The third victim complained.
Cutting throats can be messy. You’d have thought I had perfected the slicing action. But no. Hazel sounded indignant when I hesitated.
‘For fuck’s sake. Haven’t you watched Braveheart? All you have to do is slash through the flesh until you hit the fucking artery. Or are you impotent?
That remark hurt. I’m a sensitive killer.
‘Hazel, I don’t want to get into semantics here, but I’m the one with the knife and you’re the one with the throat. Do we understand one another?’
Hazel sighed. ‘Look untie me, and I’ll show you.’
‘That’s not going to happen. Now hold still.’
‘How can I when you’re such a wanker.’
I threw the knife at my cat. Tigger. Always hungry. Miaows constantly.
What the fuck. I turned on the TV. Let Tigger clamber all over me. Leave hairs on my jeans. Shame about the bombings in Afghanistan. Tigger wasn’t moving. I turned to Hazel.
Pointed a finger at Tigger then at her. ‘I could strangle you.’