Cutter's Deal — Excerpt from Chapter One
‘Morning, Mr Cutter,’ she says, big smile on her face. It wavers a bit when I just stare at her; something flickers in the eyes, but she doesn’t know she’s been rumbled so she hangs onto it for a moment longer. The silence starts to get to her. People don’t like silence, and I’m just fucking staring at her wondering what the fuck she thought she was playing at. She surely didn’t really believe she’d get away with it, did she?
The smile slides off her face when she sees Wayne and Tommy walk in behind me. ‘Is there something wrong?’ she says, and her eyes flick left to right as she looks for a way out. There isn’t one. She’s trapped behind the reception desk and the three of us are between her and the door.
‘Jeff’s been fired,’ I say. ‘For fiddling the books.’
Her eyes go wide and she gasps as the penny drops.
‘It was all his idea,’ she says, and if I felt I needed an admission of guilt, there it is, right there.
Wayne snorts. ‘That’s what he said about you,’ he says.
‘Well he would, wouldn’t he?’ she says, trying to worm her way out of it. ‘I just went along with him because I was scared.’
‘You were more scared of the bookkeeper than you were of me?’ I say, and her mouth’s flapping but there’s nothing coming out. ‘You fucking lying, thieving whore.’
I take the knife out of my pocket and her knees buckle. ‘You’re coming with us,’ I say.
I drag her down the stairs and fling her in the back of the van and we drive to the lock-up.
When we’re safe inside, away from prying eyes, Tommy opens the van doors. ‘Oh, fuck me,’ he says, ‘you dirty cow!’
‘Pissed herself already?’ asks Wayne. ‘She’ll fucking shit when she sees what’s next.’ He drags her out none too carefully and dumps her on the floor.
‘Take your drawers off,’ I say to her.
She looks at me, then at the other two and starts shaking her head. ‘No,’ she says, ‘don’t do that, Mr Cutter.’
‘Either you take them off or I will,’ I say and she whimpers, but does as she’s told. They’re disgusting, soaked in piss, but I pick them up, crumple them and stick them in her mouth, then wipe my hand on her top.
We start to lay into her, giving her a thorough beating. We’ve done this many times before; it’s second nature now. She gets it harder than some because she’s stolen from us, betrayed our trust and made mugs of us. She’s crying, a muffled howling coming through the gob full of knickers and there’s piss and snot everywhere, but we keep on going until we feel she’s had what’s due.
She’s lying on the floor in bits, her face is raw meat and I think Wayne broke one of her legs when he stamped on it. Makes no odds where she’s going. I get a hold of her hair and pull her head up and show her the knife. She starts making spaz noises as I flick the blade out, then I take it to her face. Three stripes on each cheek, same as he got. The fucking bookkeeper.
I pull the knickers out of her mouth. ‘Have you got anything to say for yourself?’ I ask her.
She’s muttering, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll pay it all back, I won’t ever tell,’ that sort of thing, and you can tell she thinks that’s it; a beating and sergeant’s stripes.
It’s not, though; she’s getting a swimming lesson as well.
Wayne gets the plastic sheeting and the rope while me and Tommy get a couple of heavy disc weights from the pile at the back of the lock-up. We replaced all the weights at the gym a while back and brought the old ones here. You’d be surprised what they come in handy for.
We feed rope through the holes in the centre of the weights, where you thread them on a bar for lifting, and then we start to wrap it round her legs. She keeps on muttering and gabbling and it gets on my nerves, so I get one of the bars and twat her round the head with it. She’s easier to work with spark out anyway. Once it’s all securely tied, we put her onto the sheet of plastic that Tommy laid out and I stuff her drawers back in her mouth to deaden the sound if she starts making a racket, then use my knife on her again. I stick the blade in her belly button and rip her right up the middle. I reckon the weights should be enough to keep her under the water indefinitely, but I there’s no point in risking the ropes rotting, the weights coming loose and her bloated corpse breaking the surface.
That done, we wrap her up tight in the plastic, arms by her sides, truss it up with more rope and lift the whole package into the back of the van.
We’ve just about finished cleaning up when there’s a rap on the door. Wayne goes and checks and sure enough it’s the two lads we’re expecting. I hand over the wedge they’re due and they get in the van and drive off. I can hear her thudding about in the back, but she’ll not last long, not after what she’s had done to her.
We’d have handled it all ourselves, disposal included, but it’s a big day for the firm. We’re going to meet Howard Mackintosh; Mac to his firm. He’s a proper old-school gangster, been operating in the town for years. And he’s hard as fucking nails. He offed his best mate last year, bloke he’d known for decades, just because he’d pinched a few bob. Did the job himself as a mark of respect, but he still killed a lifelong friend. Fucking dedicated, that.
The smile slides off her face when she sees Wayne and Tommy walk in behind me. ‘Is there something wrong?’ she says, and her eyes flick left to right as she looks for a way out. There isn’t one. She’s trapped behind the reception desk and the three of us are between her and the door.
‘Jeff’s been fired,’ I say. ‘For fiddling the books.’
Her eyes go wide and she gasps as the penny drops.
‘It was all his idea,’ she says, and if I felt I needed an admission of guilt, there it is, right there.
Wayne snorts. ‘That’s what he said about you,’ he says.
‘Well he would, wouldn’t he?’ she says, trying to worm her way out of it. ‘I just went along with him because I was scared.’
‘You were more scared of the bookkeeper than you were of me?’ I say, and her mouth’s flapping but there’s nothing coming out. ‘You fucking lying, thieving whore.’
I take the knife out of my pocket and her knees buckle. ‘You’re coming with us,’ I say.
I drag her down the stairs and fling her in the back of the van and we drive to the lock-up.
When we’re safe inside, away from prying eyes, Tommy opens the van doors. ‘Oh, fuck me,’ he says, ‘you dirty cow!’
‘Pissed herself already?’ asks Wayne. ‘She’ll fucking shit when she sees what’s next.’ He drags her out none too carefully and dumps her on the floor.
‘Take your drawers off,’ I say to her.
She looks at me, then at the other two and starts shaking her head. ‘No,’ she says, ‘don’t do that, Mr Cutter.’
‘Either you take them off or I will,’ I say and she whimpers, but does as she’s told. They’re disgusting, soaked in piss, but I pick them up, crumple them and stick them in her mouth, then wipe my hand on her top.
We start to lay into her, giving her a thorough beating. We’ve done this many times before; it’s second nature now. She gets it harder than some because she’s stolen from us, betrayed our trust and made mugs of us. She’s crying, a muffled howling coming through the gob full of knickers and there’s piss and snot everywhere, but we keep on going until we feel she’s had what’s due.
She’s lying on the floor in bits, her face is raw meat and I think Wayne broke one of her legs when he stamped on it. Makes no odds where she’s going. I get a hold of her hair and pull her head up and show her the knife. She starts making spaz noises as I flick the blade out, then I take it to her face. Three stripes on each cheek, same as he got. The fucking bookkeeper.
I pull the knickers out of her mouth. ‘Have you got anything to say for yourself?’ I ask her.
She’s muttering, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll pay it all back, I won’t ever tell,’ that sort of thing, and you can tell she thinks that’s it; a beating and sergeant’s stripes.
It’s not, though; she’s getting a swimming lesson as well.
Wayne gets the plastic sheeting and the rope while me and Tommy get a couple of heavy disc weights from the pile at the back of the lock-up. We replaced all the weights at the gym a while back and brought the old ones here. You’d be surprised what they come in handy for.
We feed rope through the holes in the centre of the weights, where you thread them on a bar for lifting, and then we start to wrap it round her legs. She keeps on muttering and gabbling and it gets on my nerves, so I get one of the bars and twat her round the head with it. She’s easier to work with spark out anyway. Once it’s all securely tied, we put her onto the sheet of plastic that Tommy laid out and I stuff her drawers back in her mouth to deaden the sound if she starts making a racket, then use my knife on her again. I stick the blade in her belly button and rip her right up the middle. I reckon the weights should be enough to keep her under the water indefinitely, but I there’s no point in risking the ropes rotting, the weights coming loose and her bloated corpse breaking the surface.
That done, we wrap her up tight in the plastic, arms by her sides, truss it up with more rope and lift the whole package into the back of the van.
We’ve just about finished cleaning up when there’s a rap on the door. Wayne goes and checks and sure enough it’s the two lads we’re expecting. I hand over the wedge they’re due and they get in the van and drive off. I can hear her thudding about in the back, but she’ll not last long, not after what she’s had done to her.
We’d have handled it all ourselves, disposal included, but it’s a big day for the firm. We’re going to meet Howard Mackintosh; Mac to his firm. He’s a proper old-school gangster, been operating in the town for years. And he’s hard as fucking nails. He offed his best mate last year, bloke he’d known for decades, just because he’d pinched a few bob. Did the job himself as a mark of respect, but he still killed a lifelong friend. Fucking dedicated, that.
