Free Last Gasp by Robert F Barker

way, then that, thinking
about hair and makeup. Now, what sort of look for what is planned? Hair up, or
down? Up, she decides. And make up? The usual, or something darker, more
dramatic? Perhaps a darker look might actually sit better with the variation -
if things happen to go that way.
    Opening her expansive makeup box, she peers in, reminding
herself of the many options available within its nooks and crannies. As she
considers the myriad possibilities, the dampness between her legs reminds her
of how the elaborate preparations are almost as enjoyable as the scene itself.
    She closes her eyes, savouring the moment.

Chapter 11
    The girl sniffed quick and hard and
the line disappeared up the rolled-up twenty. Sitting up straight, she tossed
her blond-streaked main back and tweaked her nose, sniffing again to make sure
every grain was absorbed into the sensitive nasal tissues.
    'WOO-HOO! FUCKing ayy-ONE,' she declared in her New York
twang. Within seconds she felt her system beginning to respond. She lifted her
voice. 'THAT’S FERKIN GOOD CANDYCAINE LOVER. Sure hope you got more o’ this
somewhere.'
    In the bedroom off the main living area, William Cosworth
paused in his packing to poke his head round the door. Her face was already
flushing. The good stuff works so quickly these days. He frowned. Petra’s
cravings were definitely getting worse. She was becoming flaky, and that was a
problem. Life was complicated enough. Her reliance on him – and what he
provided - meant she served his purposes well. She actually seemed to enjoy the
work and there was nothing she hadn’t been willing to try. But as her
dependency increased, so did her tendency to talk. Twice recently he’d caught
her just as she’d been about to describe some of their recent work to her
friends. After the business a few years ago, he couldn’t afford more rumours,
even if most people had forgotten all that by now. Amazing how these things
blow over, eventually.
    Time was coming he would need to do something about her. But
he’d have to be careful. If she got wind of anything in her present state, she
would blow. Probably run off to that faggot hairdresser of hers - wassisname,
Damien? - and tell him everything. A normal person would assume she was making
it all up, but not that cock-sucking idiot. He was stupid enough to believe
her. And if he started talking - as he no doubt would - the
proverbial-fucking-cat would be out of the proverbial-fucking-bag.
    Returning to his packing, he stuffed straps, cameras and
other items into the big leather holdall in which he kept everything he needed
for his, ‘shoots.’ As he did so he considered his options. Apart from the
obvious, there were a couple of possibilities that would be tidier and less
risky. If he started now, made a couple of calls, he could be rid of her by the
end of the week. She would never realise - until it was too late. The only
thing she needed right now was to know where her next fix was coming from.
    He’d have to remember not to get the next one hooked so
quickly. Girls willing to do his kind of work were hard to come by. And while
the money was good, he couldn’t afford to burn them out too soon. One in
particular, Lisa, had been in his mind lately. The more he saw of her, the more
he was certain she would be ideal. She’d been getting plenty of work recently
and might be hard to convince, but there were ways. And a reliable supplier
counts for a lot in this business.
    Bag packed, he pulled the zips and carried it through to the
living room. Petra was high now, in the active phase of her hit, picking up
items of clothing and trying them against her reflection in the wall mirror.
The old Prodigy hit, ‘Climbatise’ was booming from the B and O and she ducked
and weaved to the heavy beat. Seeing the bag, she stopped.
    'We goin’ out hon?'
    Picking up the remote, he turned the volume down. He looked
round for his car keys. 'I’m going out babe. You’re staying