The Midnight Cleaning Company

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

I wandered alone in the direction Andre had hurried away. I was shivering in the cold night so decided to go into the pub that had thrown out George's new recruit. The bar was surprisingly full. A large group I presumed were students were dressed in Halloween costumes. The majority of which were meant to be puns or ironic outfits. They had all covered themselves in fake blood.
The rest of the regular demographic of the pub was visibly irritated by the presence of the students and the noise they made. Old men sitting by themselves shot dirty glares fuelled by years of bitterness and loneliness in response to the cheering and chanting of a group downing beers in a drinking game.
The two bouncers that had been beaten unconscious by George and his new recruit were slumped against the bar. A furious middle aged women, presumably their manager, was tending to the wounds on the face of the second one with cotton wool and disinfectant, whilst on the phone to what I presumed to be the police.
I pulled up a stool at the far end of the bar, away from the loud students. If the noise irritated the other customers, it would likely infuriate me, for I was far older and grumpier than any of the regulars.
A bartender, swamped with orders of difficult cocktails from the students and multiple rounds of shots, made eye contact with me so I ordered a pint of bitter.

A tall slim girl in her early twenties in a black coat and high heels with fake blood smeared around her mouth, noisily dragged a barstool across the hard floor and deposited it next to me.
"What are you meant to be?" she asked.
"Excuse me?" I replied, surprised that it was me she was addressing.
"Your costume... what is it?" she asked, cocking her head to one side and looking me up and down, examining me very closely.
"Erm... a contract killer", I said, waving my leather gloved hands in front of her.
"Ah! Cool. I'm a killer bee", she grinned proudly and opened her coat. She was wearing a very short yellow and black striped dress that fanned out at the bottom like a ballerina's with black tights. She had dripped fake blood down the front of her dress.
"Very nice", I replied dismissively and returned to my drink.

She watched me inquisitively for a moment.

"Were you kicked out of the party too?" she asked, leaning in very close. "The police turned up 'cos the fucking neighbours complained", she continued after I looked blankly back at her. She had quite a posh voice but slightly husky for a girl of her size.

"They confiscated all our blow as well", she complained and sighed sadly.

She looked bored. She turned her head back to look at her friends at the other end of the bar who were whooping and cheering about something juvenile. As she turned away I found myself transfixed by the pulsating of her carotid artery.
"What are you drinking?" I enquired quickly to regain her attention.
"I'll have whatever your having," she giggled flirtatiously.
"You wouldn't like this", I replied.

She took the pint of bitter out of my hands and took a swig. She screwed up her pretty face in disgust.
"Eww! Fuck that! I'll have a vodka and cranberry juice."
The very good bartender overhead her and began making one before I had even asked. I appreciated his efficiency and so told him to keep the change from a ten pound note I had peeled off the roll of bribe money from my inside jacket pocket.

The killer bee proceeded to complain about petty aspects her life as a recent university graduate. I appeared to be listening intently but was paying very little attention. Instead I was hypnotised by the rhythmic pulsating of the artery in her throat.

I ordered two more drinks, a large scotch for myself and another vodka and cranberry juice for her. I had initially been irritated by her cheery disposition and the tipsy confidence to approach a stranger, but I found myself increasingly attracted to her. She had quite short dark hair straight from an old photo of an activist in nineteen-sixties Paris, cut short and angular to the back of her neck but with a longer fringe that fell loosely down past her jaw.
I had tuned out her complaining but heard the occasional fragment about her parents divorcing, having nowhere to stay now after university, and how there are no jobs. She needed no encouragement to keep talking.
The more I looked at her, the hungrier I became. I wanted to consume her. I wanted to make her scream both from pleasure and from terror. I wanted to ravage her, to tear her to pieces. The droning of her voice became drowned out by the thumping of her heart. The thundering noise grew louder and louder until I could take it no more. It sounded like a man buried alive, frantically punching the inside of the coffin until his fists shattered and his knuckles were mangled and bloody, but he kept punching harder and more desperate.