This Book Is Full of Bodies Read online

  “We are, however, a little concerned about some of the, er… sexual… things you’ve been saying.”

  Why is she emphasising the word sexual? We are talking about sex and dicks and cunts and it doesn’t really matter whether you place an emphasis that poorly disguises your discomfort or not, that is what we are conversing about.

  Flora says nothing. She is already halfway through her burger and I can sense a burp coming and oh lord I hope it doesn’t.

  “What can you tell us about that?” Lisa asks.

  Flora shrugs.

  “Maybe we need to talk about sex. Do you know how to get a condom, for example?”

  The family sitting a few seats across from us choke on their gherkin.

  “Yes, I know how to get condoms.”

  “Good. And do you use them?”

  “Do I use them?” she repeats, and I think she’s angry.

  “Okay, maybe that was a tactless way of asking it. I know you’re growing up and you’re not a child anymore, and if you aren’t already, you will become sexually active soon, and, well, we just want to make sure you’re okay.”

  Someone I recognise walks in through the door and I tune myself out of the conversation.

  Who is it?

  Then I realise.

  It’s Carluccio.

  The normal warm pleasure I get at seeing this wonderful man doesn’t rise through my stomach. Instead, I am filled with dread and terror and like Macbeth o full of scorpions is my mind…

  I try to look away but Carluccio has already seen me. He raises his arms in the air in a grand gesture Italian people seem to think everyone else appreciates, and he begins his walk toward me.

  Lisa and Flora haven’t seen him yet, they are too engaged in a heated conversation and I hear the words boy and sex and condom being repeatedly thrown about and I try to figure out how to get rid of this man but it’s too late, he’s here next to me and he’s saying hello in a big grand gesture no one could miss.

  “It is so good to see you!” he says. “And here with your family too!”

  Lisa and Flora don’t know I have money and no job and they can’t know I have money and no job and Carluccio is going to ruin that and fuck sake Carluccio.

  “I don’t know you,” I say, and it’s too late, Lisa and Flora have already stopped talking and turned to listen.

  “They are such pretty ladies, why don’t you ever bring them to the restaurant, hey?”

  “What restaurant?” Lisa asks.

  I tell Lisa I’ll be right back and I stand and I grab Carluccio’s arm and I march him away and I glance back and they are already re-engaged in their heated debate about sex and penises and boys. By the time I get him outside I hope they have already forgotten him.

  “Mr Brittle, have I done something–”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I tell him, speaking quickly and assertively although some people say my assertive voice sounds like my aggressive voice but it doesn’t.

  “I don’t–”

  “I said shut the fuck up, Carluccio, shut the fuck up. If you set foot in this shitty excuse for a restaurant I will force my fist so far down your throat I’ll be able to grab your gullet. Get the fuck away from here, you understand?”

  He looks back at me in stunned silence and I assume he has the idea, so I return inside and return to my seat, ready to give a lie as to who he was, but they don’t care, they are amid a heated argument and are not interested.

  “But why won’t you tell me his name?” Lisa says.

  “Because I don’t want to!” Flora says.

  “She has a boyfriend,” Lisa tells me, “and she is refusing to tell me who he is, or even how she knows him.”

  Lisa has a boyfriend I think and I get mad with rage until I realise I am the boyfriend even though there is no point I have or ever would agree to be her boyfriend but she must have somehow referenced that she is sexually active with someone and Lisa has interpreted that as boyfriend and dear god she cannot tell Lisa it’s me.

  “Best to mind her privacy,” I say.

  “Oh, thanks a lot!” Lisa barks, and turns back to her daughter. “I think it’s about right you tell me who he is, if he is dating my daughter.”

  “No, I don’t think it matters.”

  Oh, please don’t.

  “I just want a name.”

  “No!”

  No, please no.

  “Just a name, that’s it.”

  Flora leans back, she thinks, and she looks at me, and I beseech her with my eyes and she eventually turns to Lisa and says, “Fine.”

  Fuck.

  “Well?” Lisa asks.

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  “You really need to know his name?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Fuck fucking fuck fucking fuck.

  “Fine,” she says, and I get ready to act, ready to do something, but then, to my astonishment, she says, “his name is Mark.”

  And… what?

  Mark?

  Who the fuck is Mark?

  “And how do you know him?”

  “I sit next to him in maths. We met up at break time and made out behind the bike sheds, if you really need to know.”

  Mark.

  Fucking Mark.

  I hate Mark.

  Who the fuck does Mark think he is?

  “And is it serious?”

  Flora shrugs.

  “Kinda. I meet up with him a few times after school.”

  “And how long have you and Mark been dating?” I ask.

  “About three months.”

  Three months.

  We’ve been fucking for longer than that which means that since she met me she’s been fucking with this guy this Mark and I fucking hate Mark and I want to kill Mark and I will find out who he is and strangle him and–

  Carluccio walks back into the store.

  He glances at me timidly.

  All my rage intensifies, my anger about Mark and my hatred of Mark and Mark Mark Mark Mark fucking Mark.

  I stand and march toward Carluccio and he disappears outside and into an adjacent alley.

  I step outside and look up and glance at the CCTV camera. Someone who works in the fast food establishment walks past me so I quickly grab her attention and point to the camera.

  “Excuse me, someone hit my car the other day, I was wondering if–”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, those are just for show. We stopped bothering recording with them a few months ago. Nothing ever happens here.”

  “Thank you,” I say and try not to grin as she walks on.

  I march down the alleyway.

  And the car park where my dear Mercedes dwells is right next to it.

  “Please, Mr Brittle, I–”

  I grab his throat and I shove him against the wall and I squeeze it so tight I can feel his pulse deaden and my thumb and finger throb, but it’s too quick, way too quick, so I shove him against a dumpster and grab the back of his hair and lift his head back and soar it into the dumpster and back and into and back and into and back again until he’s too groggy to run and I drop him to the floor.

  There is a brick nearby so I pick it up and I mount him and he looks vaguely up at me and I drive the brick downwards.

  Blood splashes over my coat which is so annoying as I love this coat but at least it keeps it off my suit and maybe I can get it dry cleaned but then again I won’t want to be noticed as if the police go asking around they will say they cleaned blood off and there is blood on the dumpster I must deal with and this brick and oh boy I’ve been beating him with this brick the whole time and I was distracted and I do believe he is already dead.

  8

  I feel guilty.

  I shouldn’t have done it.

  I was wrong.

  That’s what you want me to say, isn’t it?

  So I’ll say it.

  It was a terrible thing to do and I feel awfully bad and I hope this doesn’t mean you don’t like me anymore and I hope you will still keep reading th
is book because I would hate for it to be too violent for you and yada yada yada yada yada don’t give a shit.

  But I’ll say it.

  Anything that helps my fancy dress.

  Anything that makes you feel comfort.

  Comfort is the enemy of awareness.

  And, as you sink further and further into security, that’s when I’ll get you. That is when you will be ripe for the pickin’s, as they say.

  I look around everywhere for witnesses, back and forth for anyone I may have to add to Carluccio’s grave predicament, and I keep doing this as I back my car up. I step out inconspicuously and I open the boot once I have the car ready and I shove the body into it, as I do my coat, as I do the brick.

  I have some Windowlene I used to clean my windows and some Tyrex I used to do my tyres and some car wash I used to do my car and it’s not ideal but that will have to do.

  With another glance I head back into the alley and look for obvious blood. There is no way for me to get rid of everything, but if they don’t know where he was killed they won’t know where to look for what they can’t see. After all, there is none of my blood there.

  With the CCTV not working, the main thing I need to get rid of is any forensic trace to me. That is the only thing they may have. Once the elements have attacked the surface, however, in the time they take to discover he’s missing and inspect the alley, I should be fine.

  I think I’ll be fine.

  I think.

  I scrub at the side of the dumpster and the floor and the wall and it’s the most manual labour I’ve done in my life and it hurts my back.

  My phone rings.

  It’s Lisa.

  Dammit.

  I answer.

  “Hey.”

  “Where are you? We’re coming up to the car park and we can’t see your car. Where did you go?”

  They can’t come into the car park.

  They can’t enter and see where I am and where my car is.

  “Meet me outside the restaurant.”

  “The restaurant?”

  “Uh huh. I’ll just drive around and get you.”

  “But don’t you–”

  “Just meet me there.”

  I hang up.

  Within five minutes the alleyway looks clear. No one is around and it’s dark so I shine my phone light upon all the floors and sides and the dumpster and I hope there’s rain tonight to help wash the invisible evidence away.

  He won’t be reported missing until at least tomorrow when he doesn’t show for work; dependent upon, of course, whether he has a wife which is doubtful, he’s too much of a podgy fuck for a woman to commit to fucking him for her whole life. Which means that any rain we get tonight will help and I get out my phone and look at the weather app and gosh am I in look—we are due thunderstorms all night long.

  I am one lucky fucker.

  I lock the boot and I don’t know what I will do with him yet but I’m sure I’ll think of something. I walk around to the driver’s seat and I leave and there’ll be a camera somewhere nearby that will have picked up the number plate of my car.

  There were many cars that were in the car park at the time of his disappearance. Without little to go on, this may be the police’s first line of enquiry. They may look for mine first, or they may look for it last. Either way, I can’t risk them taking the chance to test the boot—his DNA will be all over it.

  I need to get rid of it.

  Which is a damn shame as it’s a bloody nice car.

  I pick up Lisa and Flora and they are continuing their conversation about Mark, this little fucking pip squeak who’s apparently fingering her in the bike sheds and I will deal with Mark later—for now, my mind is on other things. Lisa asks where I went and I ignore her and Flora continues the conversation. We arrive home in less than fourteen minutes and I can’t drive this car anymore.

  Oh, do I have to be rid of it…

  They won’t know this car is linked to the murder, will they?

  I am such an amateur. Why didn’t I think about these things?

  My first kill and it was thrilling and now I have to deal with it. It’s like having unprotected sex with a whore—it’s great while it happens, but then comes the prodding at your dick and removal of infections.

  We arrive home and Lisa and Flora have somehow made up and decided to watch a girly film to which I do not wish to be included. I say that I will pop out and get some snacks for them and Lisa tells me I’m too kind and they enter the house as I enter the garage.

  Lisa’s car is next to mine. A shitty little Ford Mondeo.

  I love this Mercedes.

  Why couldn’t we have driven her car?

  I close the garage door and listen in silence for their movie to start, which it eventually does after what seems like an age.

  I open the boot to the Ford.

  I open the boot to the Mercedes.

  Carluccio is looking at me, leaning his head to the said as if to say what now? and I amuse myself with the thought. I take Carluccio out of the boot and he seems even heavier, and I put him in the boot of Lisa’s car, the Ford.

  That way, if they have a warrant to search the Mercedes…

  But they won’t.

  Of course, they won’t.

  There is nothing linking me to it.

  Or is there?

  I get in the Mercedes and I go driving and I go to the supermarket where I pick up crisps and dip and chocolate and all the other things that will make Lisa’s fading body more repulsive whilst having little to no effect on Flora’s. On the way back I’m at a traffic light and a dickhead cuts me up.

  I have my target.

  I drive through the red light and speed up and I am alongside him and I look over and he scowls at me and I cut in front of him and speed ahead and in the other guy’s anger he rides my bumper. Which is perfect. He is driving recklessly behind me. I brake and I brake so hard and so quickly he cannot help but go into the back of me.

  My car doesn’t swerve in response the collision so I make it swerve in response to the collision and it crashes into a bin and into a lamppost then rebounds into the back of a parked car and he went into the back of me and he was riding my bumper so it will be his fault.

  The air bag goes off but I’m fine.

  I step out to a crowd of people asking if I’m okay, which I am. The ambulance arrives and checks me over and I’m fine and they check the other driver who’s fine but is going to the hospital for concussion but we are all fine.

  Insurance arrive to take the car and they already tell me they are writing it off. The engine is squashed in on itself, either side is dented inwards, and it is leaking some kind of leak. It is a wreck, barely salvageable.

  I give them permission to destroy the car and they will begin the paperwork and they will strip it for parts tomorrow and sell those parts to dozens of other cars in need of those parts and that means the car will no longer exist.

  Goodbye, Mercedes.

  I loved that car, but now I can get another even better, more updated model.

  Then I panic.

  I forgot something.

  How could I be so stupid?

  Just as the transporter goes to take off, I shout and I stop them.

  I run to the driver’s seat and reach over.

  I retrieve the crisps and dip and chocolate.

  I also take the air freshener. Lisa’s car may need it.

  Then they leave and I order a taxi, already considering where I will go get my new car tomorrow.

  9

  The next day I get up and everything is as it was. There are no police at my door and no warrants being issued and nothing on the news about some missing fat restaurant owner and I am fine.

  Of course, it’s still early, he probably hasn’t been reported missing yet, and the investigation will not have begun. Perhaps this was even his day off and him not appearing at work will not be seen as suspicious and I will be given another day. Hell, maybe he was even planning
to be on holiday!

  I wake up and Lisa is in the bathroom and I walk in as she finishes pissing and I grab her before she washes her hands and I kiss her hard on her furiously dry lips, not caring for the diabolically disgusting morning breath she has somehow acquired.

  She says, “Oh, Gerald,” and moans and I shouldn’t have done that as now she may expect intercourse later—but I am in such a glorious mood that I cannot help but declare it to the world.

  Downstairs, Flora is at the dining table eating cereal with one hand and texting with the other. She barely grunts as I enter and so I stand, and I watch her, and I wait for her to look up.

  Lisa is in the living room opening the curtains which gives me a chance to say, in as quiet and husky and rude a voice as I can manage, “How are you, you filthy little trinket?”

  She glances up from her phone momentarily to give me that naughty smile she knows makes my body shiver and pine for my dick to enter her wet comfort and enclose it in her heavenly orifice.

  Lisa walks in and puts the kettle on.

  “You okay, honey?” she asks.

  “Yeah,” Flora grunts.

  “Is that Mark you are texting?”

  And my mood drops and I feel irate and when did this Mark become a positive subject for them to engage in? I thought we were hating the wretched little demon?

  She glances at me mischievously before she answers, “Yes, it is. We are planning on going to the cinema later.”

  “Oh, how lovely,” Lisa says, as if such a thing should be encouraged.

  Then it strikes me that this is Saturday and if Lisa is not otherwise engaged with Flora that means she will insist on spending time with me.

  “I’m going to my book club this morning,” she says. “Would you mind driving me?”

  I am about to groan when I realise I have the perfect excuse.

  “I’m afraid I cannot. I was in an unfortunate accident on my way home from the supermarket yesterday and the car was written off. I plan to use today to acquire a new one.”

  “You were in an accident?”

  “That is what I said, yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “I… did not wish to concern you. You both seemed to be enjoying your movie too much.”