Chameleon (11 page)

He closed the door silently and pulled the curtains across the window before switching on the light. A spider scuttled up the lifeline of its web having been exposed against the whitewash of the walls but the man ignored it. He opened the door of a small metal cupboard and examined what was inside. Excellent, he thought, it was all going well. When the time came for a change he would be ready and it could begin all over again.

He closed the door of the cupboard and went through to the kitchen to switch on a small metal-shaded lamp that sat in the middle of the kitchen table. A dull, purple glow came from the lamp at first but it grew brighter as the minutes passed. The man returned from the bedroom wearing white overalls and a full plastic face visor. He checked that his gloves were fitting properly, that the cuffs of his overalls overlapped them and the tunic was fastened up to his neck. There were to be no more slip ups. After more checking and preening he seemed satisfied with the state of his protection and got to work.

Two hours passed before he decided that he had done enough for one evening. He switched off the lamp and removed his visor. The cold air of the basement felt damp against the thin film of sweat on his forehead and made him shiver slightly as he got to his feet and started clearing up. With everything safely away inside the metal cupboard he sighed in satisfaction and looked at his watch. A last check on the thermometer protruding from the top of the cupboard and there was no more to be done this evening.

As he switched off the room light before opening the outside door he became aware of voices in the street above and stopped in the darkness behind the door to listen. A man and a woman were talking but he could not make out what was being said. As the minutes passed he became more and more impatient. Standing motionless was making him acutely aware of the cold and damp. Very slowly he turned the Yale lock on the back of the door, keeping his full weight against it in case it should move against the jamb and make a noise. With painful slowness he inched the door open until he could hear what was being said.

As he listened, he came to realise that the voices belonged to the man and woman he had seen in the window across the street. Their illicit liaison in the office was over and they were now leaving. Where had they done it in the office? Across a desk? Writhing on the floor like animals? Against a wall perhaps with the bitch egging him on. There was no limit to the ingenuity of the sluts. That was why he himself had to be equally devious if he were to redress the balance.

The woman was insisting that there was no need for the man to run her home. He was late already and that would only cause more trouble at home. She was quite happy to get the bus; the stop was only round the corner and she would be home in fifteen minutes.

'If you're sure,' said the man.

'Absolutely,' said the woman.

There was a long silence and the man in the basement deduced that the pair must be embracing. A look of disgust crossed his face in the dim yellow light that filtered down from the street.

There were a few whispered good-nights and then the click of high heeled shoes on the pavement that said they had parted. A car moving off a few seconds later said that it was now safe for him to leave. But the seeds of an idea had been planted inside his head. He had not planned it but could he turn a chance like this down?

Care! He must take care! There was always danger in unplanned action. Spontaneity could spell disaster but on the other hand, if the opportunity should present itself he must not turn down the chance of ridding society of another of these creatures. He closed the door again and once more shut the curtains before switching on the light. He went to the bathroom and took down the rubber apron from the line across the bath and folded it quickly before stuffing it into his briefcase. The instruments were ready on the side of the sink. He wrapped them up quickly in the velvet cloth.

This would be the first test, he thought as he closed the basement door quietly behind him. If the bitch was standing at the bus stop when he got there it would be a sign that fate was on his side. If she was not, he would return to the flat and abandon the entire notion.

He caught his foot against the edge of a cardboard box in the lane as he hurried along it and almost went sprawling but recovered his balance in time to remind himself to take more care. He paused at the end of the lane to compose himself, smoothing the front of his coat and adjusting the angle of his hat, before rounding the corner to approach the bus stop.

She was still there! The bitch was standing there, her skirt hugging the line of her buttocks, the slit in the back revealing a triangle of white underskirt, the line of her jacket designed specifically to enhance the curve of her breasts. She turned to look at him as he joined her at the stop but her face registered nothing. That was the way the bitches always looked at him, as if he weren't there. He stared at the back of her neck and then at the slight haughtiness of her profile as she turned slightly. Who did she think she was kidding with her air of respectability? Did she really imagine that he could not see through the sham! Through to the dirt and the evil!

The bus arrived and the woman climbed aboard. She had difficulty in mounting the high first step due to the tightness of her skirt and had to reach down to hitch it up a few inches. Behind her the man felt the pressure behind his eyes increase as he realised that this must be for his benefit. She was trying to distract him from his task by flaunting her evil charms. She was using the very weapons that had caught him out before! He felt the hardness stir and tiny beads of perspiration broke out along his upper lip. He fought the feeling. He must not be swayed.

The woman asked for a thirty-five pence fare and the man, after a suitable delay while he pretended to search for change in his pocket, asked for the same. He collected his ticket from the dispenser but, as he did so, he banged his briefcase against the base of the machine and the instruments inside rattled free from their wrapping.

'What you got in there mate?' asked the driver. 'The Crown jewels?'

The man managed a smile but it was strained and unnatural. With an outward air of calm he moved into a seat at the back of the bus. There, he would be free from curious eyes. He was four rows behind the woman and inside his head he was furious with himself. He had thrown away his chance! He could not now go ahead with the plan. The driver would remember him getting on the bus at the same time as the deceased. The incident with the instruments rattling free would ensure that he wasn't forgotten. Why hadn't he taken the time to pack the instruments properly!

The bus turned into a brightly lit street where the local pubs were turning out their clientele in compliance with the law. It was noisy and disorderly and the man grimaced involuntarily as he saw a crowd of youths respond to the sight of the bus by running towards the stop. The doors slid open and two of them had an argument in the doorway as they both tried to board first. The driver remonstrated with them and received a torrent of abuse in return. He said no more as they dropped their money into the tray and continued to push and shove each other.

There were five in all. They lifted the hat off an old man as they moved inside the bus and let it fall again so that it dropped over his eyes. His protests were met with loud derision.

'What's wrong, granddad? Gone blind?'

They turned their attention to a teenage girl who flushed in embarrassment as they started to discuss her appearance.

'Nice tits shame about the face!' hooted one of the yobs to the loud amusement of the others.

'Nice little bum as well. Bet she could give you a fair bang.'

'Think we should give it a try?' asked another and there was a moment's pause in the noise.

'Yeah ... let's.' growled one of the yobs ogling the girl's legs.

The young girl sprang to her feet and rushed towards the front of the bus demanding to be let off and the police be called. The driver was reluctant to do anything but at the protests of another passenger, an old woman sitting near the front, he lifted his radio handset.

'Touch that and you're for the fucking hospital!' warned the leader of the yobs moving down the aisle towards the driver.

The driver smiled apologetically at the girl and replaced the handset. He opened the doors of the bus and said, 'Run along home love. It's for the best.'

The girl left the bus and the yob returned to his friends to shout filth at the girl from the window. Their comments were reinforced with hand gestures indicating what they wanted to do to her.

They now turned their attention to the woman in the tight skirt. 'What have we here then?' asked one as he moved into the seat across the aisle from the woman. The others moved up to join him.

'Just look at this ...'

The woman maintained a dignified silence and ignored the youths to look out of the window.

'The older ones are always the best,' confided the leader of the yobs. 'They know what it's all about. He turned to the woman and said, 'Don't you Darlin’?'

The woman continued to ignore them.

The leader moved into the seat beside the woman and sidled up close to her. 'You know what it's for, don't you darlin'! You've had a few in your time, haven't you? Of course you have. I bet you're a real goer when you get started ...'

One of the yobs leapt into the aisle and started moving his hips back and forwards rapidly to the delight of the others.

The woman's composure was broken. She turned from the window and hissed angrily, 'Animals!'

The comment provoked nothing but loud laughter from the yobs who fell about. One passenger, a middle aged man wearing an anorak could stand it no longer. 'Why don't you shut your filthy mouths!' he demanded, red in the face with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. The yobs turned to him and exchanged amused glances before moving towards him.

'Well, what have we here then?' hissed the leader.

'Looks like a real dick-head to me,' said one of the others.

'Bet he works in a bank, "looks like the kind of wanker who works in a bank.' said the leader.

'Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir,' mimicked one of the others.

'Well do you then?' demanded the leader putting his face down close to the man.

'Just shut up and go away,' said the man.

'Are you going to make us like?' said the leader with quiet menace and a grin that held no humour in it.

'Don't you have any decency in you?' spluttered the man. 'Don't you have parents or are they like you. Trash!'

The yob leader let the grin slowly fade from his face before he turned to the others and said, 'He's talkin' about my mum. Did you hear what he said about my mum?'

'Old bastard!'

'Give him one!'

'For God's sake stop it! Leave him alone!' pleaded the woman whose plight had prompted the outburst.

'Shut up! We're comin' to you darlin'!' said the yob leader without taking his eyes off the man who was his current target. 'Nobody talks like that about my mum, nobody ... understand?'

The man was given no chance to say anything before the yob smashed his forehead down on the bridge of the man's nose and split it wide open. The man's spectacles shattered and blood showered down on to the seat in front of him as he collapsed with a gasp.

'For God's sake stop it!' screamed a woman at the front and others joined in demands to the driver.

The feeling that the passengers, who had up until now been an assortment of ineffectual individuals, were beginning to gel into a cohesive opposition began to tell on the yob leader. 'You heard what he said about my mum!' he appealed, obviously feeling that now he had been given a valid reason for behaving in the way he always did anyway. 'You heard him! Old bastard. Deserved all he got, he did.' The other yobs agreed but their support was subdued as they too felt the pressure of public opinion mount against them and looked at the sorry figure of the man holding his face while blood ran down his wrists to disappear into his cuffs.

The woman in the tight skirt slipped out of her seat and pressed the emergency door release button. The doors hissed back and she stepped out into the night and was quickly on her way.

The yobs were still uncertain of their position as they looked about them. The driver too was beginning to gain confidence; his fingers were considering a move towards the handset.

'Oh fuck them!' snarled the leader. 'Bunch of wankers! Let's get the fuck out of here!' The yobs poured out of the open door and ran off into the night. 'Let's get the tart!' was the last comment the bus passengers were to hear.

'For God's sake drive on!' demanded one of the passengers. 'Before they change their mind and come back!'

What a piece of luck, thought the man at the back. He had been restored to anonymity by the behaviour of a bunch of human trash, the sweepings of the municipal streets, the lager swilling bottom of the social heap. He got up from his seat and pressed the bell. The driver avoided meeting his eyes in the mirror and the man was pleased at being proved right. The driver would no longer remember anything about him. The incident with the rattling instruments would be forgotten. The driver would only have room in his head for one memory of this night, his run in with the yobs and how they had terrorised his passengers while he had sat there too scared to do anything.

As the man alighted, people were flocking round the injured passenger and discussing whether it was best to drive straight to the hospital or whether they should stop and wait for the police to arrive. The man heard the hospital option win as he stepped down on to the kerb to wait until the bus had moved off into the night before starting to walk backwards along the road to where the woman and the yobs had alighted.

It was only three hundred metres to the spot but when the man got there, all was quiet. He stood still for a moment and looked about him like an animal sniffing the night. It was a quiet area. The road was broad. Trees lined both sides and a wide grass verge on one side separated a housing estate from the road. On the other side, the side where he stood, there were railings between him and what he thought might be a park, although he didn't know the area at all. It was difficult to tell because of the dense shrubbery on the other side of the railings. It could be a bowling green, tennis courts or even a boating pond.