Martins put his glass down on the table with a purposeful thud, hoping this would draw her attention away from the other man. It seemed to do the trick. Looking over at him she gave a shallow smile. Martins realised she would be easy to entice from the bar so he smiled back at her.
She immediately picked up the empty glass and a black woollen shawl she’d been sitting on, then casually sauntered over to where he sat. Martins stood as she arrived at the booth and being the gentleman he was portraying, helped her into her seat. But would not remove his hat. Although a slight tilt wasn’t out of the question.
‘Hi,’ she said introducing herself. ‘I’m Lucy,’ her voice sounded thin, almost childlike. ‘What’s your name?’
‘John, John O’Connor. Can I get you a drink Lucy?’
Lucy pushed her glass slightly in his direction and even in the dim light of the booth he noticed her dirty half chewed fingernails. ‘A glass of rum would be nice, chase away the chilly night air.’
‘A glass of rum it is then… Barman,’ he shouted. ‘Another beer if you please, and a glass of rum for my new friend Lucy.’
Martins pulled a golden money clip from the inside pocket of his coat and stripped out a ten Dollar bill. He noticed this went unmissed by Lucy, just as he hoped it would. On hearing a barstool scrape on the wooden floor Martins looked up; he watched as number two stood throwing some coins onto the bar before walking out.
‘So tell me Lucy, do you come from around here?’ he said returning his attention back to her.
‘About a mile away in Kato Park, do you know it?’
‘No I’m afraid not,’ he lied. ‘I’ve only been here just over two week’s m’self. I’m from over the water as they say.’
‘I thought your accent sounded strange, is it Scottish? Are you from Scotland?’
‘No, no, no,’ he laughed. ‘I’m from the Emerald Isle.’
Lucy narrowed her eyes. ‘The where?’
‘I’m Irish, from Ireland, y’know… near England?’ he wondered how blatant he would have to be with this woman.
‘There ya go sir.’ said the barman carrying over their drinks. ‘That’ll be...’
Martins pushed the ten dollar bill into his hand. ’Thank you, and keep the change.’ He knew flashing his money around would easily get an Irishman noticed.
‘Well thank you sir, if there is anything else I can...’
‘No, that will be all.’
Lucy dipped her right forefinger into her rum, and while Martins watched she held out her tongue placing the grubby finger onto it; enveloping her red lips over it she slowly withdrew the finger, making a kissing sound as the tip left her lips. ‘Mmm, I like Irish men,’ she said, then ran her tongue across the front of her yellow stained teeth.
‘Well it must be my lucky day then!’ He smiled.
Martins half finished his drink and then stood. ‘Shall we go somewhere a little more… private?’ he really didn’t think he could keep up this charade much longer.
Lucy quickly knocked back her glass of rum and wiping a drip from the side of her mouth stood also. ‘Well I know a nice cosy place not far from here, but if we’re gonna have a party…’ she said tilting her glass left then right. ‘We’ll need more juice.’
Martins turned back to the bar. ‘Barman, would you sell me the last of that bottle?’ he said pointing.
The barman turned and picked up the bottle, but before saying anything he felt its weight. ‘Sir,’ he said smiling. ‘You can have that on the house. And please, do come back again.’
Martins picked up the bottle, he then realised it held no more than a quarter of its original contents. ‘Well now, that’s awfully kind of you.’ He said.
They left the bar with Lucy leading the way, she turned left out of the door and linked Martins’ left arm. Fortunately they were heading in the direction of his car, so he would carry on playing the game.
‘So Lucy, do you live alone over in Kato Park.’
‘No my friend and I share the place, but you don’t want to go there it’s… too long away.’ she stopped and swung herself around to face him. ‘So why don’t we stay in a little hotel I know? It’s just around the corner!’
Martins smiled. ‘Now doesn’t that sound fine and dandy?’
After a few more minutes Lucy manoeuvred Martins into an alley. ‘This is a short cut I know.’ she said pulling on his arm.
Martins went along willingly; thinking this would be the perfect place to subdue the woman. He fingered the bottle in his right pocket feeling its orientation, and was just about to pass the rum to Lucy to free up both hands when an intense pain on the back of his head sent him to the floor. Both he and the rum bottle crashed hard on the cobbled alleyway. Severely dazed and semi-conscious Martins could feel someone pulling forcefully at his coat.
‘The inside pocket, check the inside pocket…’ said a woman’s squeaky voice in a hushed panic.
Martins felt something wet on his face and at first he thought it was blood, but it didn’t smell like blood, it smelt more like rum. He brought his hand up and felt the broken bottle-neck beside his head, picking it up and opening his eyes he saw number two searching through his coat pockets. He had already found the bottle of chloroform and the rag, but tossed them aside. Lucy was bent over at the waist looking on and urging him to hurry.
Martins reached across the ground holding out the broken bottle-neck, he brought it swiftly across his arc of reach plunging the jagged glass into the left side of the man’s neck severing his main artery. Number two fell to the floor screaming in pain; Lucy came to his aide pushing her hands and the black shawl onto the wound, but the flow of blood seemed unstoppable.
The man’s screams soon turned to no more than high-pitched gargling as the blood drained into his wind-pipe.
Martins though unsteady rose to his feet, and whilst Lucy was still trying to help number two she hadn’t noticed him getting up. He picked up the small bottle of chloroform and the rag, and leant against the wall of the alley to assist his balance. Unscrewing the cap he poured the chloroform onto the rag, he blinked rapidly and shook his head as the strong fumes invaded his nostrils.
Recapping and putting the bottle back into his pocket he stood over Lucy, who was still screaming and shouting whilst kneeling beside number two. Grabbing her violently around the neck with his left arm he choked her cries, he then lifted her up and put the rag over her nose and mouth. Martins held it there until she finally stilled, number two had also stopped moving, but permanently.
Martins felt the area where he had been struck; he found a huge lump had risen and blood had started running down the centre of his back. He picked up his hat scrunching it into a ball and stuffed it into one of his pockets; he then lifted Lucy clumsily onto his shoulder and proceeded to carry her to the far end of the alley.
There he dumped her and went to retrieve his car, if he got back and someone had found her, or she was simply not there, he would drive past. On his return he found her still lying where he had left her, he looked along the alley where he saw number two still lying there also. Unceremoniously he hauled Lucy into his car and made off in the direction of Charleston.
When he reached his house he pulled up around back, and with somewhat of a struggle he managed to carry Lucy into the rear garden. After laying her on the overgrown weed bed he unlocked the two steel doors that led down into his basement. Martins had to pause for a moment; the blow he’d sustained in the alley was beginning to take its toll.
He looked at Lucy lying by the open hatch and his vision began to blur, he knew at any moment he could easily pass out. Picking her up again and grunting as he went, he carried Lucy down the few steps into his lab. Once inside he laid her on an old leather gurney, then buckled her down at both wrists, both ankles, and across her chest.
He went back up into the garden and locked the doors from the outside; he then walked around to the front of the house and entered to tend to his head injury. Once inside he removed the chloroform from his pocket, and due to the coat stinking of rum he threw into the fireplace. Plus number two’s blood had managed to get onto the sleeves when Lucy had tried to struggle free.
Martins set fire to the coat and went to look in the mirror; he twisted his head left and then right in order to see the lump, but it was too far back.
Returning to the basement and to the woman he’d just abducted Martins took a length of cord and a clean white rag; he stuffed the rag into her mouth and secured it with the cord. ‘You… will keep until tomorrow.’ After cleaning himself and his wound in the small sink in his basement, Martins returned upstairs to retire for the night.
