Davy enjoyed his shower while at the same time he gave the money some thought. He needed a safe place to hide the suitcase. As he dried himself he become conscious he was putting on the same clothes. After finding a place for the money, clothes were the next item on the day's agenda.

The Excess Baggage Company at King's Cross Station appeared for the time being, better than nothing. From the suitcase, he took three thousand pounds. For the rest of the day he purchased clothes.

Davy knocked on the front door and waited until Emma pulled it open.

"Been shopping, have we?"

"What do you think?"

She took many of his packages and started up the stairs. His eyes followed her white leather mini-skirt, which failed to cover her skimpy white knickers.

By the time he entered his bedroom, Emma relaxed on the bed, her short skirt having ridden far up her thighs. "Your parcels are by the window."

"Thanks." He sat beside her and their thighs touched. He leaned towards her, their lips meeting. The roughness of his unshaven face did not discourage her.

"I'm sorry, Emma. This isn't right."

"Why not? You fancy me; I've seen the way you gaze at my arse."

"Be sensible, one night stands are fine but I'm living here and that makes it difficult."

"For Christ sake, Davy, it's called fucking. It's fun. I don't want a bloody wedding ring."

Her warm hand slid between his thighs and produced the result she wanted. "Now tell me you don't like that and I'll walk away?"

Her body shuddered as his right hand caressed her already hard nipples. Without a word, they separated and in a whirl stripped, letting their clothes fall to the floor. He pulled her to him, pressing his bruised body against her. Together they tumbled onto the bed. His hands explored and she moaned. His tongue found the right place and drove her to a climax. He crawled onto her and made love with a desperation that made her beg for more.

The next morning, he awoke but lay with his eyes shut. After a few minutes he rolled over and whispered, "Are you awake?"

She stirred and in seconds mounted him.

Daylight was beginning to filter through the curtains as he watched her leave, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

His nightmares became the entrance to another world where the dead are not silent. Hideous forms appeared their bodies, mouths and eyes forming images that hurtled towards him, tormented and disappeared into the shadows. He was alone in a world where he no longer existed.

***

Later that day, after a brisk walk, he returned to his lodgings. On opening the front door, Emma greeted him. Her perfume smelt beautiful. He kissed her full on the lips. Gently, he removed wandering hands from his body and eased her away. "Sorry, Emma, as much as I want to stay, I need a shower and I must go out again."

She avoided his gaze," Why?"

"I've things to do and I don't want to be late," he lied.

She stood in the hall, as he ran up the stairs.

He grabbed his bathrobe from behind the door and went to the bathroom. The shower was refreshing and back in his room he dressed. He tucked his crisp white cotton shirt into the waistband of his blue jeans. The full-length mirror that hung on the inside of the wardrobe door reflected the beginnings of his black beard. His hand stroked his stubble covered face. He was not keen, although it made a great disguise. Holding his stomach in, he promised to find a gym. Two hours of circuit training, three times a week, would bring him back to his normal fitness.

Five minutes later he descended the stairs. Through an open door he noticed Emma. She was seated in an armchair with her feet up, clutching the TV remote. On a side table was a glass of amber liquid. Skintight yellow jeans covered her legs and a white and blue striped T-shirt hugged her breasts. A vacant expression filled her face as she stared at the television screen.

"Bye, Emma. See you later." Not waiting for a response, he opened the front door and left.

For over an hour he wandered from street to street until, finding a local pub, he went in for a pint. It seemed a good enough place but for the moment he kept to himself. At the bar, he stood and sipped his beer. He remembered nights ashore with his messmates. The wild bets on who would get in the busty barmaids knickers, or the mad drinking sessions, which went on until dawn. That life was finished. Now on his own, he was vulnerable. With his pint drunk, he nodded to the barmaid and walked out.

The sun had set when he left. He meandered from one street to the next. After a while he strolled along a road parallel to the main railway line for King's Cross. He knew where he was but as he drew closer to Emma's, the same car passed him three times. Intrigued, he followed the direction most cars appeared to be going. A few streets further on, the reason became clear; his lodgings were close to the red-light district.

***

The reek of cheap perfume filled the air. The women, most who were smoking, dressed in a short skirts patrolled, their patch. Cars cruised by. A white transit van stopped close to a group chatting. One of them, scantily attired, sauntered to the van and spoke to the driver. When she leant against the driver's door her short skirt left nothing to the imagination.. The sight of her bare backside ensured she was ready for work.

He studied the women. They were a blend of ages, sizes and race. Each willing to provide at a price anything the punter desired. A woman in a short, lurid pink body stocking idled across the road and stopped. Strangely, he found her attractive. Her long black hair and pale angelic face, with hypnotic hazel eyes, made her different. Her full breasts a sight for any man. "Pinkie" began her sales pitch.

"Want the company of a good girl for the night, handsome? I can be Little Red Riding Hood and you can be the Big Bad Wolf. Whatever you fancy is yours; blowjob, thirty pounds; sex in the cemetery, fifty; sex in a hotel, eighty and you pay for the room. All nighters, if you're up for it, two hundred quid."

After his frolics with Emma, sex was the last thing on his mind. He shook his head. "Not tonight, thank you."

The woman, more accustomed to abuse, shouted, "Hey girls, we have a gentleman on the street." They giggled.

Whilst he took a ribbing, Pinkie grabbed his arm and pulled him to one side. A broad-shouldered man, wearing a rumpled dark suit, barged past. Even to Davy, the man was a giant; well over six feet and built like the proverbial shit house. Thirty yards further along the man stopped in front of a young woman, pulled her head back, and smashed her face into the wall. A dull thud sounded when he punched her. To protect herself, she raised her arm to ward off the blows but he caught her wrist and held it. Screams filled the air but no one went to help.

Furious, Davy, went to run.

Pinkie grabbed his arm. "That's her pimp. He owns her."

"No, he can't, and I'm the man to stop him."

Pinkie held his arm tighter but he shrugged her off.

The woman slumped to the ground as he drew near.

Wild and angry, he hit the thug hard in the ribs. He dropped, grunted and clambered to his feet. A growl erupted from his mouth. Cold, merciless eyes stared at Davy. With fists clenched, he walked towards him.

They circled each other, each man looking for a weakness. Davy feigned a move right but darted left, closing the gap between them. With both fists clenched together he twisted on his heels and wielded them as a sledgehammer into his opponent's face.

The thug groaned, stumbled and dropped his guard. Davy attacked, his left fist striking his mouth, followed in an instant by a right to the side of the face.

The man swayed and from his pocket pulled a flick knife, the blade glinted in the light of a street lamp. He staggered forward, lunging.

Poised on the balls of his feet, Davy brought a stiffened right hand hard on his neck. The man fell to the pavement and onto the blade. For a few seconds the body twitched before it lay still.

Davy knelt dropped to one knee and searched for a pulse. The thug was dead. To his right, the woman lay in a bloody mess.

At his side, Pinkie screamed at him, "Help me get this piece of shit out of sight."

Stunned, he asked, "What do you want me to do?"

"Lift him."

"Shouldn't we phone the police?"

"What fucking planet are you on? This never happened. Now, grab his wrists."

Together, they dragged the body off the street and into an alleyway.

"What now?"

"Dump him, of course."

Pinkie pulled out the knife from his chest, wiping it on the man's clothes, handed it to one of the other girls. "You, take a hike and drop this down a drain."

She removed his wallet and from his fingers rings. His gold Rolex she gave to Davy.

What intrigued him were the numerous small packets. She placed all but two of them into her purse. The contents of these she emptied into the dead man's nostrils.

"What's that?" he asked.

She turned her head towards him. "It's cocaine. He sold it to us. You know the saying, no sense, no feeling and no pain. When they find him, the filth will say it was a drugs fatality. They can't be bothered with the death of a pimp. Give me a hand. This merchant banker's going for a flying lesson."

Pinkie kicked off her high heels, placing them to one side. Together, they hauled the body further along the alleyway until they came to a footbridge over the main railway line.

"Right, tough guy. Get ready and we'll throw him over. What the fall doesn't break, the trains will."

They dragged and heaved it onto the raised barrier and waited. A goods train trundled underneath as with one push, the corpse tumbled over the edge.

"Good riddance to the king of dog shit," said Pinkie. She grabbed his arm. "You shift your arse; we have to get Tracey to the hospital."

She retrieved her shoes as they hurried back. Other girls wiped blood from the unconscious girls face. Davy supported her while another flagged a taxi.

At Accident and Emergency, Davy found a wheelchair and with care placed the girl's battered body. A nurse took one look at her damaged face and whisked her away.

At the hospital entrance Pinkie stopped, pulled him to one side and asked, "Got a name?"

"Davy, Davy Jones."

"Thank you, Davy Jones. If you ever want a good fuck, look me up, I'm on the street most nights. Whatever you want is on the house."

"What'll happen to the girl?"

"Tracey, she'll be out of work for a few weeks. No one wants to fuck damaged goods."

He stood, staring at the passing traffic. He managed a smile, despite the fact that his hands were beginning to shake. "Why do you do it?"

She made a face. "Money. My father buggered off when I was ten and my mother didn't give a shit. I had lots of uncles and most of the bastards wanted to fuck with me more than my mum."

"I'm sorry."

"On the contrary, I made the bastards pay for the privilege. I was a vestal virgin for a few years. The silly old sods couldn't tell the difference. A scream and a squirt of chicken blood and they're happy as pigs in shit. It's my life – so don't judge."

As she continued, they began to walk away from the hospital. "When I was thirteen, this life became an exciting adventure. I made hundreds a day; everyone wants the young, pretty ones. If you stay off drugs you can do well, but the pimps get you hooked and control you. It's a hard pattern to escape. I need to have ten to twelve jumps every night. Tonight, I'll make money. That idiot we dumped was my pimp. Ten girls worked the street and that bastard took eighty percent. If you didn't make enough, you got a beating."

Her story held a strange fascination.

"So what do you do for a living?" she asked.

He said nothing. Pinkie stopped and stared. "Are you gay or a weirdo?"

"No fucking way."

She laughed. "You can prove that next time we meet. Why were you on the street?"

"Wasting time."

"You dress smart but I noticed you didn't have a watch. You act like a knight in shining armour, rescuing damsels in distress. You're a good-looking bloke and I'm sure you dip your wick a lot. You can tell me to fuck off and I know it's none of my business but I smell trouble with a capital T." She hesitated, "Tell me, what your birthday is? I bet it's the end of March"

Davy was amazed. "Good guess, it's the thirtieth."

"The Aries Ram, passionate in love and a pioneer of the zodiac. You meet life's challenges head–on, without a thought for the consequences. What is it I can't put my finger on? Change - that's it, your world is changing."

"What a load of rubbish." Sweat trickled down his back and he shivered. In a few days, he had become a bank robber, deserter, housebreaker, and a murderer. He needed to keep himself occupied, but out of the limelight. What could he do? He could not go to the Job Centre. A wild, stupid thought crossed his mind but he still asked the question. "Pinkie, do the girls need a minder?"

She grinned. "The name's Jay but if you want to call me Pinkie, who gives a shit. Anyway, are you offering your services?"

"Could be."

"If you're serious, protection comes high on the agenda and you can handle yourself. The moment the other pimps see our pimp's missing, they'll be out hunting. What percentage would you want?"

"Give me your best offer."

"You must be fucking insane. Come to the street tomorrow."

Without a glance back, she jumped into a waiting black cab.

He went to call after her, but the taxi disappeared. 

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Thank you

Ron S