Blackout - By Tom Barber Page 0,12
old man stepped out of a dark strip-club in a Washington DC outer suburb and walked wearily across the empty parking lot towards his car. His seven hour shift had just ended and he was wiped out.
He worked the door at the joint four nights a week, making sure the girls weren’t harassed and that the guys who came in paid the eight dollar cover and didn't cause any trouble. It was a shitty job with a shitty wage, but it was all he could get. He needed the money because he needed to eat. He couldn’t survive without it, but he hated coming to work here. The place was seedy and grimy and he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen someone run a mop over the floor. The lights on the sign outside didn't fully work, constantly buzzing and flickering, and it was depressing as hell inside.
The man hawked and spat on the ground as he walked, his footsteps echoing in the empty parking lot as he made his way towards his car, the only other sound the electronic buzz of the blue neon sign above the door of the club. It was called Mermaids, a run-down place out of the centre of the city towards the projects, far away from the political glamour of the Beltway and the college red-bricked cleanliness of Georgetown. It had been a quiet night, typical midweek stuff, only a few customers, losers still in shirt and tie from the office catching a quick sleazy view or maybe a private dance before they went home to their wives and told them they’d been forced to stay late at work. The sad thing was those guys were probably earning more in one day than he made in a month. He was supposed to be working the door till four, but business was so quiet they'd locked up just before three. It was his only job and he needed the money, so that hour’s less pay had put him in a foul mood.
He walked over to his car, an unreliable piece of shit that didn’t run like it should anymore, and pulled out his keys. He pushed the button but the car didn’t beep.
It was already unlocked.
He cursed, pissed at himself that he’d left the car open all night. It was a miracle it was still here, given how close the strip-club was to the projects. If it had been stolen, he'd have been well and truly screwed.
Shaking his head at his stupidity, he climbed inside and shut the door.
He never even saw the man hidden in the back seat.
The stranger was small, dressed all in black, and had been lying in the shadows so he was close to invisible from the outside. In a flash, he lifted a piece of wire over the doorman’s head and pulled it back hard around the man's throat, locking his arms tight. The guy in the front seat's eyes widened and he started thrashing in panic, scrabbling at his neck as the wire garrotted him. Behind him the small man cinched it tighter, the wire slicing into the doorman's neck, cutting off his oxygen, the sharp wire splitting the skin.
The guy in the front fought vainly for about ten seconds, the blood vessels in his eyes bursting, his head turning the colour of boysenberry, his fingers grasping at the wire frantically as he was strangled. Behind him, the small man pulled it tighter still.
The doorman gave a final wheeze and then died.
The small man held the wire tight for a few moments longer, ensuring the guy was dead. Then he pulled it free, gathering it up into a ball and tucked it back into his pocket. Up front, released from the wire, the dead man slumped forward, his forehead coming to rest against the steering wheel, his arms limp, like he was drunk and had passed out while trying to start the engine. The smaller man checked the guy's pulse with a gloved hand, making sure he was gone, then slipped out of the rear door of the car quietly, clicking the door shut behind him.
The parking lot was deserted, the city asleep around him. No witnesses. No one around.
Popping his collar, the small man put his head down and moved off into the shadows. Four minutes later, the wire and gloves gone, the man was in a taxi heading straight for Dulles International Airport and his 5:05 am direct flight to London Heathrow.
FOUR
Almost an hour later, Cobb