Pop Goes the Weasel | страница 79

Finally he had a bite. Tony had been driving the streets for hours, slowly climbing inside his new identity as a lonely businessman looking for sex. He’d been up and down Bevois, but the streets were strangely quiet. It was a Tuesday night – a long way from pay day – but still he’d expected to see more business than this.

He’d tried Empress Road, only to find it deserted. Too much police activity round there recently to encourage a vibrant night trade. So he’d diverted a little further north to Portswood. This was more promising, but the girls who hung their heads through his car window didn’t fit his spec. They were mixed race, Polish, too short, too fat, too old, too transgender. The description of the killer hadn’t been that detailed, but it ruled out most of these girls. As he terminated negotiations and drove off quickly, he received a healthy dose of abuse.

In frustration, he’d driven south to the docks. He was both angered and relieved by his lack of progress. He wanted to find this girl, wanted to bring this thing to a close, but still his heart thumped, beating out his fear and anxiety. He assumed he’d be able to handle himself against her, but how could he know that for sure? She was organized, ruthless and violent. What if she got the upper hand?

Tony shook the thought from his mind. He must remain focused on the job in hand. Driving the side streets near the Western Docks, his eyes slid back and forth searching for signs of business. The girls that worked down here were the busiest, servicing a never-ending stream of punters from the cruise ships and dockyards. Prostitutes loomed into view intermittently, but he could tell even from a distance that none of them fitted the bill.

But then there she was. She was pacing up and down on the deserted street and when Tony pulled up alongside her, he could see she was agitated, distressed. Instinct made him stroke the accelerator, something telling him to get away from this girl, but then his brain kicked in and he put the car into neutral.

‘You up for business?’ he called out, keeping his voice neutral.

The girl jumped as if startled, as if somehow she hadn’t heard the car approaching. She was dressed in black leggings, which emphasized her long, muscular legs. Her upper half was swathed in a military coat that seemed too big for her and was incongruous in comparison with the rest of her outfit – had she stolen it? Her face was striking though – dark-brown eyes, strong nose and full lips. Recovering her poise, she regarded him – making some mental calculation – then slowly, carefully she approached him.