Heather's Hectic Weekend Pt. 04

'Hev, don't you know what time it is?'

'Hi Naz, I love you too. How's Alex? Is he still at yours?'

'Yes, he's here be-' Naz cut herself off abruptly. 'He's still here in my bed. I reckon he needs a couple more days, so I'll be revising at home until Wednesday.'

Heather's grin stretched from ear to ear. 'He's there beside you, isn't he? That's what you were going to say. He's there beside you in your bed.'

'You have a nasty, suspicious mind, Heather Hunter.'

'That's because I understand human nature. And I understand you. You'd better be taking care of him as well as taking advantage.'

'I'm fine,' Alex said in the background, 'never better.'

'I hope you don't think you've permanently stolen my new girlfriend,' Heather retorted.

'I hope I have.' Alex laughed. 'You can have Rita in exchange. Assuming you can find her, that is.'

'What are you ringing for?' Naz demanded.

'To give you an update on Spider,' said Heather. 'One of his minions has turned Queen's evidence, or whatever you call it.'

'Grassed him up, you mean?'

'Yes. And better still, the police have found half a ton of heroin in his house. He's going to be eating porridge for years. We really are in the clear.'

'Yippee,' said Naz. 'Now, if you'll excuse us. You rang at a very inconvenient moment.'

*****

Heather finished her bottle of wine and drank the three cans of beer Majid had so considerately left. Then she eyed the bottle of Shiraz on her worktop.

'Avaunt thee Satan,' she said finally, leaving it unopened.

As she had expected, she found it difficult to get to sleep. Her mind was swirling with images of Naz and Alex, mingled with memories of Majid. And memories of Stuffypants too, come to that. They had used the same slab of granite tonight as they'd chosen that morning. That is to say her two lovers had chosen the same slab; she had just gone along with their decisions . . . for once.

The images and memories were just too much. In the end Heather got her smallest, most innocuous dildo and, using it slowly, oh so very slowly, she started to think about Dr Lester. A lengthy fantasy might do the trick, she reckoned. As long as it was without peaks and troughs; one that culminated in a single, only mildly explosive orgasm.

Amazing herself, she imagined her dream lover was in charge; that Dr Lester was doing all the doing and she was doing all the wriggling and writhing. And wasn't Dr Lester doing her doings well!

Never mind lengthy, Heather thought, never mind a single titchy climax. There's potential in this. Lots and lots of potential!

Chapter Twenty-Nine

(Monday 29th April 2002)

Heather was determined to have a "regular" Monday. The previous ten days had been too hectic by far. She needed to get back to some sort of normality. She also needed to think about revising for her forthcoming exams.

And she needed to get some exercise in. Sex aside, she'd hardly done anything athletic in ages. Not that it showed when she examined herself in her full-length mirror. She still looked ripped and toned even before she flexed up.

No, make that ripped, toned and as sexy as ever. The only thing odd about her was her hair, which was still temporarily dyed red.

Leastways she hoped it was temporary.

She frowned at her reflection, wondering how long her hair would stay that colour. According to the instructions, it should only last one shampoo and she'd shampooed it last night, when she finally showered. There again, there had been the warning that it depended on hair type. And she'd had to use four bottles of the stuff to overcome her natural jet-black.

Her crown braid had been abandoned as soon as she'd got home from the Cat's Whiskers. Halfway down her back and dark red did make an impression . . . but it wasn't really her.

I'll go for a swim, she decided. I'll shower and shampoo, swim and shower and shampoo again. That will shift it, surely!

The university swimming pool was dirt cheap for students and opened at eight, an hour before her first tutorial. She'd often been first in and took great pleasure in smashing the stillness of the water. It was childish, she supposed, but after several hours with nobody in it the pool's surface was perfectly calm and glass-like; smashing its stillness was always gratifying.

Sorting out her hair was less gratifying. Okay, it was back to black again but, even after the third wash she had noticeable red streaks.

I look like a naughty burlesque dancer, she thought. In fact that's what I'll say. I'll tell everyone that I've been treading the boards this weekend, in my peekaboo red basque.

The morning's two tutorials were encouragingly uneventful. After the second, as per usual, Hev chose to lunch in the Union Bar. The first person she saw when she went in was Rachael, standing at the bar, chatting to a couple of members of her society.

Heather grinned at the sight. Rache's hair was back to a blue Mohican . . . but with noticeable black streaks. It was also lacking the usual spikes and looked surprising good on her (not that she didn't always look good; it was more a case of her looking even better than ever).

Rachael briefly came over as she bought Marston's and a cheese and tom baguette.

'Love the highlights,' she said. 'You look like a burlesque dancer.'

'That's exactly what I thought; although maybe I'm more of a burlesque stripper. I might even give it a go. Your streaks are cool too. So is the style. I want it to be like that next time we sleep together.'

'Play your cards right and it might be.' Rachael chuckled. Then, suddenly serious: 'Have you had any fallout from Saturday night?'

Heather gave her a quick update, omitting to mention Stuffypants' visit, pretending they'd talked on the phone.

'So we're home free,' she concluded. 'How was the Hardknott Pass?'

'It was even steeper than advertised. And going down the other side took ages. It's ten times as long and like a route march. I was thinking of you in your beer garden every step of the way.'

After a not-so-quick kiss Rache went back to her buddies. Finding a relatively quiet table, immune to the racket coming from the games machines, Heather sat and got out her copy of The Art of War. She had two hours until her next lecture and reckoned a little revision was more appropriate than lots more pints.

And, as far as Business Studies required reading went, this was her favourite.

Business was warfare, after all, wasn't it? And The Art of War was a darn sight more interesting than Statistics for Economics, even if it was thousands of years older.

*****

Time and two additional beers swiftly went by. Then Heather's phone rang. She smiled when she saw the caller ID. Hilary was yet another bi-curious student who fancied girls with jet-black hair. Unlike lots of the others, she'd kept it at flirting level. Was she at last aware the sands were running out on her? It was nice to think it might be.

'Hiya, Hilly,' she said brightly. 'To what do I owe this honour and pleasure?'

'Hiya Hev,' Hilary replied, tersely and not at all flirty. 'Listen, there's this scary guy outside the book shop, asking folk about you. I thought you ought to know.'

Spider, Heather thought instantly.

'What sort of scary guy?' she said aloud.

'He's a big, ugly one with lots of tattoos. At first I supposed he might be a policeman, in plain clothes and all. But they can't have tattoos, can they?'

'I dunno,' said Heather remembering a couple of discreet ones on Stuffypants. 'I think they have to be hidden under the uniform. But never mind that; what questions is this guy asking? And how do you know about him?'

'I know because he stopped me and asked if I knew you. He had a photograph of you in your football kit. He asked me if I knew you or that Asian girl who scores all the goals. I've forgotten her name.'

'Naz Hussain?'

'That's it.'

'Heather was starting to get alarmed. 'Did he know our names?'

'Yes. I told him it was a big university and I didn't know either of you. Did I do right?'

Heather assured Hilly she'd said the right thing and thanked her for the tipoff. Then she wondered what to do next. Spider was obviously closing in on them. She hadn't expected that. And she hadn't spared the team notice board any consideration at all.

That's where he's got the photo, she concluded. And everybody knows us, whatever Hilly told him. He'd easily get our names . . . names which were co-incidentally there on the squad list. And what would he ask next; our whereabouts?

Damned right he would!

It wasn't possible to sit back and do nothing. Heather decided she had to confront him there and then, on the campus where help would be at hand if she needed it. Sweet-talking Tony the Barman, she left her supersized backpack behind the counter and set off.

Chapter Thirty

(Monday 29th April 2002)

Determined as she was, Heather didn't go rashly, she went with caution. The book shop was at the far end of the campus, close to the Communal Bar, along with a smattering of other shops and small branches of a couple of banks. Instead of heading there directly, going between the library and the computer centre, she took a sharp right and cut through a series of car parks.

She found Spider's black BMW in one of the pay and display areas, as she'd expected. Not that the discovery put her on a par with Sherlock Holmes. The majority of the university parking space was for permit-holders only, and no way would Spider have qualified for a permit. Of course he would have to pay.

'Elementary my dear Stuffypants,' she muttered as she dialled.

The policewoman answered almost immediately: 'DC Parker speaking.'

'Chrissie it's me, Hev. What are you doing letting a dangerous drug dealer loose so soon?'

Stuffypants sounded genuinely surprised. 'What are you talking about? We got an extension to hold all four of them up to ninety-six hours. It's going to take that long to fill out all the charge sheets.'

'So what's Spider's motor doing here in the uni pay and display?'

'Ah, so that's where it is,' Stuffypants said dryly. 'We've been looking for that.'

'It's been here since eleven forty-seven,' Heather told her after checking the ticket. 'And it's paid up for another two hours, so it's not just been dumped here. Somebody's been driving it.'

'Are you sure it's Spider's?'

Heather read out the registration and, after a moment or two checking online at her end, Stuffypants confirmed it was his.

'It must be one of his sidekicks driving it,' she said. 'My money's on Dazzler White. We're looking for him, too.'

'It looks like I've found him as well as the car. There's some strange guy by the university book shop, asking questions about me.'

'What does he look like?'

'I don't know. I haven't seen him yet. I'm still on my way.'

'Heather,' Stuffypants began officiously,' whatever you do, do not approach him. I'll get officers there shortly. Leave him to us.'

That arrangement worked for Heather so she said okay. Then curiosity overcame her and she carried on walking.

I'm not going anywhere near, she told herself. I just want to see him get arrested.

Leaving the series of car parks she passed some halls of residence and found herself at the top of the steps leading down to the Communal Bar. She'd always considered that bar to be a dingy place that didn't do Marston's and therefore didn't deserve her custom. Consequently she only ever went in it if there was a gig on; and only then if it was a decent band. There was absolutely no temptation to go in at that moment in time.

More cautious than ever, she drifted towards the book shop, stopping about thirty yards short, moving to the side of the path and pretending to jabber into her phone.

The guy was as Hilly described him: big and ugly with lots of tattoos. And he definitely wasn't Spider, although he had the same air of menace hanging over his head.

He had chosen a good spot, as well. Quite a few paths met where he was standing. There was even a (new but olde style) signpost with arrows pointing to various campus attractions. It was going up to two o'clock and quite quiet now, but an hour or so ago it would have been bustling. He'd have had no shortage of students to stop and question.

Being naturally nosy, Heather rang Alex. No reply. Cursing under her breath, she rang Naz.

'You're interrupting my studies,' Naz said in greeting.

Heather quickly told her that somebody was on their trail but not to worry, the policemen were already on their way. Then she asked her to take her phone upstairs and let her speak to Alex.

'He's seen this Dazzler character,' she explained, 'I want to be sure it's him.'

Alex didn't waste time with small talk. 'He's over six foot with very short hair. It's not shaved bald but it's the next best thing. I'd say it's dark but it could be any colour, really. All you can see is fuzz.'

There was nothing wrong with Heather's eyesight. And Alex was describing the man by the signpost.

'What's his nose like?' she asked.

'Long and thin, like something you'd find on a hawk.'

No doubt about it; that was Dazzler White all right.

She assured Alex and Naz that she'd update them after the arrest then rang off.

Come on Stuffypants, she thought, where are your officers? Dazzler's got nobody left to question. We can't be having him effing off out of boredom.

Even as she fretted Dazzler found a fresher to interrogate. The young black girl seemed afraid of him but looked at the photograph as requested. Heather couldn't hear what they were saying but took the girl's shrug and headshake to be good news.

Then the girl was gone and Dazzler was peering at his watch. His body language wasn't promising.

Heather was trying to come up with a contingency plan (one that didn't involve her going face-to-face) when an unseen hand grabbed her arm from behind.

'I've got one of them!' a male voice cried out. 'Daz, I've got one of the bitches!'

Chapter Thirty-One

(Monday 29th April 2002)

It was not the time to stop and think. Acting purely on instinct Heather twisted away from whoever it was who'd grabbed her. Because he kept a very tight hold she only twisted through perhaps ninety degrees . . .

But that was enough. Before he could tug at her she raised her right elbow and spun back as fast as she could, getting the briefest glimpse of a guy about her own age and height. And, although she was acting like a coiled spring, she had the presence of mind to adjust her aim.

Bingo: a direct hit, smack under the jaw! The guy let go and reeled away. Conscious Dazzler was now charging at her, unsure how many more headcases he might have brought along as backup, Heather cut and ran.

That part of the campus did well for pathways and turnings. Taking her first right she sprinted as fast as she could then took a left. She could hear footsteps slapping on the paving in her wake but didn't dare look back. Dazzler might have been on her tail or he might have lost her already. All she wanted to do was keep going as long and far as she could. She'd worry about looking back later.

She hoped.

She'd once read that, when fleeing, the pursued tends to take turnings in line with their predominant hand. That sounded daft to her: surely two or three lefts would take them straight back to square one.

So she varied it: right, right, left; skipping some turnings altogether and sometimes taking three on the trot.

Where is everyone, she thought frantically. They can't all be in lectures. And where the hell are the police!

Finally, lungs bursting, she risked a glance over her shoulder. There was nobody there.

She stopped in her tracks and listened as best she could over her gasps for breath. She could hear running footsteps but they sounded to be far away, as if her pursuer had taken the wrong route.

And that had to be the case. The slap, slap, slap was fading and fading. In a matter of seconds it was gone.

Heather made a mental note to practice her sprinting. She'd always been better at long distances and had tended to ignore everything under eight hundred metres.

'Not no more,' she murmured ungrammatically.

As her breathing returned to normal she tried to work out where exactly she was. If she wasn't so very mistaken she was behind the library, headed back towards the Communal Building. Maybe the cave of a bar wasn't such a bad idea after all. There would be people in there, lectures or no lectures.

And who cared if she'd gone round in circles after all.

She fished out her mobile as she started to walk to the bar. A call to DC Stuffypants seemed to be in order but her fingers didn't want to dial.

She told me to keep out of the way!

Oops!!

While she battled with indecision she approached yet another turning . . . and nearly died when a figure suddenly stepped out, barring her way.

It was the smaller guy, and wasn't he pissed off!!

'I owe you, you fucking cunt,' he grated, clenching both fists.

'Don't do anything you'll regret,' she cautioned. 'I've got all sorts of black belts. Why don't you forget you ever met me and leave it at that?'

The guy just growled and threw a punch at her, right-handed. Heather dropped to her right, avoiding the blow, instinctively responding with a left-footed kick.

And bingo again! Her foot, sped on its way by her controlled fall, smashed under his chin. She heard his jaws crashing together and actually felt things breaking; bones probably, or possibly his teeth.

Stunned, he fell backwards, the rear of his skull hitting the flagged pathway with a dull thud.

Heather's fall turned into a roll that carried her back onto her feet. She didn't need to examine her foe to know that he was out for the foreseeable future. A bit concerned by the pool of blood forming under his head, she recovered her phone and started to dial 999.

The voice stopped her on the second 9.

'Put it away. I've got a gun.'

Chapter Thirty-Two

(Monday 29th April 2002)

Dazzler did indeed have a gun. It was pointing at Heather's tummy. The sight knocked all the fight out of her. That and something Stuffypants had let slip about the values involved. According to her, if the main capture was heroin, the street value would be minimally a million; maybe much more if the purity was high.

Heather didn't reckon dealers who dealt in millions would walk around with fake weapons.

'Right,' said Dazzler, 'here's how it is. You're going to link arms with me and walk to my motor, like we are happily fucking each other, yeah? And this gun is going to be aimed at your belly all the way. Any funny business and I'll blast you in the gut. Trust me, that is not a nice way to go.'

'You wouldn't shoot me here, in broad daylight,' she objected, her words unconvincing even to her.

'Fucking try me,' he snarled, 'I'm already Public Enemy Number One. What's another death to me?'

Heather didn't answer that. She knew the police were keen to speak to him but doubted he was on their Most Wanted list. There again, he was clearly unstable and he had the gun. Who was she to say he wouldn't use it?

I'm no expert on nutters, she thought, never mind armed nutters.

So she let him link up and, aware of the bulge under his jacket, walked with him to the BMW.

Neither of them paid Dazzler's felled comrade a passing glance. She was too wrapped up in worry and he didn't seem to give a toss.

And still there was no sign of Stuffypants' uniformed colleagues. Which was bloody typical, wasn't it? If Dazzler had had a couple of beers before getting behind the wheel there would have been flashing blue lights everywhere.

He opened the passenger's side door and told her to get in. She did.

'Fasten your seat belt,' he commanded. 'And don't even think about making a run for it.'

Heather obeyed but, as soon as he slammed shut her door, made a grab for the handle.