius, you are.” If they were there.

  She wheeled the chair through to the bedroom to clear the space. Filled his drinking bottle with the tea and put the tube into Archie’s mouth. Went back and lifted the carpet. Took a screwdriver from the box and prized up the first section.

  There was the usual smell of oil and the lapping of blackened rain water. There were also grey plastic bags taped up tightly into bricks. Loads of them.

  She picked one out and felt the weight of it, oblivious to the layer of filth that clung to her hand. It was heavy enough.

  With no obvious way in, she returned to the toolbox and picked out a Stanley knife. Before returning to the package, she ran in to Archie and hugged him hard enough to force his shoulders and ribs to click. “Who loves ya Baby?”

  Back at the brick, she sliced carefully around the centre and pulled back the packaging. Good old Queen Elizabeth herself smiled back, God bless her. There were enough notes in just that one package to sort them out with a summer holiday. Got her wondering if they should ignore the plan to hide out on the canals and maybe head out to Mexico or Brazil or wherever it was that usually worked instead. The only problem was that she hadn’t packed a bikini or any of her beachwear.

  “I could buy stuff when we got there. Silly moo.” Her chat to herself was interrupted by the ringing of her phone. She went through and took it from her handbag hanging from the wheelchair handle and took a look at the monitor.

  ‘Suits Martin’ it said on the screen.

  She threw the phone onto the bed like it had taken a bite at her fingers.

  Chapter 7

  Whoever had last been in the mooring’s sanitary disposal shack needed shooting. Flecks of shit and blood left all around the rim gave off the stink of a sewerage/chemical mix.

  Liza dropped the holding tank part of her own toilet, the Porta Potti, and reversed back into the open air, gagging and covering her mouth, wondering how she was going to cope.

  She stood for a while enjoying the sweet smell of a nearby honeysuckle and considered her options.

  A flight to Brazil seemed very appealing. Problem was the insurance for Archie would cost a bomb and there’d need to be special arrangements and everything. Besides, Mr Suit would probably have the airports covered as soon as he found out what was going on.

  An
other idea fluttering inside her head was to leave Archie outside the hospital with a note around his neck, like Paddington Bear or a Victorian foundling on wheels and in nappies. ‘Please look after this man’ or ‘Free to good home’.

  She looked over to Archie, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he watched the world go by from the front of the boat. It tugged on either a heart-string or a tendon, which meant that leaving him alone out there was out of the question. The poor bloke needed her. He would do until the end of his life.

  Which led to plan C.

  Before dragging Mr Suit’s brother to the shed, she’d had the idea of dropping him in the canal. The same thing might work for Archie. With a couple of weights tied to the chair, dumping him in the middle of the Maida Vale tunnel would mean he wouldn’t be found for ages. At least until the dredgers went through next.

  She looked over at her husband again, his head above the boat’s pointed bow with its nameplate and the roses and castles he’d painted on when things were different. This time it felt like her heart enlarged inside her, as if it were putting pressure on the rest of her organs and wanting to push her insides out of her mouth.

  Killing Mr Suit’s brother was one thing, and not a good one, but there was no way she’d manage to do away with her husband. Which was why they were in this mess in the first place.

  There was only one thing for it.

  She took a lungful of air, held it in and went straight back in to the toilet. She lifted the case that was the holding tank, balanced it on the side and unscrewed the cap to let a stream of dark blue piss with its tiny bits of mashed up toilet paper flow into the hole.

  As she flushed it all away, it occurred to her that she might well be sending the rest of her life down there with it.

  Chapter 8

  Two nights they’d stayed at Little Venice, watching the tourists go by and catching up with the boating gossip.

  Life on the canals was lazy. Gentle. The pace of the traffic was only just faster than Liza could walk.