Hot Sheets (41 page)

Reclining in
his chair as Paul perched himself on the desk, Mike looked up at
the young man and grinned. "She's dead worried," he said softly. "I
really can't believe that she's an assassin, but she's dead
worried."

"Yes, I could
see that!" Paul agreed. "But what's she worried about?"

"I don't know.
Harold said that he was going to be pushed off the end of the pier,
not shot. Why the hell did she have a gun? God, I wish those girls
were here with their tight pussies, I could do with a good
fuck."

"So could I!
Let her go, Mike."

"Who?"

"Belinda."

"What?"

"Let her go
and see what happens."

"It's a bit
risky."

"Have you got
a better idea?"

"Yes, as I
said, I'll call Dickwipe and tell him about the gun, the struggle
we had with Belinda."

"That's a bit
risky, too!"

Paul was
right, Mike reflected. If Belinda was an assassin, then the gun
would hardly be registered in her name! He'd probably end up taking
the rap for possessing a firearm! But what else could he do?
Contemplating paying her off, offering her hush money, he grabbed
the ringing phone.

"Hallo," he
replied, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the desk.

"Mr Hunt?"

"Speaking."

"My name's
Paxman, I'm with the Inland Revenue."

"So?"

"I..."

"What makes
you think that I'm interested in your name or your place of
employment? I don't even know you, for Christ's sake!"

"What?"

"What? What do you mean,
what?
"

"Mr Hunt, I'm
phoning you..."

"I realize
that! Good God, I know you're phoning me because I'm on the phone
listening to you!"

"I'm calling
to thank you for the cheque you sent us."

"You're most
unwelcome, Mr Paxman."

"But there's
still fifteen-thousand pounds outstanding for the year ending
April..."

"Mr
Paxman."

"Yes?"

"Bollocks!"

"Please, Mr
Hunt, there's no need to become..."

Banging the phone down, Mike reclined in his chair.
Thieving bastards!
"So,
Paul, where were we?"

"Your
ex-wife."

"Oh, yes, my
ex bloody wife! OK, we'll let her go - and we'll kick Harold out. I
want all these problematic bastards out of the building. As you
said, we'll see what happens. Right, you get rid of her and then
chuck Harold out. I'm going down to my flat to have a think."

Descending the steps to his basement flat, Mike went wearily
into the lounge and flopped onto the sofa, wondering what Belinda
would do once she was given her freedom. She might get her hands on
another gun and shoot Harold, but that really wasn't his problem.
Harold would just have to look out for himself. Besides, he
reflected, Harold should never have agreed to go on holiday with
his wife and her lover.
Stupid bloody man.
He deserves to be shot
.

Thinking back
over the recent events and developments, he pondered on the idea of
coming clean, admitting to Dickwipe that he'd been running a
brothel, and accept the consequences. Recalling Paul's words, he
leapt up from the sofa. Where was the old Mike who had marvellous,
bloody brilliant, ingenious fucking ideas for the future? No, he
couldn't surrender. What sort of man would give up?

Rubbing his
chin as he paced the floor, he thought hard. He needed something to
distract Dickwipe. A crime so vile, so horrendous, that the brothel
would pale into insignificance - but what? "Fucking hell! Is there
no peace for the godly?" he cursed as the phone rang.

"Mike, it's
Dave. Princess Christina is on the line, shall I put her
through?"

"Yes, yes of
course!" Mike jittered, his stomach somersaulting as he recalled
screwing the majestic pussy.

"Hi, Mike,"
the princess trilled. "I'm pleased that you're still alive."

"I'm fairly
pleased, too! God, I could have been shot to death and died!
Anyway, how are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm
confined to the palace, but I'm OK. How are things with you?"

"Dreadful!
I've got the police after me, there's a would-be assassin on the
loose, I've had my electricity supply cut off, the Inland Revenue
are causing me problems, my ex-wife... sorry, I shouldn't bore you
with my problems."

"Can you sort
things out? I mean, you've had problems before, haven't you?"

"Yes, your
father's bloody hit men, for a start!"

"Yes, I'm
sorry about that. I did ring your local police station and warn
them. Look, all you have to do is cause bigger problems for the
people who are causing you problems."

"What do you
mean?"

"Well, your
ex-wife, set her up somehow. Take a leaf out of my father's book
and set her up so she takes the blame for some crime or other. My
father has his own people shot and then blames the Skythuanian
Peoples Front. "

"That's easier
said than done! Besides, I can't shoot people, it's not right. I
also have a policewoman causing trouble. I kidnapped her
and..."

"You kidnapped
a policewoman?"

"Yes, it
seemed like a good idea at the time."

"A good
idea?"

"Yes, at the
time. Of course, with the benefit of hindsight... anyway, it gets
worse."

"What can be
worse than kidnapping a policewoman?"

"I tied her up
and whipped her, and then I fucked her rotten."

"Well, I
really don't know..."

"I also made
her lick my ex-wife's cunt out."

"My God! Oh, I
have to go - my father's coming! Bye!"

"Call
again."

"I'll come to
England and visit you."

"When?"

"Soon."

It was good to
hear Elizabeth's sweet articulations again, Mike reflected,
replacing the receiver. It had been a great shame that she'd had to
return to her own country - taking her beautiful pussy with her!
Pondering on the royal words, he wondered how to set Belinda up -
and Widegroin! "Jesus Christ!" he gasped as a gunshot resounded
throughout the hotel. Dashing to the door, he bounded up the steps
to the foyer.

"Rolling
bollocks! What the hell's going on?" he yelled, staring in horror
at Harold Gloom writhing in agony on the floor. "Harold, what the
fuck happened?"

"I've been
shot in the arm!" the weedy man groaned.

"Blimey! Was
it a gun?"

"No, it was a
bloody peashooter! Of course it was a bloody gun!"

"Fucking hell!
Who did it?"

"An old
woman!"

"An old
woman?"

"Yes, the one
who was staying here - Miss Chaste, I think that's her name."

"I'll call
Dickwipe!" Dave said helpfully, emerging from the kitchen to
confront the stricken Harold.

"Miss Chaste?
Where is she now?" Mike asked incredulously, helping Harold to his
feet.

"She went
upstairs mumbling something about her room."

"Fuck me, this
is brilliant!" Mike chuckled. "This is absolutely fucking
brilliant!"

"Brilliant?
I've got a bloody bullet in my arm, and you say it's
brilliant?"

"No, not the
bullet in your arm, the situation - it's a miracle! God moves in
mysterious ways."

"Yes, and so
does Miss Chaste!"

"Go through to
the bar and have a drink, Harold."

"I need an
ambulance, not a bloody drink!"

"Of course you
don't! Besides, I want Dickwipe to witness your death."

"Oh, thanks
very much!"

"To the bar,
Harold!"

If he could
frame Belinda for the shooting, she'd be banged up for attempted
murder! Mike mused, planning his next move as Dave got through to
Pox Green police station. But why did Miss Chaste shoot Harold? And
where the hell did she get the gun from? With Dickwipe's imminent
arrival, Mike had little time to formulate his plan.

"Where's
Belinda?" he asked as Dave replaced the receiver.

"Paul released
her before he went up to the top floor to clear up."

"And then what
happened?"

"I was in the
back yard and, after about ten minutes, I heard the shot. I didn't
see what happened."

"Brilliant!
What did the cops say?"

"Dickwipe will
be here any minute now."

"OK, you saw
Belinda shoot Harold."

"Did I? I
don't remember seeing..."

"Of course you
don't remember it! Lie, tell Dickwipe that you saw Belinda shoot
Harold."

"But..."

"Just
lie!"

"Will do."

As Dave
wandered into the kitchen, Mike recalled Elizabeth's words. "Set
your ex-wife up," he murmured pensively as he dashed upstairs to
Miss Chaste's old room. Using the skeleton key, he unlocked the
door and tentatively entered to discover the woman sitting on the
bed mumbling about her key.

"Miss Chaste,
why did you shoot Harold?" he asked, taking the gun from the bed
and slipping it into his jacket pocket.

"I was looking
for my key in your desk drawer, and then..."

"Yes, and
then?"

"When?"

"What happened
after that?"

"That's right,
I found the gun in the drawer. That man was about to leave the
hotel when I was looking at the gun, and it suddenly went off -
bang! Is he all right?"

"It's nothing
that amputation won't put right."

"Oh,
dear!"

"OK, you stay
here. There's no harm done so there's no need to say anything about
this. Nothing happened, all right?"

"When?"

"When
what?"

"You said that
nothing happened. When did nothing happen?"

"Jesus Christ!
Look, stay in your room and don't come out! It's another rule,
OK?"

"If you say
so, Mr Hunt."

"Yes, I
do!"

Closing the
door, Mike bounded downstairs and dashed across the foyer to the
bar to discover Nancy, Cecilia and the waitresses attending
Harold's arm. The more witnesses the better, he thought, his plan
coming together brilliantly. The doorbell ringing, he pushed the
women aside and grabbed Harold's arm.

"Belinda shot
you, OK?" he expounded, shaking the man.

"Argh! My
arm!"

"Oh, sorry.
Listen, Harold, my ex-wife shot you, all right? You all saw it,
didn't you?" he asked, turning to the girls.

"I saw it,
mate!" Trudie beamed excitedly. "We all saw it!"

"It wasn't
your ex-wife!" Harold groaned, clutching his arm. "It was..."

"It was,
Harold!" Mike broke in. "You must lie, or you'll get an innocent
old bag banged up in Holloway fucking prison!"

"But your
ex-wife is innocent!"

"Innocent?
Fuck me, she was your would-be assassin! It all fits
perfectly."

"Oh, I see.
Well, I'll say that I didn't see who it was. You'll all have to lie
- if that's the way you want it."

"It is,
Harold! Right, there's the bell again. Let me do the talking,
OK?"

Feigning shock as Dave showed Dickwipe into the bar, Mike held
his hand to his head. Things couldn't have worked out better, he
reflected. With several witnesses, Belinda didn't stand a chance!
And if Satan was on his side, the gun would be registered in her
name.
Please, Satan, help me - just this
once
.

"What's been
going on here, then?" Dickwipe asked, his beady eyes staring at
Harold. "Something's afoot, I deduce that much."

"It's not my
foot, it's my bloody arm!" Harold moaned.

"My ex-wife
shot Mr Gloom!" Mike imparted, rather too excitedly. "We all saw it
- she came into the hotel and shot him with a gun!"

"With a
gun?"

"Yes,
bang!"

"Your
ex-wife?" Dickwipe frowned.

"Yes, Belinda
Hunt. She came into the foyer with a gun and..."

"Was she
wearing torn clothing?"

"When she
left, she was."

"We've just
arrested a woman for indecent exposure. She was dashing down the
street wearing a ripped pink blouse and a matching short skirt,
which was also torn. She had long auburn hair, does that fit her
description?"

"Yes, that's
her, all right! Her clothing was torn during the struggle. Here's
the gun, Inspector," Mike beamed, taking the weapon from his jacket
pocket. "She put up quite a fight, I can tell you! Incensed, she
was! Bent on killing poor old Harold!"

"Have you
called an ambulance for Mr Gloom?"

"No, not yet.
We thought you might want to witness the death."

"Witness the
death, Mr Hunt?"

"She'll be
done for murder if Harold... what I mean is..."

"I'll call Pox
Green station and have them arrange for an ambulance to attend.
Right, I'll need statements from everyone. Mr Gloom, I'll be
talking to you when you've had your arm sorted out. I'd better get
back to the station and interview Belinda Hunt about the shooting.
I'd appreciate it if you'd all remain in the hotel as I'll be
returning later."

"Yes, of
course, Inspector," Mike replied, his stomach somersaulting in his
excitement.

"There is one
other thing, Mr Hunt. A girl came to see me."

"Oh, how nice
for you."

"She alleges
that she came here and you were not only extremely rude and vile,
but you squeezed her breasts."

"Really? Good
God, I've never squeezed a girl's breasts in my life."

"Never?"

"Well, not
much."

"I'll be in
touch, Mr Hunt."

Unable to
believe his luck as Dickwipe left, Mike skipped to the bar and
poured a well-earned round of drinks. That was Gill dealt with,
Belinda banged up, the environmental mental bastards fucked off out
of it... the fire inspector had nothing to inspect, the Inland
Revenue... fuck them! The only remaining problem was WPC bloody
Widegroin!