Random Bullets Read online

  RANDOM

  BULLETS

  Joy Mutter

  This book is dedicated to everyone who ever encouraged me to write and publish books, especially Diane and my daughter.

  Contents

  And so, it begins – 13:47 15th June 2015

  Pauline and Bob

  Bob’s other career

  Edward – 13:47 15th June 2015

  A bit about Edward

  Fried brain

  The good boy

  Hardly a love story

  After the bar brouhaha, a death

  Funeral fiasco

  An unpleasant trip to Cornwall

  Dealing with Lara

  Philippe – 13:48 15th June 2015

  Mungo chills – 13:45 15th June 2015

  The second bullet

  A matching pair

  A significant meeting

  Groveling to Charlie

  The DNA test

  Plans change – 13:45 15th June 2015

  Three months before Jim died

  Thoughts of Neil

  The unfortunate postman

  No going back

  The agreement

  A final betrayal

  Just like Lara

  Devious

  The fuse is lit

  Tommy helps out

  Plotting under duress

  Trixie enjoys Jersey a little too much

  Meanwhile, over in Manchester

  Edward has a visitation – 13:57 15th June 2015

  James takes action – 13:58 15th June 2015

  Bob’s unease

  James steps up

  Edward – 14:02 15th June 2015

  War zone

  A merciful release

  Guilty parties

  A gleam of light in the dark

  Dealing with the dealer

  Hell

  Books by Joy Mutter

  About the author

  And so, it begins – 13:47 15 th June 2015

  Claire would have shrieked if the bang had been any closer. However, it goes off near enough to where she’s sitting on her favourite park bench to make her jump and slop hot coffee into the lap of her new apple-green skirt.

  ‘Damn it!’ she says, more concerned over the ruination of her newly-purchased garment than with working out what caused the bang. She wants to swear more graphically but the park is busy, due to it being a gloriously sunny day. Sitting on the bench next to Claire is a plump, middle-aged woman puffing self-consciously on a vape. The lady glances sympathetically at Claire and passes her a crumpled tissue to mop up some of the offending beige liquid.

  ‘Thanks for that. I’ve only just bought this skirt on my way to work. I’m supposed to be going out for a special meal with my fiancé this evening to celebrate the anniversary of the day we met. Now it’s all ruined. Knew I should’ve changed back into my old clothes after trying on this skirt,’ Claire says; the woman seems less of a stranger after the coffee fiasco.

  ‘Oh, what a shame,’ says the friendly lady in the dowdy clothes. ‘Looks like that coffee is sadly going to stain. You might’ve got away with it if it’d been patterned material.’

  ‘There’s not enough time to buy a replacement before returning to the office. I work across the road from here. I’ve only got fifteen minutes left before I must get back on the treadmill,’ Claire says, although she loves her job in the illustration department of a thriving advertising agency.

  As a sun-lover, it’s always been a struggle for Claire to drag her petite body away from her favourite park bench. She thinks of the bench as her personal property, and heads for it every lunchbreak when the weather is inviting. It faces the sun and is situated in the perfect position to bronze her limbs as she eats her sandwiches and attempts to drink her coffee. Having a park set only a two-minute walk from the London advertising agency where she works is one of the perks of her job.

  Whenever heading towards it, if she spots interlopers sitting on her bench, she curses inwardly and glares at them before reluctantly seeking out an inferior bench. On this particular day, Claire is the first to claim this paragon of benches. She’s managed to eat her tuna roll before the plump woman sits next to her, fishes around in her handbag, pulls out a vape, and self-consciously puffs on it. Claire tries not to breathe her fishy breath over her and is relieved the woman is large enough to prevent anyone else from joining them.

  ‘You work in one of the buildings across the road from here? What a coincidence! Yesterday, I started working in the accounts department of an advertising agency,’ says the older, mousy-haired woman.

  This slightly scruffy, out of condition, maternal-looking woman is not really Claire’s idea of a typical accountant. She looks like she’d be more at home cooking delicious meals for an appreciative family. Claire inwardly scolds herself for judging books by their covers.

  ‘You must’ve started working at the same place as me. I’ve been working in the illustration department at Bernard Wiggins Agency for over two years. My name’s Claire, by the way. Dare say we’ll be seeing a good deal more of each other from now on,’ Claire says in her usual friendly manner. A sudden, stiff breeze blows through the leaves of the nearby trees and just as suddenly dies away.

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Claire. I’m Pauline.’ I really must lose weight if I’m going to be surrounded by such lithe, pretty, young women in my new job.

  Pauline and Bob

  Pauline had never been skinny, but her weight was now becoming a serious problem to her. She always tried to dress as attractively as her bulk allowed, but constantly wearing dark-coloured clothes with stretchy waistbands to mask the problem was depressing. Her excessive weight had piled on after Pauline had resorted to numbing her unbearable pain by eating every food imaginable after the traumatic loss of their last baby. This bingeing was usually carried out in secret; she knew how much it would upset her husband, Bob, to see her gorging.

  Bob worked long shifts driving his taxi around London, which left Pauline with many empty hours to satiate her taste buds with regular trips to the fridge and kitchen cupboards. Her surviving children, two teenage boys, always kept to their bedrooms in the evenings, chatting online to their friends.

  Crisps were Pauline’s weakness. She would guiltily polish off four packets of the greasy, crunchy morsels at a time, as she sipped red wine while watching television in solitude. After despatching the crisps, an urge for something sweet quickly followed. After risking her fillings with a handful of toffee éclairs, she would demolish a slab of cake, disdainfully avoiding the fruit bowl. This would trigger a desire for something savoury, so back to the kitchen she’d waddle for chunks of various cheeses and a pile of assorted buttered biscuits. Riddled with guilt, she’d then rush to the bathroom and vomit.

  For years, she’d been filled with self-loathing for the damage inflicted on her body and mind by her eating so much, although she understood why she did it. She took some comfort from having recently given up smoking and switching to vapes, although she was still addicted to the nicotine in the water vapour.

  Four days before starting her new job, Pauline and Bob had been lunching at home on one of his rare days off from working at the taxi rank. Pauline said to a miserable-looking Bob, ‘I feel and smell so much better after quitting the evil weed, Bob. Wish you’d consider knocking it on the head, too. The family would be at least four thousand pounds better off each year. Your early morning cough’s bloody atrocious. Sounds like you’re just about to cough up a lung.’

  Bob hated being nagged, especially when he knew she was right. He gazed at the ceiling as his wife continued, ‘There’s not much point in me thinking my clothes will ever stop stinking of ciggies while you’re still puffing away. Your smoke’s still making everything in my wardrobe and
the rest of the house smell foul. The living room’s cream wallpaper is turning a disgusting nicotine-yellow colour.’

  ‘Tell you what, as a special favour to you and the kids, I’ll agree to only smoke in the garden, not inside the house,’ he conceded heroically.

  ‘Hallelujah! Thanks, babe. The kids and I’d all really appreciate it.’ She was genuinely thrilled their house might soon be a smoke-free zone. ‘Such a shame you don’t enjoy using vapes like I do. I’ve not fancied smoking a single ciggie since swapping over to mine.’

  ‘I might switch to vapes one day, but I feel like a bit of a poof puffing away on one. You know how much I’ve always enjoyed a smoke, whereas you weren’t really enjoying it anymore.’ He picked up his pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the kitchen table and headed out of the kitchen door and into the back garden.

  He stretched out his hand. Shit, it’s drizzling. I’ll have to stand under the tree at the end of the garden. I must clear a space in the shed and put an old chair in there for when the weather’s crappy. Might as well suffer in comfort.

  As Pauline stood looking out of the kitchen window as she washed up the dishes, she felt guilty watching Bob shivering under the flowering cherry tree. Eventually the guilt became overpowering, forcing her to weaken and call him back into the house. After Bob had gratefully settled back indoors with a cup of tea and a cigarette, she fast forwarded her thoughts to four days in the future, when it would be time to start her new job in the accounts department in Hammersmith. When she’d visited the offices for her interview, she’d been pleased to notice a sprawling park opposite the building where her return to working life would soon take place. Although not a sun-worshipper, preferring to hide her bulky body under camouflaging layers of clothes whenever possible, Pauline welcomed the prospect of enjoying fresh air in pleasant surroundings during lunch breaks.

  ‘I’ll be able to sit on a park bench, plug myself into my audio book collection and eat my sandwiches in the sunshine,’ she told Bob on the day she’d opened the letter advising her that her job interview had been successful.

  ‘Sunshine? My arse! This is England we’re talking about here,’ Bob reminded her. ‘But I’m chuffed for you. I know that area of Hammersmith really well and even eaten my sandwiches in that very park a few times. The boating lake’s fun to sit and watch. At least there’s no danger of that lake running dry with all the rain pissing down on it, ha!’

  Pauline chuckled. ‘Oh, stop! Don’t rain on my parade.’ She was used to him winding her up, and she loved him for it.

  Bob’s other career

  Although Pauline believed her husband loved her, she also knew Bob would certainly appreciate it if she dropped a few dress sizes. He’d made a few unsubtle, jokey remarks as her weight piled on over the years, but her grief at losing their last baby in childbirth had made her comfort-eating escalate into an addiction. Bob had naturally also been grief-stricken after their daughter was still-born, but his grief had come out in other ways, unbeknownst to his wife.

  He’d been driving a black cab for over fifteen years. The job had opened his eyes to the seedier side of life. He was a good-looking, burly, cuddly bear of a man, with twinkly, mischievous blue eyes and a wicked sense of humour. His thick, black hair had turned an attractive shade of silver early in his life. It complemented his all-year tan, courtesy of as many winter breaks in Tenerife with Pauline and their boys as the family budget allowed.

  Bob was highly popular with most of the other drivers, one of whom, an Indian called Divesh, had approached him with an unusual proposition seven years previously, when Bob was in his mid-forties.

  ‘Hey there Bob, mate. How’s it going?’ Divesh had asked at the end of another long shift. They were sitting on a low wall enjoying a smoke before heading back to their respective homes.

  ‘Could be better, Divesh. Pauline wants a new kitchen, so I need to put in extra hours in the cab to pay for it all. Where the hell does all the money go, Divesh?’ Bob looked mournful.

  ‘If you want to lay your hands on some quick and easy money, I could let you in on a little scheme I’ve been involved with. Promise to keep it under your hat, though. It’s a bit suss.’ Divesh searched Bob’s face to ensure his friend could be completely trusted.

  ‘I’m intrigued. Tell me more. I promise to keep it secret from everyone,’ Bob said eagerly.

  ‘Been meaning to mention it to you for a while, but had to be certain you’d be receptive to the idea. Well, I know you like looking at porn now and again. No doubt you’ve seen porn where a cab driver picks up a sexy tart and through various ruses talks her into having sex with him. All of the sex action is captured on a secret camera,’ Divesh whispered conspiratorially, warming to his theme.

  Bob giggled with nervous excitement. ‘I’d have to be blind and daft not to know what you’re talking about. I think I can guess where you’re going with this.’

  He’d always enjoyed watching the taxi driver porn when Pauline was out or in bed, and had often imagined he was the taxi driver in question. The story always ended in the same way, with the girl in the back of the cab, being put through various sexual activities. The face of the driver was always blurred out. The girls involved had no such consideration paid to them.

  Divesh continued. ‘I’ve been involved with one or two of the shoots and have lent my cab out for a tidy sum. I’ve obviously always stipulated that my cab should never be identifiable. I’ve even hung around on one of the shoots and was involved in a bit of the action after the camera stopped rolling. It was awesome, although the girl was fairly worn out after what the fake taxi driver had just put her through. I’ve even asked to be considered to play the part of the taxi driver … might get a test run in a few weeks to see if I’m up to it. I’m not entirely confident of performing to order, although I’d love to give it a damned good try.’

  ‘Count me in. It’d beat driving around London all day, although the shoots probably don’t happen that often,’ Bob said, already imagining being wedged between some voluptuous young blonde’s legs. Divesh was unaware Bob could perform sexually to order, or at least had been able to, before married life and the still-birth had taken the edge off his rampant sexual appetite. ‘I’d even be up for performing in a shoot, as well as allowing my cab to be used,’ Bob said.

  ‘I’ll let my contact know you’d be interested. As your financial need’s greater than mine, I’ll let you take the next gig, if you like. You look fit for a guy of your age. You never know, you might be on the brink of a sparkling new career.’ They almost fell off the wall with laughter at the thought of the impending excitement.

  For a man in his mid-forties at the time of his debut performance in front of the camera in his cab with a dark-haired, vivacious girl, Bob proved to be a natural porn star. Divesh was envious of his friend’s sexual prowess and popularity with the crew and female talent. He couldn’t really complain too much, because he managed to pick up some action after the cameras stopped rolling. He’d ensured that would be part of the deal.

  Pauline had no suspicion that her husband was now indulging in such a sordid side-line. He’d always worked long, unsociable hours, so when he was spending a few sweaty hours ravishing whichever girl had been booked by the production company, Pauline merely assumed he was driving his passengers around London. She received her new kitchen earlier than expected. She neither complained about that, nor questioned how it had suddenly become possible. When the money started rolling in, courtesy of Bob’s regular pornographic activities, the couple’s holidays became more exotic than they might otherwise have been.

  Bob’s guilt over his betrayal of Pauline often brought him to the brink of giving up the porn work, but he enjoyed the sex and the money too much to cease. He fervently prayed that his wife and children would never find out what he was up to, and had taken strict measures to ensure his anonymity was maintained. There were no distinctive tattoos on his powerful body and images of his face were always meticulously blurred before t
he finished article was uploaded onto the porn site. He had horrors of his teenage boys watching their father humping some busty babe if they were ever to log into a porn site. The fear never prevented him from carrying on with his shady practices.

  I’m doing this for the future of my whole family, he thought one day, as the cameras started filming in his cab. He’d then grabbed the hips of the near-naked redhead girl. In a minute or two, he was back to full power, all thoughts of family magically banished.

  Bob’s sense of humour and prodigious libido kept everyone smiling. There was always a friendly twinkle in the eyes of whichever girl he was partnered with. After a year of internet porn shoots, Bob recklessly branched out into the televised adult channels, risking appearances in non-taxi situations where his face was clearly visible. As the chances of his secondary career being discovered increased, his guilt and anxiety worsened. He contemplated calling a halt to appearing in porn films, but after giving it up for three months, he was missing the adrenaline buzz from doing unspeakable things to young, often breathtakingly beautiful females.

  During those three months of abstinence, he also missed having the extra money and taking pleasure from watching his wife and offspring enjoying a better quality of life. Returning to endless hours of driving his taxi around crammed London roads depressed him, especially when he was reminded of the porn shoots every time an attractive young girl stepped into the back of his cab. The back seats of his cab had seen more action than his marital bed ever had, and whenever he lovingly polished its leathery surface, Bob would smile as he recalled particularly memorable encounters.

  ‘Are you crazy? Why on earth would you want to give up all the fun and money?’ Divesh had asked him when Bob had first turned down a request to star in another backseat romp.

  ‘It’s different for you, mate. You’re single, not married with kids like I am. You don’t get to display your arse on camera when you’re banging a girl for everyone to see,’ Bob had said, while gazing reflectively into a puddle on the pavement.