Know The Score (1)

On a dark and stormy night . . . On a deeply dark night, while the winds howled . . . It was a deeply dark and humid night, on the coast of England, with the stormy winds whistling through a small village in Hampshire. It was on this night that a man, a young man, of only 25 years left a package in the front pulpit of the church and another man, a couple of hours later removed it. The second man strode out of the church, his long, weather beaten jacket billowing about him. His long, ragged, brown hair was held back in a ponytail.  Most of his face was obscured from vision by the wide brim, black Parma hat he wore, but you could make out a slightly unshaven face and a tired look upon his countenance. He reached his car and pulled open the door, pulling off the parking ticket off the windscreen and let it free to the howling gale that blew through the car park. He quickly placed the package, an insignificant bundle of brown wrapping paper that fitted snugly into a compartment underneath the driver’s seat. The car trundled out of the car park, leaving only its tyre treads that were soon removed by the wind and rain that pelted the place.

Monday morning . . . The brightness of the light on that Monday morning . . . She awoke to the shrill ringing of her clock as the street light poured in through the cream curtains, she looked at the clock.
“Shit.” She leapt out of bed; it was 8:00 am on a Monday morning. She was going to be late. She hurriedly pulled on a pair of slightly crumpled jeans and an equally crumpled, lilac shirt. She rushed into the kitchen of her apartment. She then realised she had to wake up her flatmate. She dived into his room, “Ch-“ the room was empty, but the weird thing was that everything was tidy, she stood in shock for a couple of seconds, before realising. “Damn, 8:23!” She pulled her unruly brown hair into a loose bun and pulled on a pair of deep brown boots. The brief smattering of freckles that had once blemished her entire body but now only resided on her face offset her large olive eyes. She looked older than her 24 years mainly because of the clothes she wore, but her eyes were old from what she had been through. Her gangly limbs prevented her from the most graceful of movements but she had leant how to combat this over the years, never wear high heels. She grabbed a breakfast bar, her duffel bag and a long, black jacket. Dashing down the stairs, because the lift was broken, she made it in double time. Once she had reached the bottom floor, she opened her letterbox and found a brown package resting there. She stuffed it in her bag, along with a couple of bills and a letter. She ran out of the building, just in time to get the bus that waited patiently a little away from the flats. She paid her fare and sat on a window backseat; watching the rain soaked city of London pass by her. The bus soon pulled up outside another murky looking part of the city, where few lights twinkled in the darkness. She pulled her long jacket closer to her body, protecting it against the winds that still existed from the previous night’s storm. She made her way towards a back alley that ended in a small door, which was worn with age and had the remnants of a sign that had once said: ‘Staff only”. She inserted the key and opened the door into a cramped but neatly kept backroom, full to the ceiling with files and boxes. Making her way to a door on the other side of the room, she dodged wobbling stacks of paper and the rattling doors of filing cabinets. As her hand closed over the door handle she heard the shouts that were coming from the main office, not a good sign this early in the morning. She strode into the main area and was confronted with the image of her close colleague and boss yelling bloody murder at each other.
“I don’t give a monkey’s arse about the estate. We need a good scandal or death in this area!”
“But what about the people?”
“Who cares?”
“So you won’t run my story?”
“Not if something better comes up.” And with that Charlie Daniels pushed passed her and locked himself in his office. Daniels Paper, a well known printing company and small time newspaper producer for the South London area was run by the Daniels Company, but the newspaper part was Charlie’s soul idea, and his pet project. Unfortunately all he cared about was the money and the fame that he received from the publicity his family gave him. Also known as a ladies man, and at only two years her senior she had to admit he was a looker: with caramel coloured hair that he always had in the latest style, and deep blue eyes that you could see the ocean’s depth in was any women’s dream, but her and Frankie’s nightmare. 
“Can you believe that man Kath?”
“He does have a point though.”
“What?” Frankie was almost ready to spit acid. She stormed over to her desk and pulled out a logbook so violently that her desk rattled.
“The paper’s ratings have been going down.”
“That’s ok for you to say. You’ve got that big offer to some fancy uptown paper. Something I can only dream of.” Kath snorted, and shook her head laughing.
“If you call that paper uptown, I’d love to see what you call this one.” The two young women joked until the roar of:
“KATHY!” was heard. She sighed and made her way over to the door.
“Yes Sir?” they both laughed again.
“Come in then!” came the agitated reply; Charlie obviously wasn’t in a joking mood.  She entered quickly and silently laughing at the face that Frankie pulled. She closed the door behind her, walking deeper into Charlie’s lair. She watched him finish off a phone conversation, taking a drag on his cigarette. He looked so much older now, that’s probably because she remembered them as kids, having a laugh and mucking about. To think of him as an adult scared her, but then wasn’t she an adult? She watched him as he sighed and placed the phone down. “Take a seat.” She perched on the edge of a previous secretary’s desk, the last one had run off with the plumber who’d come in to mend the pipes. They now lived in Birmingham with twins on the way, Kathy still kept in contact. He looked at her chosen place and then at the seat in front of his desk. “I meant in the seat.”
“I’m not one for being told what to do.”
“So I’ve just found out from a competitiv-“ she snorted. “A competitive newspaper that you plan to take a journalistic job there and they’ll help you complete your degree. Is this true?”
“Might be.”
“For God’s sake Kath! Give me a straight answer for once!” he stood and looked down at her, hands on hips. “You work here!”
“I’m freelance! You knew that when you took me on!”
“I expect a months notic-”
“You got it!” and with that she left the office slamming the door behind her, getting tired looks from the other staff as they filed in, late from partying all weekend. She fell down into her seat and pulled her duffel bag to her, praying that it held her purse so she could get lunch later, she already owed Frankie too much. As she rummaged in her bag, bringing out her camera, notepads, pens, sweet wrappers and ‘girlie’ things she came across the brown package. She pulled it out and laid it on the desk, looking at it suspiciously, her sister sent too many gag gifts for her to be carefree with packages now. Carefully she began peeling off the brown paper gently.

Opening the front door . . . Blundering through the front door . . . He crashed heavily through the door clattering the mirror that hung on its back. He made for the sink, sticking his mouth under it, but only succeeding in getting more water on his face and hair than in his mouth. After refreshing himself, he flopped onto the couch in the living room, after pressing the answer machine’s button, and listening to Kath’s recorded massage: ‘None of us are here at the moment but please feel free to leave a message, but not if your selling anything.’ He grinned as the happy voice filled the room. She had recorded that message the day she and her flatmate had moved in, he had been there and had been given a key to use the flat whenever he was in town. He pulled off his long, brown jacket and flung it over the back of the couch. He listened to the message from Kathy’s mum, her boss and one salesman who’d risked the wrath and left a message about milk bottles. He was pulling off his grey sweater when a familiar female voice came over the line, it was cold and didn’t sound very happy at all.

‘Kathy, if my good for nothing brother shows up, would you tell him the stuff he got wasn’t enough. I’ve sent it to your letterbox. Don’t concern yourself with what’s in it. It is the 21st of October.’

He froze, and quickly made for the door, grabbing the spare letterbox key from under the decorative cats of a shelf of books. He made it down the stairs in double quick time and hurriedly opened the box. Empty.
         “Damn.” He muttered and slammed the box shut, locking it automatically. He ran back up to the 4th floor, to the apartment and began searching. Going through all the rooms meticulously but found nothing. He slumped upon the sofa 2 hours later, feeling retched that Kathy had got involved, but there was a small chance that she hadn’t got the parcel and that C had got it. But Kathy always checked the post, this was so not good. He decided to have a shower, shave and a sleep to clear his head and he’d ask Kath once she got home which, he checked his watch, would be in about 4 hours. Plenty of time to compose himself for what he had to tell her. He entered the bathroom, unbuckling his jeans and hefting off his boots and socks into a corner of the bathroom. He tossed the tight fitting black T-shirt into the same pile, closely followed by the jeans. His hair, now out of it tight confining ponytail, hung below his shoulders and was tinged with little bit of black, more soot than salon styling. He turned on the shower to a temperature most people would find uncomfortable and stepped out of his boxers, which lay just outside the shower door as he stepped in and revelled in the cooling water. It had been a hectic few days. Only 3 days till the 31st and everything came to a head, and then hopefully he’d be able to lead a normal life away from his family and the demands that they made of him. After the shower he let himself to C’s shaving stuff and soon got rid of the stubble that had been creeping up his chin. Now clean-shaven and standing in just a towel in the bathroom he looked at the mirror gloomily. The doorbell rang. He made his way to the door, pulling something out of his jacket pocket, as he stealthily made he approached to door, he swung it open. There stood a young woman, dressed not dissimilarly from professor Trelawney from Harry Potter, her mousy brown hair done up in a bun with Chinese chopstick through it. She had a large grey cloak over the extravagant, stained emerald dress and the multitude of beads and bangles she wore.  She squeaked and dropped the bonsai tree she was holding and it smashed at her feet as she took in the nearly naked man in front of her.
         “OOH!” She exclaimed before being dragged into the apartment. She peered around the place, before crying out. “Kathy? Is this a good time?” The man snorted and made his way into the main room, she followed timidly. “Ch-”
         “Neither of them are here. Can’t you see that?”
         “Well, they could be sleeping.”
         “With the noise that you’re making?”
“Hmm!” She huffed and settled herself down on the sofa, making sure the skirts of her dress didn’t get ruffled. He watched her with amusement. He left her to herself and then went to find his clothes. “How did you get in?”
“I have a key.” He spoke from the bathroom, then he came out in his jeans and T-shirt, which fitted snugly to his torso, which the lady couldn’t help but stare at. “Ah-hem?”
“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”




Lying on a bed in the sun . . . The sun’s rays flooded into the room . . . She ran her hands up and down the young boy’s back as the sun made his skin a golden brown that had made her fingers itch to touch it. She stopped at where the covers lay at his lower back and sighed as she remembered how the lad had kept her entertained last night and in the early hours of this morning. He had fallen asleep a little after 10 and she was bored again. She rose gracefully from the bed and slipped into a black silk dressing gown that clung to her and shimmered as she walked. She sat at her dressing table to check her hair and makeup, which had become unmade during the night. She quickly brushed her long, black hair that fell in ringlets along her back and left it undone, she’d go to the salon later. She reapplied her black mascara and lipstick and did a once over her nails in black as well. The phone rang
“Yes?…” she pushed the speaker button on her phone and leaned against the back of the chair and as she continues to do her makeup. A gravely voice sounded down the phone.
“Charlotte-Ann? Is that you?”
“Who else would it be?”
“Always safe to check.” There was a spate of coughing; she listened uninterested as she filed her nails.
“Get on with it, Gerald, I haven’t got all day. And I need you to evict a young man from my bed, he won-”
“Pardon?” There was silence for a moment. “Those are not my duties as your butler!”
“You’ll do it Gerald; it’s what I pay you for. And you’ll get it done before 3 o’clock. Do you understand me?
“Yes madam and your events manager is here, the young one that was hired last week. He is here to work on some fundraiser with you.” The line went dead; she looked shocked at the phone.
“He cut me off.” She mumbled slightly aghast. She stood and flounced into the walk in closet that had only been fitted a month ago as an anniversary present and she was still finding new compartments and gifts in it. The clothes made her look and think she was older than her 24 years, compared with her husband’s 28, they married young for money and position nothing personal. She searched through the multitude of clothes, till she found a deep crimson, off the shoulder dress. She ran her finger down the satiny material and listened to the shouts of the boy being evicted. She hated noise, she’d have to tell Gerald that later. She lifted the dress from its dark hideaway in the closet and laid it out on the table in the middle of her own little world. She quickly found a pair of black heels, which had ballet ribbons to hold them up and a black choker to complete to look. She stood and admired the dress with its simple corset top and floating skirts that would reach her knees. She spilled off the rode, that pooled at her feet, and quickly put on some discreet underwear and slid into the dress, spinning a couple of times to get the feel of it. Realising it was now half past one and she’s been keeping her events manager waiting too long she slipped into her shoes and clasped the choker on. She exited gracefully from the closet, its automatic lights turning off and made her way downstairs to the conservatory, where all guests were met, no matter how well you knew them. She entered the conservatory by the long staircase that descended in elegance to the far end of the glassed room. There at the other end of the room sat a nervous looking banker type with a bowler hat and dark suit on. He sat clutching his weathered briefcase to his knees as he gazed around at the spacious room and dangling creepers that hung down from the ceiling and the flytraps that waited next to him. His hair was hidden under the bowler and the dark suit covered the frame of his body like a body bag, it was obvious that it had been handed down. His hands shook, even though he was not old at all, at close inspection he could only be considered 29. She swung her hips slightly as she approached him, knowing it made him even more nervous and stutter over his words. She held out her hand and shook his firmly. “Nice to see you again Mr. Peterson.”
“It is good to see you looking so well Mrs. Merrill.”
“Oh please, enough with formalities. Call me Charlotte.”
“Mrs. Me- . . .Charlotte we need to talk about the Halloween Ball, that you are organising and the auction that will occur during the night.”
“So boring! Why don’t we talk about something fun, like your favourite band, food, movie?” She moved onto the chaise that he sat stiffly on and ran her hand up and down his thigh.
“Mrs. Merrill, I hardly think th-“
“Then don’t think at all.” She leant across him, “Just do.” He slipped out form under her, taking his briefcase with him; leaving Charlotte sprawled out on the chaise lounge.
“Mrs. Merrill I will take my leave of you now.” He quickly sped out of the room. She laughed as he ran away from her. It was always fun to play while her husband was out of town. The stupid man would be out of town for a couple more days, and later when Peterson came back in a few hours to try and reconcile she’d have him.

Within the car . . .He sat sweating in the cracked car . . .He wiped his brow after removing the bowler hat as he sat outside MacDonald’s after driving away from that house as quickly he could. He flexed out his arms, then removed the suit jacket that had made him swelter so much in that greenhouse. His muscles rippled slightly, as his stretched again, against the tight fabric of his red shirt and black waistcoat. He checked his watch and then looked around to make sure no one was watching. He raised his hand to his hair and deftly pulled off the wig he was wearing, to reveal wisps of dark brown hair tainted with sun streaks of gold, which stood out miles against his pale skin. It made his ocean blue eyes more noticeable, when they weren’t hidden by the grey contacts that he had just taken out. He quickly started the car while plugging in a phone holder, he slotted his phone into the stand. He pressed the auto call button. The phone rang quietly as the car made its way out onto the motorway and the man sat patiently waiting for the phone to connect.
“Yes?” a deeply unhappy voice rang out over the connection. “I’ve been waiting for this call for a week. You’re slipping.”
“She had a guy this weekend, and she came onto me this morning.”
“I wondered. Proof?”
“Film, audio and picture. Your divorce should be easy.”
“I don’t want a divorce, I want revenge!” The voice hissed down the phone, the guy winced slightly.
“Have it your way. Just don’t get me involved, ok?”
“Fine, Peterson. Where did that come from anyway?”
“You’d be amazed at the things you think of when you are bored. See you round Jack. Don’t be too hard on your spouse.”
“Since when have you been one to give relationship pointers?”
“I’m good at listening.”
“Then listen to this: I hired you to dig the dirt on my wife and her friends. Not to tell me what to do. Are we clear?
“I’m just tryin-”
“Do I need advice from you?” the phone then cut off.
“Bastard.” Muttered Peterson and drove off toward inner London.

He looked at her . . .He stared openly at her in a rude manner . . . He gave her a rude glance then turned back to the answer machine as if to contemplate its existence. She coughed a little.
“No. I didn’t say what my name was.”
“Could you possibly tell me.”
“No, because if I did I’d have to kill you.” She went to laugh, but then at the serious look upon his face quietened down and looked at the floor.
“Are you her to see Kathy?” he gave her a hard look. “Cause I came to see C, see C, how funny.” Her laughter again died away at the disgusted look on his face. “I brought the bonsai tree for him, he said that he wanted one. I had a spare s-“
“Shut up. You’re babbling.” He looked the phone and sighed. “You don’t even recognise me.” She looked again at him closely, really looked. Then gasped and covered her mouth and shock her head violently.
“No, no no no . . . no no!” She rushed to him and knelt in front of him. “Oh my God. How you’ve changed. It’s like you’re a now person. What ever happened to the Star Wars T-shirts? And Beatles’ haircut? Does Kathy know you look like this? Cause boy is she gonna fall head ov-” he put his hand over her mouth to stop the flow of words that he was being overcome by. He sadly shook his head.
“I must leave soon, as soon as I came.”
“Why?”
“It’s not safe. I’ll talk to Kathy, then be on my way regardless of what happened between us,” he looked sad at her expectant face. “Which was nothing. I’ll be leaving as soon as possible. Something has come up that prevents me from staying.” He stood and paced over to the bathroom again. He came out shortly with his boots and sweater on, both looking more battered and beaten in the light than they had last night. She looked at him then took in his own weather beaten appearance.
“You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. Or sat on by a bus.”
“I’ll go with the second.”
“Don’t joke about this. When did you last sleep properly?”
“I had-”
“And I mean in a bed.”
“Well-”
“And not with a woman.”
“At least a week ago,” he sighed as he flopped down on the couch. “I’ve just had the worst week of my life, my boss doesn’t seem to realise how muc-” His head spun round to face Kathy’s bedroom. “Did you hear that?”
“What?” There was an ominous creak at the window in Kathy’s room. He crouched down by the sofa, pulling the girl with him.
“That.” They both shuddered slightly; he drew the item from his pocket again. The girl froze at the sight of it. “Don’t worry I wont shoot you, you’re on my side.” He grinned at her, and then turned to point it at the door of the bedroom. There was the creaking of floorboards and the rattle of a doorknob, and the guy crept a little forward.
“Don’t.” There came the whimper from the girl behind him and the deafening noise of the click of another gun. He turned slowly on his heel to view the girl being held by the hair by a bear of a man all clad in black and with a semi-automatic strapped to his back and a handgun held under her chin. There was suddenly the feel of a barrel pushing into his back and the feel of a knife against his throat. “Please don’t.” she whimpered again. The bear man roared with laughter.
“This one yours Crane?”
“Maybe.” He said through gritted teeth.
“Nah. I think you like brunettes, who’ve just discovered a parcel in their letterbox and opened it at work. She’ll be home anytime soon.”
“Leave her out of this!” He made to lunge forward, but was tripped by a simple foot under his own and was sent sprawling over the floor, his gun flying into a corner too far to reach. The other assailant placed their foot upon his back and pushed until he gasped for air.
“The family won’t take any more of your fooling around Crane, your to get rid of the extras and deal with the package?”
“What do they mean? What are they talking about?” the girl shrieked.
“Shut the fuck up girlie!” with that he rammed his elbow into her stomach bring her to the floor. She moaned slightly and curled into a protective ball into herself. Crane watched in horror. “You’ll deal with it. Like we deal with this one,” he toed the girl’s body with the end of his boot. She shrank further into herself crying out someone’s name, which was muffled by the fabric of her dress. The man raised his gun and pointed it at her. “Nighty night.”
“No!” Bang. Crane crumpled in ball just beside the girl. The man looked mildly perturbed at what had just happened: the fact that Crane’s blood now stained the floor not the intended victim. She shuddered and raised her head, only to look at the shaking body next to her. She was violently sick onto the man’s boots, who yanked her painful to her feet, making a crack sound in her shoulder. She was dragged sobbing form the room, while Crane lay there while the pool of dark colour surrounding him grew larger until it at last reached the gun in the corner. The other man leant over him and placed a card in his top shirt pocket. And in a nasally voice said five words that changed his mind about the fate of women
“Compliments of the Banks family.”