Clara parked the car outside a small store, there was something she needed to get before confronting the man whose picture had been sent to her phone. It didn't take her long to pull off the shelve what she had been looking for. It did, however, take her more time to get to the man stood behind the till as an elderly woman painstakingly counted out the exact amount of coins she needed for the five dollars and ninety-nine cent loaf of bread, milk, eggs, magazine and chocolate bar she was buying.

Clara groaned as the woman launched into a story about how the chocolate was for her grandson and that she was extremely proud of him. The shopkeeper exchanged to same exasperated look with Clara as he nodded his head numbly to the words of the woman. Then when it finally came to her turn, the man, whose name tag read Ashton, decided he wanted to strike up a conversation with her.

''ID, young lady,'' she inwardly gagged at his attempt to flirt with her as he winked at the end. Nevertheless, she flashed him her driver's license and nodded, without looking at it, before he scanned the item she had purchased.

''Thanks,'' Clara went to grab the bottle off the counter, but she suddenly found it being yanked back out of her grip, ''what the hell?'' She shouted turning to glare at the man.

''I'm putting it in a bag, chill,'' he responded shoving the bottle into a small paper bag.

''Why would I want it in a bag?'' Clara question and little confused as he handed it to her, the paper crinkling between her fingers as she gripped the neck of the bottle.

''It's the law sweetheart, you're not in England no more,'' he replied with a wide grin. Clara reeled away from him, his teeth were far from white that was for sure.

''Right yeah, I forgot yeah,'' she mumbled, then moved slowly away from him, before bolting out of the shop and back into the car. She plonked the bottle down in the front passenger seat, only when she was sure it wouldn't roll away did she start up the car and make her way to the block of flats, the address took her too.

°°°

''Please be a lift,'' Clara murmured to herself as she pulled on her coat, slung her bag over her shoulder and picked up the wine bottle she had bought at the shop.

Bending down she looked into her wing mirror and smudged her eyeliner and mascara a little to make it look as if she had been crying. She needed a reason to be on the roof and the only one she could think of with such short notice was 'girl drowning her sorrows in drink after being dumped,' which sounded a bit like a cheap Halloween costume description.

To make her character even more believable she unscrewed the bottle top and drained a little of the wine into a nearby drain. Even she wasn't that stupid to down half a bottle and be an actual drunk by the time she reached the roof. Although, she did take a small sip in celebration when she noticed that there was a lift, a lift that was also in complete working order. What was even better was that it would take her straight up to the roof.

Since there wasn't anybody in the lift with her, Clara could look into the metal sides and make sure her look was right for the role she was about to play. Her hair was all frizzed up as she'd messed it around and backcombed it a little, her makeup was now smudged nearly all around her face and the bag in her had was a little wet due to when she'd drained some of the wine; she made sure some of it had dribbled down the side. So by the time the lift dinged and slowly shuddered open, her look was complete.

Composing herself she heaved the door to the roof open and keeping in with character stumbled out into the open. The first thing she noticed was the man she'd been sent a picture of. He was wearing a bulletproof vest over a black t-shirt, accompanied by a pair of plain denim jeans. Of course, he'd heard her enter the roof space because if he hadn't he would have been deaf and well it would have made her life a lot easier.

''Miss I very much advise you to leave back down in the elevator,'' his voice was harsh and raspy. Clara giggled in response, partly from her acting, but partly because she found what he'd said funny.

''My boyfriend said he advises we break up. That word is on my bad list,'' Clara pointed the bottle at him making a scene of spilling it on the ground at her feet.

''Miss...''

''Why you being so formal for, my name is,'' she paused, before screaming at him, ''Chika Chika Slimy Shady,'' before then bursting out in laughter.

She looked over at the man, continuing to laugh as she watched him drag his hands over his face in frustration. Her laughter, however, slowly subdued because he staked closer to her before he was right up in her face.

''Look you gotta leave, this is dangerous and if you don't listen I'll throw you in that elevator.''

''You like it rough I see,'' the man glanced down rather awkwardly at her as she placed one hand on his chest, trailing her finger across his bulletproof vest.

''Miss,'' he growled sternly taking a hold of her of her other arm, that had the bottle in before it snaked its way around his neck. His grip was very loose, allowing her to keep a tight hold of the bottle in her hand.

''Oh never underestimate the strength of a woman,'' he frowned down at her, but his expression soon twisted into in pain as she kneed him square in the groin causing his legs to give way beneath him and collapse on the ground in front of her.

''You bitch,'' he hissed out.

''I'll take that as a compliment. Night night,'' his eyes widened as she brought the glass bottle crashing down on his head. Seconds later he'd collapsed on the ground, his hands still very much protecting where she'd kicked him earlier.

Wasting no time she made sure Miranda was aware that she had taken care of the threat. A text came back a few seconds later to tell her that she should stay with the man while the clean were on their way. Clara took it as an opportunity to drag the guy over to the door and handcuff both his hands to the handle. Taking no chances she also tied his legs together with a pile of rope she'd found discarded on the roof. It also gave her a chance to clean off her face and brush her hair. By the time she was presentable again four men in boiler suits appeared.

''We'll clean this up for you ma'am,'' the older one said glancing down at his men, while the others went to dismantle the gun the man had put together near the edge of the roof.

''Thanks,'' before she could say anything thing else her phone wrong, excusing herself she left the men to clear up, while she got inside the lift and pressed receive.

''Where the fuck are you, you said you'd be here earlier,'' Marshalls anger was clear in his voice and she was pretty sure it was the fact that she had his car more than anything else.

''Calm down, I took a wrong turning I'll be there in soon I promise,'' she reassured him, pulling open the car door. it was only when she pulled the handle was she aware of the shooting the pain radiating from her palm, ''shit,'' she mumbled.

''Clara what's wrong?'' Marshalls tone changed from angry to concerned in a heartbeat, he'd heard the pain in her curse.

''Nothing, It's just a scratch. I got bandages, I'll be there in a bit,''' she then hung up, despite the protest from Marshall on the other end.

The next five minutes consisted of her bandaging up the gash on her palm, courtesy of the broken bottle she'd smashed over someone head and locating the site of Marshalls music video location.