Chapter 9: Chapter 9: Back to square one

*** WARNING!!! This chapter contains violence and sexual content. You have been warned.

 

 

The long walk from the Marylebone station platform to Oxford Circus brought back innumerable memories for Hunter as he strode towards the British Museum. As the glimmering lights from the street rejuvenated the swarming crowd, Hunter tried to organize his memories to find the brick-patterned colonial building amidst the finely lit houses that had stairs outside seemingly meant to elevate the residents from the ordinary crowd.

After passing a few of them, Hunter started hawking at the nameplates, trying to find the street he had seen Ezekiel Harkens a year ago. He remembered a café nearby to the building and when the smell of coffee swayed its way into Hunter's nose, he knew he was getting closer.

He looked inside the shop to see if it was the same building, when he saw three people rounding up near a table and posing for what looked like a photograph. However, in the next moment Hunter noticed that the camera was lying on the table and no one was operating it.

"It's a timer." Hunter thought to himself, pondering about how far technology had evolved.

As he conversed with himself about people being able to take their own photos by themselves, Hunter started walking towards west end of Soho.

"Birdie Lane was it? Or Warwick Street?"

Hunter turned left towards the flashing neon signs as a red hue slowly enveloped his surroundings. The houses seemed inviting, as Hunter saw mostly middle-aged men flocking towards the doors of scarlet women who promised them momentary relief from life's impenetrable misery. The smell of sex in the air brazed Hunter's lungs as he stopped near a three-storied brick house at the mouth of Warwick street. A glimmer of hope ignited inside him as he realized he had stumbled upon the right place. Although though it had been over a year, the rather dull look of the building contrasted the flashy, orange and red crests that hung on other establishments throughout the streets.

As he hurried his steps towards the house, Hunter suddenly felt a tug on his left arm. He turned around to see a slim young girl looking at him with a vivacious smile.

"You look like you could use some company," the girl said.

Hunter eyed her up for a moment as she tightened her grip on his arm; her slender figure, although not to his taste, was nonetheless inviting due to its radiant youth. As the invitation turned into a dilemma, Hunter glanced at the building's door that had just opened, a woman in a purple satin dress and a red skirt stepping out onto the sidewalk.

"Just a moment, hun, I'll be back," Hunter said to the girl who gave him a disgruntled look, for perhaps she assumed Hunter to have picked the woman in the red skirt over her. She swayed away into the forming crowd, trying to offer her services elsewhere, as Hunter walked over to the woman in the purple satin dress, his heart beating with faint traces of anxiety.

The woman, however, who was considerably in her mid-thirties, was not as welcoming as the girl had been, rather receding noticeably near her door as she saw Hunter approaching.

"Excuse me," Hunter said.

"Not tonight, darling. Try someplace else," the woman remarked.

"I'm not here for that."

"Then what do you want?" the woman asked, her deep-set blue eyes turning curious.

"I just wanted to talk."

The woman let out a slight chuckle, her eyes glimmering for a moment before once again turning cold. "You are in the wrong place then."

"Please, I need your help. Just a few questions, and then I'll leave," Hunter said.

"Well, out with it then, I haven't got all night."

"You know a guy called Ezekiel Harkens?"

Hunter saw the woman's rounded, plump face tighten as she gasped, her droopy nose fluttering ever so slightly. The furrowing of her brows signaled Hunter that she was well familiar with it, but the sudden defensive recession of her posture warned that she would not be straightforward with the answer. A moment of silence ensued as a herd of nocturnal visitors passed them by before the woman turned her stern gaze directly towards Hunter and said,

"Who's asking?"

"My name is James Hunter."

"Are you a copper?" the woman asked, the hint of anxiousness audible in her voice.

"Furthest from it."

"Well, it sure sounds like one. Listen Mr...I don't know what you want, but I have no idea who you are talking about. I think it'll be better if you left. I've already got enough trouble as it is," said the woman as she turned around, about to go back inside when Hunter grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

"Hey...let go..."

"Please. He's been missing for months now. The police won't do a damn thing about it. I promise I don't want anything from you. Just tell me if you knew anything about him."

"How did you find me?" The woman asked.

"I once saw him leaving your house. Figured I might find something," Hunter said

"And how do you know...Ezekiel?"

"He was something of a friend."

The woman pondered over Hunter's answer as he pleaded with his eyes. Finally, after a while, she reluctantly asked him to come inside, as she scanned around the street before following him. Hunter sat on the sofa looking over at the fireplace, where few pieces of dried wood rested on top of each other. The room had layers of warm light stretching all the way to the bedroom door, evoking a feeling of relaxation. The entire atmosphere was more soothing than arousing as Hunter saw the woman pouring tea from a porcelain pot. If not for the neighborhood, no one could have fathomed her profession, for she appeared to possess a mature elegance that is not often associated with scarlet women.

She slid the cup towards Hunter and said, "So tell me more about your relationship with Ezekiel."

"Well, he was more than a friend, being there for me when no one else bothered. When I first came to London. I hadn't got enough pennies to eat. He gave me money, work and made sure I didn't end up on the streets. And now I haven't heard from him in over a year."

"When did you see him outside my flat?" asked the woman.

"I don't remember, maybe a little over a year. He told me to meet him on Warwick Street," said Hunter.

"Why?"

"I needed some money," said Hunter.

"He was a kind man. Not something I can say about most I have had in my life." Hunter saw the woman's eyes filling up with tears.

"So you knew him?"

"Yes, but I haven't seen him in a year. At first, I thought he had grown tired, just like he had tired of his wife. But now I think something terrible has happened to him."

"Could you tell me anything about him?"

"What makes you think he told me anything? If you haven't noticed, men don't come to places like this to share their words."

"You don't seem like those other women. Don't know why, but I feel you want to know about Ezekiel as much as I do."

A despaired smile appeared on her face as she let out a deep sigh, glancing away from Hunter's direction. After a moment, she said in a faint tone, "I'm sorry. He didn't say much about his life. Just came back more than usual."

Hunter sighed, realizing that he would not get anything useful out of her, finished his tea and decided to leave. As he was deciding on Standfield or Southampton for his next destination, the woman suddenly said, "You know one thing I always found funny."

"What?"

"He would say that at the beginning of his life, he worked at some strange cult. He often told me that back then, he'd have never thought about taking any woman outside his wife. For a man addicted to a whore's company, he sure preached a lot."

"strange cult?" asked Hunter.

"Yeah, well he never called it that but that's what it sounded like. I don't remember much; he would often talk about weird rituals but never about the place. All I know, it was on some island. Said he saw some things which made him leave."

"Hmm. Thank You," Hunter said as he got up from the sofa.

The woman did not say anything but quietly walked him to the door. As Hunter stepped out of the hallway, looking at the stairs leading down, he suddenly remembered that he did not get the woman's name. But in the next moment, he said to himself, "Not like it would be of any use," as he quickly climbed down and got out onto the bustling street once more.

Before leaving, Hunter had glanced at the clock on the fireplace in the woman's living room showing ten minutes to ten. As the night thickened, the number of people had only increased as Hunter decided where to spend the rest of the night. He looked disappointed, for he had thought he could get some valuable information, but it seemed that she knew much more than Hunter had learned from stalking Ezekiel for a week before killing him or that she was hiding something.

"There might be something with that cult she mentioned but who's to say."

Either way, Hunter decided to not extend his search further, for he knew asking about Ezekiel at his workplace would only raise further suspicion.

"Let him sleep with the fishes," Hunter said to himself as he started pacing towards the lamppost thirty yards away.

"Does the offer still stand?" Hunter asked.

The girl swirled around, and as the light fell directly on her, Hunter saw her face in its full radiance, ever-appealing with its youthful charm. Hunter gazed at her, this time for a much longer period, examining every part of her figure with keen, preying eyes. The thought of the state of his wallet tried to reason with him, but by that point, Hunter's eyes had attached themselves to her rounded, perky breasts poking out of the white sleeveless blouse that clung to her body with every intention of drawing the viewer in. Her fishnet stockings reached halfway up to her thighs as the denim-blue shorts barely covered the curvaceous silhouette of her plump bottom.

"Done already?" the girl asked.

"Yes," Hunter said.

"Well, aren't you in a mood, going for two girls the same night."

"What's your name?" asked Hunter.

"Everyone calls me Camille, but I can be anyone you want," the girl said with a sly smile.

"So, what are you up for?" asked Hunter, cutting to the point as his restlessness increased.

"Well, for two-hundred quid, and you can have me for the night. Anything you like. I'll suck your cock, let you fuck my arse however many times you can. But you gotta use a condom; no amount of money is going to change my mind, so don't even try convincing me otherwise."

"Fair enough. Do you have them?" asked Hunter.

"Yes. Now follow me."

Hunter saw the swerving of hips as she led him inside the building. Two bulbs were hanging on either side of the entrance, lighting the stairs leading up. As Hunter made his ascent, occasional moans struck his ears as the smell of booze and bodily fluids loaded the air in the hallway. The floor had been planned out simply, rows of rooms on either side to his right with a single door to his left that had a filament bulb dangling from a cord in the ceiling. The girl knocked on the white-molded door a few times before a face peeked outside.

"Give him the money," said the girl pointing at the man's face, which had long droopy bangs of hair swaying around his ears.

Hunter reached into his wallet, taking out two hundred-pound notes and extending it forward; a hand from behind the door swiftly snatched it up. The man did not say anything more, bolting his door shut as Hunter then followed the girl down the end of the hallway to a red door.

As soon as Camille turned the lock and stepped inside, Hunter tossed his bag into a corner and grabbed her from behind, putting his left hand around her chest, fondling her breasts while making sure she did not slip away. The sweat mixed scent from her body only aroused Hunter more, as his aggression only increased with every passing second.

"Whoa, easy there. We've got all night," exclaimed Camille, lightly prying herself away from him.

Hunter did not say anything, instead unbuttoning her blouse as his other hand slipped inside her jeans. The girl was startled at first, but after a few seconds, the experience made its way back as she loosened her body, removing any traces of resistance and getting down to undressing him.

The next few minutes, the duo engaged in the throes of passion as Hunter thrust into her with every ounce of his energy, his rage, despair and the lust for a young body further fueling his drive. However, as much as Hunter had immersed himself into the act, the girl only reciprocated to his desires, for it had become commonplace for her to have men unleashing themselves upon her.

As Hunter realized he was on the verge of releasing himself, he turned her over, looking into her hazel eyes as he increased his pace. As drops of sweat glazed her body, Camille dug her nails deep into Hunter's back, which only made him pound with greater force. Hunter felt the cum rushing onto the tip when he glanced at the girl's face, her blue eyes piercing into him.

"Blue eyes?" Hunter suddenly stopped.

Even a moment ago, Hunter had seen gazing hazel eyes, but now it appeared blue. He pulled himself out of her, looking at her face from a distance that now seemingly had a creamy texture with dark blonde hair draping down to her shoulders.

"Ge…Ge...Genevieve?"

Hunter choked on his spit as he looked at the girl lying naked in front of him with a rambunctious smile upon her face. Hunter saw the girl leading him with her gaze towards her stomach, which appeared to be slathered with blood as the knife marks emerged visibly before his eyes. In the lust-filled haze, Hunter thought he had lost his mind.

"What happened. Finish what you started," he heard her say and felt a severe shortness of breath, for the voice resembled Genevieve's down to every single syllable.

Hunter fell to the ground, trying to get far away from the woman on the bed, who slowly stepped on the floor and started careening towards him. In a moment of sheer terror, Hunter closed his eyes as he hurled his hands in front, trying to shield himself. A second later, a loud slap echoed through the room, followed by a sharp thud.

"Fuck you. You don't get to hit me." Hunter heard a voice screaming at him, which sounded distinctive to the one immediately before. He looked to see Camille standing in front of him, fuming with anger as her left cheek bore the imprint of Hunter's sudden outburst.

"Yo...you. I.." Hunter stumbled with his words as Camille sat on the bed tending to her bruised-up face. Hunter sprang up from the floor and started putting on his clothes as Camille lay down on the bed.

"Where are you going?" she asked, seeing Hunter wearing his boots.

"I'm done," Hunter curtly said.

"Hey. You didn't cum! Come on, get back here. I just don't want you making my face into a dried-up pulp. You want to be rough, then take it out on my ass."

Camille turned around, positioning herself to give Hunter a clean view of her behind, but only for Hunter to refuse and continue lacing his shoes. As soon as he was done, he picked up his bag and went for the door, hearing Camille cursing at him as he made his way down the hall.

Hunter spent the rest of the night on a bench in the station, Genevieve's face flashing before his eyes. Even though he remembered the number of times he had plunged the knife into her stomach, there was an irrational fear in his mind implying she was not dead.

"No, I buried her, no way she gets out." Hunter thought to himself, trying to calm his mind by saying that, "I must be seeing things. It was just for a moment. Yeah, I must be seeing things."

Hunter tried to get his mind off of Genevieve instead of worrying about the two hundred pounds he had just spent on an unsuccessful sexual encounter.

"Fuck. I couldn't even finish," he remarked as he could feel his eyelids turning heavier.

The train to Southampton was still four hours away, and Hunter covered his face with the drape of his jacket, closing his eyes to get some moments of dreamless slumber.

"Oi. Hey, get up cunt."

You are reading story Hidden Duplicity at novel35.com

Hunter felt a shudder on his shoulders as his eyes opened. He swiftly jumped up, removing his jacket from his face, only to find two guys standing in front of him. One of them was almost at tall as Hunter, albeit wider and more muscular, while the other was short and thin, his worn-out wrinkled face and the needle marks in his arms giving away his identity.

"Give us everything you got. Don't be a smart ass, or Butch here will bash your head in," said the thin junkie.

Hunter looked around him for a moment, his eyes desperately trying to search for an escape as he realized he was at the far end of the station, which remained deserted at this hour of the night. The muscular guy called Butch clenched his fists as the duo reached within touching distance. Seemingly undeterred, Hunter felt for his knife, but before he could position his hands to pull it out, he felt a strong punch on his left jaw that flung him off the bench, dragging his bag along with him, which had been caught up in his arm. As Hunter laid flat onto the ground, the thin junkie tried to reach for his wallet, placing his hand on his back pocket. Immediately Hunter kicked back, the heel of his boot scraped against the junkie's nose as he let out a shriek.

Hunter pushed himself up, running across the platform, his bag in hand with Butch following right behind him. The footsteps only loudened in Hunter's ears, causing him to increase his pace with whatever energy was left in his body. The white lights placed on the ceiling of the stations showed that the stairs were almost fifty yards from him. After pacing relentlessly for an excruciating fifteen seconds, Hunter reached the station entrance, continuing until he was across the road where a few nightcrawlers were roaming around.

By the time, he stopped Hunter had come almost a hundred yards from the station, gasping for air as the fatigue from the implacable running made him light-headed. He stumbled the next few steps into the alleyway, where after a few moments of resistance, he feverishly vomited, feeling his stomach turning from the intensity. As he sat beside the garbage can trying to regain some of his strength, Hunter was suddenly struck by the familiarity of the surrounding. He walked into the alley, all the while watching his back every few seconds as the recollection made its way back into his mind.

"Nathan Wellesley," Hunter muttered, drawing deep breaths as he looked ahead to see a large building containing a sign that was barely legible in the few poorly lit street-lamps. But Hunter knew precisely what it said.

Of all the places he never wanted to go near, that dreaded place the "Blue Temple" was undoubtedly on top of that list, the sight of which sent glacial chills down Hunter's spine along with memories of what had transpired not very long ago.

It was an evening in May, Hunter remembered sitting in the cafe outside on Grove Street outside Surrey Quays, sipping coffee alongside Oliver Harley. The words crawled back into Hunter's mind, of him begging Oliver.

"I have no money. Working these restaurants ain't gonna cut it anymore. I need a proper job, Ollie. I got nothing to eat," said Hunter.

"You don't look the type to get involved in the kind of service I provide," Oliver remarked.

"Just tell me what I have to do. I'll do anything short of killing someone," said Hunter.

"Well, it may not come to that. Can you be a delivery boy?"

"Fuck you, Ollie, I come here asking for help, and you are gonna have me drop papers door to door. It's not gonna cut it!"

Oliver chuckled, looking at Hunter as though he had said something foolishly amusing in his protest.

"Listen, I need you to be a delivery boy. Not newspapers but something else.'

"What?" asked Hunter.

"Not your concern. You pick a packet from me along with a piece of paper that'll have an address written on it. Once you take it off my hands, it's up to you to safely deliver it, collect the money and bring me back my share."

Hunter thought about what Oliver had said before realizing the nature of the job he was being asked to do.

"You want me to be a mule?" asked Hunter.

"You're sharp enough. Remember, you get caught with the package; I never met you. But remember, you gotta pay for lost merchandise. No exceptions," said Oliver.

"What's the pay?" asked Hunter, the look of defeat visible on his face.

"Thirty per cent of the price of the package," said Oliver.

"That doesn't sound like much.'

"Well, considering you'd be carrying thousands of quid's worth of stuff in your pockets, thirty-per cent is a fuckton more than you'll make elsewhere. Let me know if you are in, or you are out. Cause if you want, I have a delivery ready for you. You go down now, collect the cash and bring it back to me. You want it?"

Letting out a deep sigh Hunter weighed his options before reluctantly saying,

"Where?"

"That's the spirit. Now the customer's a big shot. I won't go into details, but he needs the brown stuff like an arse eater high on bath salt. Come with me."

The duo left the cafe and walked into Oliver's car. Oliver drove near the river bank and, after stopping, opened his glove box and handed a small pouch sized packet over to Hunter along with a paper that had an address written down on it. "Blue Temple, East End, Fitzrovia." Hunter had never been around but figured it would not be hard to find the place.

"Listen, it's an easy job. You keep your head down, and the coppers won't interfere. Now the buyer's gonna hand you down a piece of paper that will have a code written on it. 209876. Remember this. Write it down if you have to. Don't give it to anyone else except the one who knows it. You got me?"

Hunter nodded.

"Okay, it's 6:07 now. The pickup's at seven-thirty. If you hurry now, you can still catch the number four bus. It'll take you straight to Goodge Street. Keep walking straight until you find yourself standing opposite the train station gate. You'll see an alleyway; it's the only one around there, at the end of which is a large abandoned building that has Blue Temple written over it. The buyer will be there waiting. If you get there first, wait for thirty minutes before calling it off. Good luck. You'll need it if you get caught."

Hunter did everything per the instructions, arriving at Goodge Street minutes before seven. Following the route towards the station, it was not much trouble to find the alleyway Oliver was talking about. As Hunter walked towards the end of the street, a large abandoned building caught his eyes. As Oliver had said, a sign reading "The Blue Temple" hung from the top. It was evident that the building would soon be demolished, but for now, it was a dark, discarded corner amidst the thronging, illuminated city center.

"209876" Hunter tried to memorize the number as the sun began to set, its orange hue casting a shadow at the foot of the alleyway. As he paced around, Hunter suddenly saw a distortion in the resting silhouettes of the building as a man in a grey coat approached in his direction. Hunter carefully noticed the man's movement; he was young although the spots and traces of fatigue in his face was visible from a mile away. He was not particularly tall, barely reaching Hunter's forehead, although, there was a certain muscularity to his physique that gave him an intimidating presence on a first glance.

As he approached closer, Hunter clasped his right chest, to ensure the pouch was still in its place. He then brushed his hand off of his jacket, and took a few steps towards the forthcoming visitor. As they met roughly in the middle of the alleyway, the man's flabbergasted face became clearer to Hunter. He was a heavy user, Hunter deduced, for the lines on his face made him look harrowingly aged and the twisted expressions of his face were indicative of his volatile temper.

"You have it?" The man asked, his brown eyes looking still at Hunter while the rest of his body fidgeted anxiously.

"Have what?" Hunter asked nonchalantly.

"The pouch you cunt. Oliver sent you, didn't he?" the man said again.

"What's the code?" Hunter asked, standing his ground as the man approached.

"What code? I got the money. Take it and fuck off," said the man, his nervous posture now turning into enraged aggressiveness.

"You tell me the code or else I can't give it to you. Those were the instructions. Weren't you given the code?" Hunter asked.

The man stopped speaking for a moment, instead hurling sharp glances at Hunter, who slowly changed his stance so as to not get suddenly attacked.

"Well, I'll give you two hundred more, just give me the stuff. Tell Oliver I forgot the code."

Although there were hints that the person was indeed the buyer, Hunter did not want to risk it, for he could not afford a mix up of two thousand pounds, money he did not have to pay back, if things turned sour.

"Sorry, why don't you call your contact and get the code, I'm not going anywhere."

"He...Ha...Ha" The man laughed hysterically, showing his crooked teeth to Hunter as his limbs start to shake. "You know who I am? I am Nathaniel Wellesley. And listen you daft cunt, if you don't want to get shanked, just hand over the pouch."

"Go fuck yourself, arsehole."

Immediately the man charged at Hunter, who having anticipated it, moved away just in the nick of time to avoid getting hit in his ribs. Nathaniel as the man called himself, had followed through with the punch with such pace that missing the mark caused him to trip over onto the ground. As soon as Hunter heard the thud, he placed all his weight on his right foot as he hurled a kick. Although he had aimed at his side, the man had jumped up, moving from his place which ultimately caused Hunter's foot to land straight in the middle of his throat. There was a large gargling noise, as the man tried to shriek, but no scream was heard. As he writhed in pain, Hunter hurled a few more kicks before the alarm bells started ringing in his mind.

"Nathaniel Wellesley." The name revolved around in his mind as he tried to recollect where he had heard it before. A second later, his blood went cold, for he remembered the Wellesley Publishing House, one of the most prominent families in the city. Although they were not as powerful as they once were, they still had enough influence to send him to the rope. As the dots started to connect themselves in Hunter's mind, he realized he had dug himself a shallow grave, for he had quite possibly trampled the man's pipes.

"If he is who he says he is…."

For a moment Hunter tried to convince himself that the man was a fraud, but the very next second, the dark, harrowing truth settled in: Oliver had said the buyer was powerful.

Hunter stepped back for a moment, trying to get enough air to clear his head; the man lay down on the dust, trying to get up but failing miserably.

"No, can't let this happen. No, fuck no."

Hunter looked at the man with burning eyes and after taking a deep breath, he reached for his pant's pocket, pulling out his old butterfly knife. The sound of the blade springing out had caught the man's ears who turned around immediately, scraping and whimpering as Hunter stepped closer to him. He tried with every cell in his body to get up and run, but Hunter's kicks had dislodged him. As the shock in his eyes turned to terror, Hunter rushed towards him and with one swift motion plunged the blade into his back. It took a few stabs until the shudders stopped and Hunter breathed a sigh of relief until he realized that there was no good place to dispose of the body. If they found one of the Wellesley family members lying dead in the alleyway, it wouldn't take time for news to reach Oliver and then things could get rough pretty soon.

Having no choice, Hunter dragged the body near the garbage bin. He then took off his jacket, the plush fabric and cut of the cloth spoke volumes about the man's financial capabilities only adding to Hunter's worries. After Hunter placed the body inside and closed the lid, he curled up the jacket in his arm and walked out of the street, making sure there were no passer-by bearing witness to what had just occurred in the dark of the alleyway.

Hunter rushed back to Oliver's house, hoping to get rid of the pouch as soon as possible. On the way, he cursed himself for ever agreeing to the job. In the end it was commonplace for him; a part of him always wanted to stay good and honest but somehow, he always got caught up in the middle of an unsavory situation that ended with him doing something unimaginable, the greatest exemplification being today's incident. Hunter had never killed before, and now he was a murderer trying to cover up his tracks. As Oliver's flat swerved into view, Hunter stood at the entrance, thinking about taking someone's life. He often had read poetic descriptions of "pulling the trigger," but now that he had done it, there was no duplicitous philosophical dilemma, instead just anxiousness about cleaning up his act.

After the third knock, Oliver opened the door. It was their signal. Oliver stood for a moment, looking at Hunter with confused eyes, the question on the tip of his tongue.

"He didn't show. I waited, thirty minutes," Hunter said.

"Why did you come to my house?" Oliver asked, annoyed.

"Who's there Oliver?" a voice called from inside the house.

"No one darling, wrong address." Oliver turning towards Hunter and lowering his tone said, "Meet me at the café in half an hour. We'll discuss it there. And never for fuck's sake come to my house again."

After thirty minutes, Hunter found himself once again sitting across from Oliver who drank his usual coffee. The clock hanging over the counter showed it was ten minutes to nine, meaning within three hours Hunter's world had turned upside down, or was dangerously close to it.

"What do you mean he didn't show?" Oliver said, disgruntled.

"He didn't come. The meet was supposed to happen at seven-thirty, I waited till eight, nothing. So I left."

"You sure you went to the right address?"

"Yes Ollie, I saw the sign, "The Blue Temple. Whatever the fuck that was."

"Listen, this guy, he never misses a pickup. He can't go through a day without his shots. At least not without killing someone. He's got quite the temper."

Hunter agreed to the last point for he had first hand witnessed the man's anger hours before.

"Now I did as you told, he didn't show, so you can keep your package."

"Fine, let's go to the car."

Once inside the car, Hunter handed over the pouch to Oliver who reluctantly took it back.

"You know you aren't cut out for this line of work. Your first job and you mess it up."

"What? I didn't do shit."

"Exactly. I still think you missed the guy. Anyway, he'll let me know why he didn't turn up and then some. Gotta send someone else next time."

"What am I fired already?" Hunter asked, trying to emulate shock and disappointment.

"It was my mistake sending you on this. Come see me in a week. I may have something more suited to your level of experience."

"Fine. Are you going home?" asked Hunter.

"Yes."

"Could you drop me on Moses street? It's on the way."

Oliver did not say anything, instead rolled his windows up and turned the ignition. The engine rumbled for a few times before starting; Hunter noticed it had already become dark enough to turn on the headlights. As the Volkswagen golf rolled away from the bank and onto the road, Hunter keenly looked ahead, knowing that the clock was ticking.

It took twenty minutes for Oliver to drive to Moses Street; Hunter got off at the intersection and started walking east as Oliver drove off in the opposite direction. The road ahead narrowed before opening wide and leading into a series of auto repair shops. Hunter walked for another good thirty seconds before seeing Milton waving at him from afar.

"You got it ready?" Hunter asked.

"Yes. But remember two hours and then I need her back, or else the boss is gonna chew me out," Milton said.

"I'll be done before that."

"I'm not gonna ask you what you need it for, but please bring the car back in one piece. No dents, nothing."

"I know, I know. Hey thanks for your help," Hunter said.

"Don't mention it. When I first started working you looked out for me. Just returning the favor."

"Hmmm."

"Hey I know what happened was terrible, but if you want I could set you up with a jo..."

"I'll kill before I work here again. That fat bastard's lucky I haven't blown his head off yet," Hunter said, the suppressed rage making a display.

"Easy does it. It was a long time back. Now go about your business and remember, two hours."

Hunter turned the car towards Marylebone station, driving as inconspicuously as possible. After forty minutes, he found himself back at the alleyway. He carefully reversed the car into the dark street and with his fingers crossed got out of the vehicle and opened the lid. To his relief, the body was still there, the blood soaking his shirt. Hunter carefully pulled the man's corpse out and laid it onto the ground, covering it in volumes of long plastic sheets that he had brought from the shop next to his house.

Hunter thought about the shopkeeper who had looked at him with suspicion, but in the next moment dismissed it as paranoia. After loading the deceased Nathaniel Wellesley onto the back of the car, Hunter drove off down to the bank of the Thames at the West End of London.

Although he could have thrown away the body with the sheets on, Hunter decided to once again carefully remove the wrapping and then tie four stones, one on each limb, to make sure the bloated corpse did not resurface before the fishes were done plucking the bones. On the drive back, Hunter decided that it would be best to leave London for a while as he did not want to be around Oliver or the police when news of Nathan Wellesley spread around the town and even though running away would raise suspicion, there was no better option.

Back in present, as the trip down memory lane ended, Hunter walked out of the alleyway, once again a question that had been poking at his mind for a long time once more re-emerged: Could his "benefactor" have been Oliver?

After all, when the news of Nathan's disappearance and then death, became known to all, Oliver must have drawn some form of conclusion. When Hunter first received the photo in the envelope, his immediate suspicion was on Oliver. But with passing time and three more dead, Hunter could never quite figure out the connection. Why would Oliver make him kill these random people?

Or perhaps they were not random but connected?

There were numerous questions on Hunter's mind and the idea of confronting Oliver had also occurred to him, but for now he had to go to Southampton and find out more about his second victim, Riley Wyatt.

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