Like A Charm [anthology]

'I think she does it to put a hair up your arse.'

Payne gave it a moment's thought and laughed. 'You could be right.'

And Becker, he was just sounding off. Trying to look big.'

'People don't talk to me like that. Nobody talks to me like that. Especially a tosser like him.'

'Sticks and stones. Besides, like you say, who is he? Becker? He's nothing.'

Swift to his feet for a big man, Payne held out his hand. 'You're right.'

'You won't hold a grudge?'

Payne's grip was firm. 'You've got my word.'

The remainder of Dianne Adams' engagement passed off without incident. Victoria Pride stayed away. By the final weekend it was standing room only and, spurred on by the crowd and the band, Adams ' voice seemed to find new dynamics, new depth.

Of course, Becker told her about the bracelet during one of those languorous times when they lay in her hotel bed, feeling the lust slowly ebb away. He even offered it to her as a present, half hoping she would refuse, which she did. 'It's beautiful,' she said. 'And it's a beautiful thought. But it's your good luck charm. You don't want to lose it now.'

On the last night at Ronnie's, she thanked him profusely on stage for his playing and presented him with a charm in the shape of a saxophone. A little something to remember me by.'

'You know,' she said, outside on the pavement later, 'next month we've got this tour, Italy, Switzerland. You should come with us.'

'I'd like that,' Becker said.

'I'll call you,' she said, and kissed him on the mouth. She never did.

Costain thanked Kiley for a job well done and with part of his fee Kiley acquired an expensive mobile phone and waited for that also to ring.

Three weeks later, as Derek Becker was walking through Soho after a gig in Dean Street, gone one a.m., a car pulled up alongside him and three men got out. Quiet and quick. They grabbed Becker and dragged him into an alley and beat him with gloved hands and booted feet. Then they threw him back against the wall and two of them held out his arms at the wrist, fingers spread, while the third drew a pair of pliers from the pocket of his combat pants. One of them stuffed a strip of towelling into his mouth to stifle the screams.

Becker's instrument case had already fallen open to the ground, and as they left, one of the men trod almost nonchalantly on the bell of the saxophone before booting it hard away. A second man picked up the case and hurled it into the darkness at the alley's end, the bracelet, complete with its newly attached charm, sailing unseen into the deepest corner, carrying with it all of Becker's new-found luck.

It was several days before Kiley heard what had happened and went to see Becker in his flat in Walthamstow, bringing a couple of paperbacks and a bottle of single malt.

'Gonna have to turn the pages for me, Jack. Read them as well.'

His hands were still bandaged and his left eye still swollen closed.

'I'm sorry,' Kiley said and opened the Scotch.

'You know what, Jack?' Becker said, after the first sip. 'Next time, don't do me no favours, right?'

PLAN B by Kelley Armstrong

Monday, August 10

Deanna lifted the charm bracelet and shifted closer to the bedside lamp for a better look.

'Oh, God,' she said. 'Reminds me of the bracelet my dad bought me when I turned thirteen. I asked for the new Guns N' Roses tape, and he gave me one of these. Bastard.'

Gregory double-checked his tie in the mirror. 'Think Abby will like it?'

'Shit, yeah. If any grown woman was made for charm bracelets, it's Abby.' Deanna rolled on to her back and draped the bracelet round her breast. 'Looks better on me, though, don't you think?'

Gregory chuckled, but continued adjusting his tie. Deanna slid the bracelet down her stomach, spread her legs and dangled it there.

'Wanna play hide and seek?' she asked.

She wrapped the bracelet round her index finger and waggled it closer to her crotch. Gregory stopped fussing with his tie and watched. Before the bracelet disappeared, he grabbed her hand.

'Uh-uh,' he said. 'Tempting, but no. I've heard of giving your wife a gift smelling of another woman's perfume, but that would go a bit far.'

'Like she'd notice.' Deanna flipped on to her stomach. 'Probably doesn't even know what it smells like. The only time Abby lets her hand drift south of her belly button is when she's wiping her twat, and she'd probably avoid that if she could.'

'That, my dear, sounds remarkably like jealousy.'

'No, my dear, it sounds remarkably like impatience.'

He shrugged on his jacket. 'These things take time. Every detail must be planned to perfection.'

'Don't pull that shit on me, babe. You aren't dragging your heels plotting how to get away with it. You have that figured out. Now you're just trying to decide how you want to do it. You're in no rush to get to the reality, 'cause you're too busy enjoying the fantasy.'

He grinned. 'This is true. Shooting versus stabbing versus strangulation. It's a big decision. I only get to do it once, sadly.'

'At this rate, you'll never get around to doing it at all.'

'How about Friday?'

Deanna popped up her head, then narrowed her eyes. 'Ha-ha.'

'I'm quite serious.' Gregory patted his pockets, and pulled out his car keys. 'Does Friday work for you?'

She nodded, eyes still wary.

'It's a date, then,' he said. 'I'll see you tomorrow and we'll talk. I'm thinking stabbing. Messier, but more painful. Abby deserves the best.'

He smiled, blew her a kiss and disappeared out the door.

Deanna sat up and looked out of the window. The cottage Gregory had rented for her was perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. When she cast her gaze out across the water, it looked mirror-smooth, with brightly coloured yachts and sailboats bobbing about like children's toys. Cotton-candy clouds drifted across the aquamarine sky. Farther down the shore, a freshly painted red-and-white lighthouse gleamed like a peppermint stick. It was a picture so perfect that if you painted it, no one would believe it was taken from life. Yet if she looked down, straight down, she found herself staring into a maelstrom of mud and garbage. All the trash those distant boats tossed overboard wound up here, at the bottom of the cliff, where beer cans and empty sunscreen bottles swirled in whirlpools crested with dirty foam.

Be not deceived, for as ye sow, so shall ye reap. The Bible quote came so fast it brought a chill, and she shivered, yanking down the window shade.

For as ye sow, so shall ye reap. How deeply the lessons of youth burrow into the brain. She could still see her father in the pulpit, his lips forming those words. The lessons of youth, driven in with the help of a liberally wielded belt.

At fifteen, Deanna had run from those lessons, run all the way to Toronto, and found the hell her father prophesied for her. At seventeen, she mistook Satan for saviour, becoming a wealthy businessman's toy in return for promises of gold rings and happily ever after. After two years, he discarded her like a used condom.

Before he could pass her apartment to his next toy, she'd broken in, intent on taking everything she could carry. Then she'd found the photos he'd taken of them together. And they'd given her an idea. For as ye sow, so shall ye reap. There had to be consequences. A price to be paid… but not by her.

It had been laughably easy. Of course, she hadn't asked for much. She'd been naive, having no idea how much those photos were worth to someone who valued his family-man reputation above all. But, with practice, she'd learned. For ten years now, she'd made her living having affairs with wealthy married men, then demanding money to keep her mouth shut.

Now, finally, that had all come to an end. One last mortal sin, and she'd be free.