Fix Your Face - A Rivers of London Short Story
“You’ve had this before, Gary, so I don’t need to spell it out-“
Gary fades out as the Custody Sergeant goes through the conditions of his pre-charge bail. He rubs his wrists, the cuffs this time were tighter. The officers rougher. He knows he fucked up.
“-see you in 3 months.”
Gary wonders out the door, stuffing his belongings back into his pockets, the only thing left in his hand is a half pack of Mayfair - he picks one out and sticks it between his teeth. He pats himself down but can’t find his lighter. Bastards must have nicked it. He spots another smoker across the street, and makes a beeline for them.
“Got a light?”
At the end of the lit cigarette is a blonde woman with a tightish bob, she turns to him cold, looks at him through her fag and then turns back around.
“Bitch.” He mumbles under his breath as he continues to walk down the road. He wonders into a corner shop nearby and with the last cash in his pocket he buys a lighter, a 2 pack of mini pork pies, and a can of Tennants Super. He sticks the shrapnel in the charity box and heads on his way.
Half a mile, 3 fags, a can, and a pork pie down - his knee starts giving him jip. He’s not as young as he used to be, he pushes his hand through his grey hair, but in his head he blames his manhandling last night.
He gets back to his flat, cracks open the bottle of Brandy on the side and pours himself a large glass that he tops up with an open can of Pepsi Max from the side. He folds into the sofa, pulls the ashtray from under it and grabs the last fag from the packet.
Gary’s eyes open and it’s dark outside, his half finished fag is thankfully laid half in the ashtray. His neck creaks as he turns to the look at the clock, as he hears movement in the kitchen. He grabs the empty bottle of Brandy from the side upside down in his hand and groggily but cautiously walks towards the back of the flat.
He turns the corner to see the Blonde woman standing on the side next to the boiling kettle.
“…what the fuck-“ she turns as he begins to speak, and her cold look fades into a smile.
“Sit down, Gary.”
“What? How do you- What the fuck are you doing in my flat-“
“Please, sit down, Gary.”
Oddly enough, his body sits down, as his mind is still trying to process what is happening. He still grips onto the bottle in his hand.
“What the f-“
“Gary. Gary Shaw, 56, Walthamstow lad - pretty much your whole life.”
The woman turns back towards the kettle. She begins to pour two cups of tea.
“Milk in the fridge?”
“What… What are you doing here?”
“Couple of robberies, one that went wrong, drug offenses, whatever it takes to pay for this place.”
She gestures with one hand, as the other opens the fridge door.
“Is that what happened last night, Gary?”
“What the fuck is happen-“
“Drug debt? Someone you forgot to pay back? Someone you couldn’t?”
She pours the milk into the cups of tea.
“You were waiting for someone - you clearly said you didn’t mean to do it to her. But you see you looked through the peephole, Gary.”
Gary’s body is frozen still, he’s only just noticed he placed down the bottle. His mind is slowly coming to. The woman grabs the sugar out of the cupboard.
“You knew it was that young lady Constable. You remembered her face. One of your drunken scuffles, the ‘bitch’ who embarrassed you.”
She pours the sugar into the kettle.
“You decided to get your own back. She ended up with third degree burns.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
“I’m that girl, at least I was.” She turns her head and her face has transformed into that of a grotesque puppet, her nose hooked, her chin protruding.
Gary tries to shudder but his body won’t allow it. Instead his eyes water and he tries to look away before the women’s face begins to fall apart.
“Men like you, things like you, never get a taste of their own medicine. It’s sweeter getting to be the one to deliver it.”
She turns back towards the kettle, and Gary pleades with his body to run, before she turns back holding the kettle, her face returned to normal, but glistening. She smiles again, and places the kettle on the table.
“Arms, neck, and face… we’ll start with the arm shall we, go on.”
Gary snorts half heartedly. “Fuck off, bitch. You think- you think I’d do that to myself?”
“There’s a lot of things you can do, Gary.”
Gary watches as his arm reaches towards the kettle.
“There’s a lot of things I can do, too.”