Free Murder Mile by Tony Black

the edge of her thigh. ‘Few bawbees to be made off that yet!’
    Henderson pulled back the cover, started to shake Angela by the shoulder. She turned over and fumbled her way to his side of the bed; as she grabbed his groin, lowered her head, the move seemed altogether mechanical, too practised.
    ‘Hey, hey … What the fuck you up to?’ said Henderson.
    Angela carried on, seemed barely aware of his presence.
    ‘I’m talking to you.’ Henderson grabbed her hair, twisted a handful of it; it took some tightening of the knot to alert Angela, wake her from her daze.
    ‘Ahh …’
    ‘Sort yourself out, eh,’ said Henderson. ‘Sit up, I want to talk to you.’
    Angela reached hands to her head, her eyes widened. Immediately she seemed to have wakened, fell into a coughing fit.
    Henderson flared his nostrils. ‘Look at the fucking kip of you, who’s going to pay for a skank, eh?’
    Angela rubbed her head, ‘What was that for?’
    ‘To wake you up … Seen the time?’
    Angela looked towards the window; it was dark outside. Time she should be out on the Links, scoring punters. Henderson tweaked the tip of her nose, ‘You hearing me?’
    ‘Aye, I hear you.’ She pushed his hand away, withdrew to the far side of the mattress. ‘You got any fags?’
    ‘Fags is it?’ Henderson put one foot out of the bed, tried to hook a toe under his jeans, dragged them over. He took a packet of Club Kingsize out of his pocket, sparked up, then chucked the packet at Angela. ‘This better not be the start of you scrounging off me, you know I can’t be doing with that kind of patter … There’s no free rides in this world, Ange.’
    She took out a cigarette, put it between her lips and lit it. ‘I’ll get out there in a minute, Hendy … Just have a quick fag, eh.’
    Henderson got off the mattress, pulled his jeans on; the belt buckle rattled as he fastened the buttons. When he was fully dressed he went round to Angela’s side of the room and crouched down.
    ‘See that way you went off there, when I put the telly on …’ he watched her press the cigarette into her mouth, inhale deep. ‘What was that all about?’
    She shrugged. ‘I dunno.’
    Henderson grabbed her face in his hand, ‘I’m not playing fucking games with you, Ange … I want to know.’ She yanked her face away. He saw the imprints of his fingers in the white flesh of her jaw line. He wagged a fist at her. ‘I mean it, if I’m going to be looking out for you, I need to know that you’re fit for it and not going to be getting fucking locked up … Not worth my time, is it?’
    Angela looked away, pinched her lips. Her eyes flickered as she raised them towards the ceiling. Her reply came hard and flat, ‘I’m fine.’
    Henderson knew she was keeping something from him; experience had taught him that when whores had secrets there was a good reason for it. Someone else was stamping their mark on them; they had a few quid stashed away; or a secret punter that was paying big. He didn’t know what it was that Angela had to keep quiet about but he knew he needed to find out. He grabbed her by the throat, pinned her to the wall.
    ‘Now you better fucking loosen that gob of yours, or I might be forced to close it once and for fucking all … You get me?’
    Angela whimpered, her eyes reddened – intricate little red lines like fine cracks in pottery appeared over the whites. ‘It’s nothing … nothing.’
    Henderson gripped her throat tighter, forced his thumb deep into the crevice of her neck; Angela started to splutter, gasp for breath. Her face darkened as he brought the cigarette up to her eye.
    ‘How many fucking punters do you think you’d score out on the Links with one eye, eh?’ He moved the glowing amber tip of the cigarette to within an inch of Angela’s eye, pointed it like a dart. ‘I’ll fucking do it … I will.’
    ‘OK. OK. Let me go.’
    ‘And you’ll tell me?’
    ‘Yes. I will. I promise.’
    Henderson released his grip on