One last client

You know what? she thought. Fuck it, one more time. But no more after this.

She threw her phone onto the bed after replying yes and hitting send, disgusted with herself, then turned to look in the full-length mirror by her dresser, sighing. She’d promised Thomas that the last time really had been it, that she wouldn’t do it anymore. They didn’t need to any more money, she didn’t need to put herself at risk…

But this was too incredible an opportunity to turn down.

The man was one of those obnoxiously wealthy politician types, fingers in loads of different pies, and apparently some unpleasant vices. He’d made his fortune—from what she could gather from her research, at least—in oil, property, and telecoms, then branched out into more shady practices; weapons dealing to proscribed terror organisations, specialist dark web sites trading in narcotics and other less salubrious goods, and there were hints of things even worse.

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The Art of Ghosting

Miles winced when he rolled over and saw the sleeping woman beside him. It wasn’t that she was unattractive. On the contrary, even in the harsh morning light, her skin was beautifully clear.

            Even so, as he fumbled around for his clothes, he shuddered at the memory of last night. He’d known the moment she started talking that she didn’t have that X factor. He was sick of the dating game, the nameless parade of girls who all looked the same and sounded the same and talked about the same inane things. All those wasted evenings, only the prospect of a one-night stand spurring him on.

            He crept out of the room, catching a glimpse of himself in her hallway mirror as he slid his shoes on. He looked deathly pale. This lifestyle wasn’t doing him any good. He closed the front door with a quiet click.

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The Blag

Brandon never wanted to be there, but Josh assured him the old man was loaded. The moment the lock clicked open, his eyes narrowed and he whispered, “This is a mistake.”

Josh shushed him with a grin. “Bloody virgin.”

He had experience, but it was served with a level of incompetence that made barristers choke. The large thumb marked “Time served at HM Pleasure” on the scales of his chaotic life bore solid testimony to that.

“Piece of cake. Easy compared to a real blag,” he concluded.

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Love Amongst Monsters

Mr Sailsbury was a man burdened by very little. Marriage arranged by parents, children raised by governesses, and his job was more or less inherited with his boss making no demands.

His wife likewise asked for very little, sighing as she heard of another late evening at the office with her typical reply of: “That’s alright dear” which was as passionate as their marriage got.

Mr Sailsbury, however felt that a man such as himself should have a mistress. A wife you did your duty towards; a mistress was for fun.

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When the phone rang

Colin ‘Corky’ Yates lived alone; alone enough for a ten-year-old boy. Since his mother’s death two years earlier, dinner was prepared by the housekeeper, and he spent his evenings doing homework, listening to the radio, and waiting for his father.

Corky didn’t mind. He just missed his mum.

One evening, while doing his homework with the radio on, he paused as the announcer signed off, “If you have a problem, get in touch with Doctor Parkham, on …”

He jotted the number down.

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