It was just a bout of flu after all.
Now he felt a lot better; he would finish his outstanding print job, and then have a wash and shave, and go out on the prowl.
Another Lucy? But he would have to be careful. The pigs would be on high alert, and the Bristol TV news was full of his misadventure with Candice, the stupid bitch. He hadn’t asked for much; just wanted to feel the real thing. But no, she had to make a fuss, got him angry – and for what? Serve her right. Just trash.
Maybe he could weasel his way back into Lucy’s house. He wanted to make sure her daughter, Jasmine, was keeping well.
But it didn’t quite go like that. Lucy shouted at him to fuck off from her upstairs window. No way did she want him anywhere near her daughter. Ungrateful bitch. He’d teach her a lesson.
Plan B meant sitting outside near her house in his car until a punter came along, and then scare him off when she opened the door.
That didn’t work. After two hours of nothing – no punters - he was fed up. And it was cold. But then his luck changed. A distinguished looking man with silver grey hair and wearing a dark blue overcoat approached. The man looked out of place in these back streets; more suited to the law courtsor Conservative club, or? - Daniel couldn’t remember, but he did seem familiar. The man appeared to be checking the door numbers. When he reached number seventeen he rang the bell.
One of her regulars?
The upstairs window opened. ‘Be with you in a minute, sugah.’
The window closed and Daniel was out of his Ford. He rushed over to the man.
‘Police are watching this house. I’m her minder. Fuck off out of it.’
The man frowned; looked puzzled, maybe a glint of recognition? The man appeared to be considering his options.
Daniel knew the feeling; so close to satisfying his hunger. ‘I’m serious, mate,’ he growled, then jabbed his hairy paw at the man. ‘You want trouble?’
Daniel could hear the locks being opened. The man stood there for a moment, and then shook his head, and briskly did an about-turn.
The door opened and Daniel pushed his way inside, shutting the door behind him. ‘Hello Lucy’, he said. ‘How’s Jasmine?’
She gasped; her mouth opened, but he put a huge paw across her mouth and stifled the scream. ‘We don’t want to wake up Jasmine ... do we?’
She shivered her way all up the stairs and into the bedroom.
Was she cold? Or was it anticipation?
She didn’t say anything. Just removed her housecoat, and let him feast his eyes on her voluptuousness.
He motioned to the bed. ‘Bareback time, Lucy.’
She knew what to do.
So did he.
He pumped his hate into her; his fist would teach her not to bad-mouth him. But she started to wriggle. She pulled a face.
‘You’re hurting me.’
‘Shut the fuck up.’
‘Danny Boy ... please.’
He withdrew his fist. His arm smeared with blood. Punched her. ‘You want this instead?’ He punched her again. ‘Course you do, slag.’
Then she was fighting him.
The light went off.
The child bawling had penetrated his consciousness. The light came back on. He surveyed the mess. Had he been that angry?
He could hear her choking; blood and bile dripped down her chin. So that was okay, then.
He didn’t like doing it with dead slags; Candice hadn’t been any fun. Lucy would be much better. Oh, so much better.
And then he might finish up with Jasmine, her kid. Shove something tasty into her mouth - stop her from bawling.
Hello sweetheart. Uncle Danny Boy wants to show you something.