Falls was drinking, seriously. She’d sworn so many times she’d keep a lid on it, rein it in.
Yada yada.
I mean, c’mon, the whole Happy-Snapper gig, threatening her whole career, that snake Lane, not backing her up, and McDonald eating his gun.
Fuck.
Who wouldn’t drink?
And then, having to go to Brant… again… and making the pact with the devil. When she’d asked:
‘What are you going to do about the Happy Snapper?’
He’d given a satanic smile and asked:
‘You really want to know?’
Guess not.
As she’d been leaving, he said:
‘Think… biblical.’
That was the whole point, she didn’t want to… think, at all. Thus, the vodka, Stoli went down like a prayer, albeit a brief one. It was nine in the evening, she was dressed in her old Snoopy nightshirt, it was old and comfortable, she was on her second… third? drink, with a mixer of bitter lemon, low cal, of course, like that made a fat bit of difference. Bitter it certainly was. Tupac was on the speakers, with ‘Thugs Get Lonely Too.’
Christ, that sang to her.
The doorbell went and she figured… Brant, with results, she gulped another swig, get in gear for… whatever.
Opened the door to Angie.
Dressed to kill?
Short black leather skirt, black tight T-shirt, black tights, with a sheen, or was it the vodka? And a suede jacket over her shoulders. She was carrying a bag, said:
‘Goodies.’
Falls felt such an overwhelming hatred for the cow. Here she was again, fucking with Falls’s life, bringing chaos and destruction and with that knowing smirk. She looked mock hurt, asked:
‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’
Falls stepped aside. At least the guy wasn’t with her, what was his name… Coleman, yeah.
Angie literally skipped in, looked round, said:
‘Oh dear, sweetie, we haven’t been doing much cleaning, have we?’
She began to unload the bag, bottles of vodka, snacks, and what looked like a packet of weed… to a cop.
She said:
‘I’ll get the glasses, shall I, though I see you’ve already got a jump start.’
Falls felt an icy calm descend on her, and she decided, this was going to end. One way or another. This bitch was out of her life. She watched as Angie bounced around, full of that malignant confidence, the total control she was accustomed to exerting.
She poured herself a large glass, settled herself on the sofa, letting lots of thigh show, and asked:
‘See anything you like, lover?’
The last time she’d been round, they’d ended up in the sack, to Falls’s never-ending regret and shame. Angie raised her glass, said:
‘To the future, ours, right hon?’
Falls raised her glass, took a lethal wallop, asked:
‘What do you want?’
Angie smiled, she had great teeth, and then went:
‘Opps.’
Wiping the lip gloss off the rim of the glass, she said:
‘You might want to wipe some of this gloss yourself, would you like that?’
And Falls, to her horror, did want to, so badly. She had to physically bite down, get a grip, and she let her voice stay cold, repeated:
‘What do you want?’
Angie’s face went through the brief change, the mask slipping for a moment, to show the dark demon that lived there.
Falls actually backed up a step, the fleeting glimpse of who, or what, Angie was had raised goosebumps on her arms. She put out her hand to steady herself, and it curled round the bottle of Stoli, which had been left on the bookcase, holding the bottle for comfort. Angie let her eyes linger on Falls for a moment then turned away, said:
‘My new little friend has disappeared, now I wonder why. I’d plans for that boy and 1 have a sneaky suspicion that you, Liz, mind if I call you that, I think you had something to do with it.’
Falls felt a rush of emotions, delight that the bastard was gone, she was off the hook, fear as to what Brant had done to him, and mostly, dread of what Angie had in mind. Angie crossed her legs, letting the sound of nylon hover, then said:
‘Liz, unless I get him back, I’m going to have to go to the papers with our… affair. You think the Tabloid would be interested in that?’
Falls lashed out with the bottle, catching Angie square across the top of her head, then screamed:
‘Don’t fucking threaten me, you piece of crap. I’m a fucking police officer.’