The Lover's Children

Chapter 92 – Summer’s Inferno – Part 2

PAT

It’s not right…

It’s not fucking right.

Walking out, I choose my route, trudging through the swelter of the City summer afternoon, keeping to

the shade wherever I can. Even so, it’s exhausting.

Leaning back against a wall for a breather, I inhale air sticky with traffic fumes, then curse as the heat

of the brickwork penetrates my clothes. I might as well be resting against a boiler. Under my soles,

asphalt and concrete radiate up, until my feet feel like slabs of meat.

It does nothing to improve my mood.

Jerking upright again, I continue my walk, trying to throw off a kind of gritty depression. Normally, after

I’ve paid her, I’m relaxed. Euphoric. Almost cleansed.

This time, I'm empty.

It just wasn’t right.

Cheating Chestnut with her cheating, faked hair.

I thought it would be enough.

I was wrong.

Won’t make that mistake again.

Lily…

The way you move when you dance…

That line where the curve of your throat meets your blouse…

The air feels too thick to breathe. It’s giving me a headache just trying.

Cooler air…

I’ve got to get out of this heat…

The park…

Green and leafy, the park will be the best place to be. Nothing beats green shade. My feet turn for the

square, with the cool and grassy park beyond, and I follow, considering my mistake.

I’ve only myself to blame, I suppose. When I realised I couldn’t have Lily, I should have taken the time

to find someone better, waited until I found the right one.

Lily…

Your beautiful hair…

The way it sways as you move…

Rippling and flowing…

Swinging over you shoulders and breasts. Outlining your waist and hips…

Disappointment and the blistering temperatures batter my brain. I can’t think straight.

Crossing the square, the heat and the humidity has all but brought the City to a standstill. Commercial

traffic grinds past, trucks and delivery vans, but few other drivers. Pedestrians have retreated to the

cover of sunshades, canopies and awnings. Beyond them, the park gates call, verdant and inviting.

Lily…

Not a hooker…

So, that wouldn't be right either…

But I want you…

As I pass through the gate, I kick off my trainers, tramping barefoot across clipped grass for the shade

of an old chestnut at the top of the lawned slopes. Flopping down by the trunk, under its boughs, where

turf gives way to bare dry earth, I snatch at the barely-cooler air with heaving lungs, Swiping over my

dripping forehead, sweat stains my sleeve. But as the shade laves my face, my thoughts coalesce…

I dart a glance one way, then the other…

No one nearby…

… then, fumbling for what I have in my pocket, I take it out…

I tied it carefully, as I always do. But I didn’t spend a lot on the ribbon. Chestnut wasn’t worth it.

Still, draping it over my hand, I can admire the lock of hair; sleek and smooth, chestnut brown. The

sunlight brings out a glint of red. As I draw it over my palm the glint shimmers with the movement, and

the long strands tickle my skin.

It might have been Chestnut’s fake, but it must have cost her a lot, that wig. I’m pretty sure it's real hair.

It looks and moves like the genuine article.

Holding the lock of hair to my face, I inhale. It still smells of her.

Shampoo…

Cheap perfume…

The scent of her fear…

… as she realised who I am.

Realised she was going to pay.

Realised it was the end.

Cheating Chestnut…

You’ll not cheat anyone else…

I breathe deep. Take in the aroma. Let it wash through my nose and mouth, bathe my lungs.

And again…

…

It should help me feel better…

But it’s just not the same.

…

Still… It’s just one of those things.

Nothing to get upset about.

Move on.

Sighing, I stuff the miserable thing back in my pocket. When I get home, I’ll put it with the others. But it

can go at the back, the place it deserves.

The afternoon draws toward early evening, and a whisper of breeze rises. I inhale deeply, and a

thought occurs to me.

I could still see you…

Outside the Sapphire Club…

When you’re not working…

We could be friends…

I roll that around inside my head.

Friends?

?

Yes, friends

I’ll try that.

And I’ll find another slut to pay off for Chestnut’s deceit and fakery.

I’ll feel better then.

*****

KLEMPNER

I check my messages: James.

Meeting point when you’re done: cafe - name of Ruby’s Roadside Canteen

*****

I arrive back to the cafe to find James, Michael and Jenny at a table. A gaggle of other women have

pulled up seats by them. The woman behind the counter looks torn between satisfaction at the crowd of

customers and disapproval at who they are.

Deep in conversation, they don’t notice me enter, but I snag a chair, pulling up beside Jenny, who

shuffles up to make space for me.

The hooker with the glitter dress…

?

Oh, yes…

Lorelei…

… a cigarette poised between two fingers, blows smoke, giving me a nod of acknowledgment. “Was it

another one? The Surgeon?”

“Yes.”

Women hiss and mutter. Lorelei’s lids lower and she looks away for a moment, biting a lip. “Bad?”

“Very. What can you tell me?”

“Who was she? The woman who’s been murdered.”

“They don’t have a name for her yet.” I look around the group. “I suggest you all watch out for one of

your number who doesn’t show up when you think she should. Let me know.”

More muttering and nods. “Sure thing.”

“Will do.”

A couple reach for mobiles, tapping into messenger apps, or speaking quietly behind a cupped hand.

Lorelei’s eyes are liquid. “Could have been any of us.”

“No,” I say. “Not any of you. He’s targeting a physical type…” Her gaze shifts to mine… “Athletic,

healthy types. Clean. No drugs or smoking. No alcohol abuse. And it’s looking at though he’s got a

thing about long hair.”

“Long hair?”

“Yes, long hair. So, I repeat, what can you tell me?”

“What’s he doing to them?”

“I can't give you the details. Danger of copycats…” Her eyes widen… “… but you don't want it to

happen to you. I’ve just seen another example of what he's doing to them. The assault is more extreme

with each victim.”

Suspicions clouds her face again. “I get the copycat thing. But why’re the cops telling you this stuff?

You’re not one of them.” This content is © NôvelDrama.Org.

“No, almost the opposite in fact. But I… have specialist skills. The police are using me as a civilian

consultant.”

Inhaling, she locks eyes with mine. Expression hard, she blows smoke into my face. “I know who you

are…” I resist the urge to cough or waft the smoke away… “… And what your skills are.”

Then, breaking eye contact, she relaxes, jerking her head to Michael. “He showed me a pic of some

guy you’re looking for. Who is he?”

“The day after the woman who was found down in the park, Susumu Takaki, I saw him there, watching

the goings-on with the police. Something about him made me itchy.”

She cocks her head. “Itchy? Itchy how? He looks normal enough in that photo. How he was dressed?”

“No, not his clothes. It was more than that. As you say, his appearance is very ordinary. But there was

an air about him. The way he carried himself. He behaved like…” I pause, choosing my words… “…like

a spectator… at the crime scene. Everyone else in the area was either there professionally: police,

press, medics, and so on. Or they were panicking. Women pulling kids away, that kind of thing.”

Some of the women mumble, exchanging comments under their breath. Lorelei drags smoke slowly.

“And your guy?”

“He was… odd… He didn’t fit. And I wasn’t the only one that thought so. People instinctively avoided

him, veered around or away from him. He was spiteful, in small, mean ways. He yelled at some half-

senile mongrel and enjoyed doing it.”

“Enjoyed?” Her eyes narrow. “I thought you couldn’t see his face?”

“I couldn’t, but his body language told a story…” She arches a sceptical brow… “Oh, come on. You’re a

hooker. If you’re any good at what you do, you’re a Grade A body language reader…”

Lorelei’s lips quirk and she nods. “Okay, one for you. So…” She sets her half-smoked cigarette down

on the edge of a glass ashtray, presses a finger to her lips. “So, the long and short is, you saw some

freak at a time and place that make you think he might be the particular freak that’s cutting up women?”

“That’s about the size of it, yes. And with the way he behaved, and the way people reacted around him,

I don’t think he’s the type that just fades into the background. If I’m right, then someone will know who

he is. And you and your…” I glance around the table… “… associates… are my best and most likely

option right now for tracking him down.”

She nods, a slow movement, rocking her head up and down. Other women mirror her. “Yeah… Gotcha.

So, crap photo aside, what can you tell us about what we’re looking out for?”

“As I said, I didn’t see his face, but medium build, medium height. He wore a grey hoodie, jeans and

sneakers.”

I expect her to reach for her cigarette again. Instead, she takes a long swallow of coffee. “I can see why

you didn’t go to the cops with that description.”

“As you say, it’s not a lot to go on. I need more. So, what I’m asking instead is, does anyone out there

give you bad vibes?”

The gathered women burst into laughter, cackling and hooting. Lorelei simply snorts. “You kidding?”

I remain silent and wait. I’d expected the reaction.

Learning tact?

Yet another new skill…

Eventually the women fall silent again. Lorelei speaks. “Yeah, you get 'em. All the time. City’s full of

jerks and creeps. Scumbags hanging around, trying for a freebie. Or assuming that you're on the menu

whether they pay or not.” She recovers her cigarette, taps off an inch of ash and sucks on the

remainder. “And of course, plenty of weirdos seem okay on the outside. Or at first, until they’ve got you

alone.”

“So they do. But I don’t think this one will fall into that category. I think something will ring alarm bells if

you’re paying attention. Perhaps he tries too hard when he’s talking to you. Or maybe hangs around

when he shouldn’t. Or finds an excuse to run into you somewhere else. Maybe turns up at your place.”

Lorelei aims a scarlet-painted nail at me that Nosferatu would envy. “Sit tight. Lemme talk to some of

the girls.” She sweeps a smoke-trailing hand across the group. “We’ll all ask around.”