Getting Back Ch. 03

"I told you to mind your own fuckin' business." Wayne shouted. He was angered by the intrusion into his life. He already felt hard done by. His wife had left him. She had hit him and then left him. Harriet was probably going to dump him. And now the little shit Felix was goading him.

"And I told you it is my fuckin' business. I want them notes and I don't care a shit who's fucking your wife. I want the notes Wayne."

Wayne's anger came to the boil. He turned sharply and grabbed the small man by his leather jacket. "I told you to mind your own fucking business you little shit." One of his hands left the coat and back swiped Felix across his face. Felix fell on the bed. "And don't fucking tell me what to do."

The rage that had been building since Georgina hit him exploded inside his head. He reached for the little man's throat with one of his large hands. Throwing his weight forward, he pinned the frightened face to the bed. First he felt the surge of pleasure, almost sexual in its intensity, from the look of helpless fear as his fist pulled back to smash his power and authority into the helpless victim.

Then he felt the pain.

Felix did not know why the knife was on the bed. He was not even aware that it was a knife. He only knew his hand had closed something when he fell and that it fitted perfectly into his grasp. He raised it, and as he raised it Wayne's hand captured his throat and Wayne's body weight lurched forward to crush him. Felix saw the fist rising for a smashing blow. He saw the look of sadistic pleasure on Wayne's face. He saw the look of exultation change to one of shock.

The blow never fell. The knife in Felix's hand entered the soft part of Wayne's belly just under his ribs sliding in at a slight angle, straight into his heart.

Felix pushed the heavy body from him and scrambled to his feet. Blood stained Wayne's shirt front. His eyes were wide. Death had taken him totally by surprise.

"Cunt." Felix hissed. "Stupid cunt. Where the fuck did that knife come from? Who the fuck cares, you fucking shit. Well now I don't have to worry about your fucking mouth. Just your stupid fucking notes."

He paced the room nervously, glancing round, stopping to stare at the body. He went back to the living room and paced it. He had touched nothing except for the knife. And he was wearing gloves.

He left the flat silently, pulling the door to behind him. He moved quietly, eyes checking everywhere to ensure that he was not seen. He waited for a few moments in the car until he was certain he had not been observed, then he turned the key in the ignition and drove away carefully.

No one would remember his car, it was well down from the flats and it was near to midnight. No one had seen him enter with Wayne and no one had seen him leave. No one, other than Wayne's wife, even knew that they knew each other.

And who would be blamed? The couple had obviously had a fight. And she was gone. The police would not be looking for a man barely connected with Wayne, they had the motive. He was almost in the clear. Only the notes. She was unlikely to connect the notes with him or his activities, but he wanted those notes destroyed.

Felix regretted the sudden end to the business relationship that had proved so profitable over the last five years. He hated staking out prospective properties himself, it was time consuming and dangerous. Even more, he hated entering properties that had not been thoroughly checked out. He had never been to prison and did not want to learn what it was like.

The mishap of the night before was unfortunate, but unlikely to compromise him - though he would feel safer with Wayne's notes destroyed. At least Wayne was no longer a threat. All in all, things were working out well. Careful planning and attention to detail were all that was required. Wayne had been his best source of information, but he had other sources. It was time he took a more relaxed attitude to work anyway.

In the flat, Wayne's lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling. The coffee stain dried permanently into the carpet, and the small torn pieces of photographs on the bedroom floor waited to pass on their message about Georgina.