April's Fool

"Now," he continues, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "Tell me ... are the two of youz..." he points the knife at each in turn. "Are the two of youz doin' the dirty? Did I hear it right? Did you ask if I wuz her old man?"

"I ... We ... Uh..." Adam babbles.

"That's none of your business," April interjects, indignation superseding her fear.

The man nods, grimacing, apparently chastened. He pauses for a few rapid beats. "Well, yeah, I suppose you're right, eh? But I was just wonderin' ... If you're givin' it to him," the knifepoint moves to Adam like a compass needle. "Mebbe's you wouldnae mind givin' me a go, too?"

April's throat works. "Oh," she mewls. "Please don't rape me."

"Rape?" His tone is astonished. "Me? Who said anythin' about rape, luv?" His head shakes side-to-side. "Ah'm naw a fuckin' rapist, pet." He grins and shrugs, blue eyes gleaming inside the cut-out holes of the balaclava. "Naw, I was just thinkin' you might be a bit free between the legs. Ah'm lookin' at you and I like what I see. You're a bonnie lookin' woman." He squeezes his groin with his free hand, an action that brings a wince and a whimper from April'. "You never know," he adds, smirking. "You might enjoy it, hen. I hear some women get off on danger -- an' ah'm a right dangerous bastard. Waddya say? How about me an' you show this ponce what it's about?"

He watches them both, guffawing when he sees their faces. "Jesus, look at you two!" Still shaking his head, amused, he clicks his tongue and winks at April. "You sure you don't want a little ride with me, hen?"

Then he stands and places the knife on the seat.

April quivers when he approaches, the man pulling off his gloves.

"Adam," she whines, focussing on the crude swallow tattoos on the webs of the man's hands between forefinger and thumbs. "Adam, help me," moans April.

"What can I do, April?" Adam gasps. "Just what is it you expect me to do? I'm tied up here, you know."

LOVE and HATE confront her, crude prison ink on the man's knuckles as he looms over April, fingers reaching for her breasts.

"Please," she gasps, chest hitching as the sobs overwhelm her. "Oh God..."

"Only messin'," the intruder smirks, levering upright. He sneers at April and then throws her a contemptuous look. "I don't think I'd wanna touch a slut like you, missis. You're a good lookin' woman an' all that, but you strike me as bit of a cunt all the same.

"Naw," he continues, shaking his head. "I wouldnae risk puttin' me cock into an' old slag like you."

From somewhere Adam finds some backbone. "Don't talk to her like that," he gasps.

The man's head whips round.

Abruptly dangerous again he rasps, "Why not? What're you gonna do to shut me up?"

He moves away to the chair and grabs the knife. Seconds later, serpent-quick, he's at Adam's side of the bed.

"Shit! No!" Adam yelps. "Please...

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything." He writhes about, blubbing while squirting little bursts of piss over himself. "Please," he sobs, on his back, genitalia a shrivelled giblet.

"Hold still, ya great jessie. I'm naw gonna cut ya." The man cuffs Adam's head. "Stop your fuckin' carry-on. All ahm doin' is cuttin' the rope."

Adam snuffles. His chest hitches while he stares up at his assailant. "Wuh-why?" he moans, blinking, snot bubbles frothing at his nostrils. Fear at this new twist curdles in his watery guts.

The knife does its work and Adam is surprised to find his bindings cut.

Without a word, the man moves away and places the knife on the chair.

"Okay, gobshite," he purrs, turning to face the bed. "You're free." He beckons to Adam, a come-on flick of his fingers. "Get up, wanker. Get off the bed and make me shut up about that slag cunt next to you. You want a go at me, eh?" The man gestures to himself, pointing at his own chest with a forefinger. "Now's your chance."

His contemptuous smirk fixes on April for a second or two before he continues with a sneer. "Show the ... lady. Be her shinin'-fuckin'-knight."

Expression feral, April hisses at her lover. "Do it, Adam ... Go on. He's half your size. Go on, Adam," she urges, straining at the ropes around her wrists. "Be a bloody man!"

"But I'm naked," Adam squeaks. "I ... I can't."

The man scoffs and taunts April with, "He's no fuckin' hero, eh, hen? You sure you don't wanna come away with me? I'll show you what a real man is made of."

"Fuck off," April snaps.

The gloves go back on quickly. The man is at the bedside before April can gasp. She yelps when he hauls her up by the hair, his arm going back, fist raised, leather gloves creaking with the strain.

"How about now?" he hisses at Adam. "What about if I punch this gobby cunt's teeth down her fuckin' neck, Adam?"

Adam trembles, immobile. He's on his side, mouth working while he gapes up at the terrible threat at the opposite side of the bed.

April sobs and closes her eyes, braced for a blow which never lands. Instead, she gasps when the gloved fingers caress her cheek.

She blurts a sob when the burning in her scalp eases.

"Credit cards," the man says.

The random comment confuses Adam while April blubbers and groans and adds to the chaos inside his head.

With Adam reeling, the intruder confronts April. "Oh, hen, give us a smile," he quips, pulling off one glove before fishing a mobile phone from a pocket. "Just a little souvenir," he grins from the foot of the bed. He winks and takes several pictures, then slips the phone back from whence it came. "Mebbe I'll have a little wank and think about fuckin' my cock between your big tits, April," he smirks before blurting a nasty laugh and adding, "I can just see you with a pearl necklace."

Then, all business again he points at Adam and says, "Get up, knob-cheese. I want all the cash you have." He eyes Adam and adds a menacing, "I wanna see the safe, too. And don't gimme any shite about there not being a safe." He glances around the bedroom, his focus going to a framed print on one wall. "A place this size ... There has to be a safe. Rich arses like you always have loot stashed away."

"Cuh-can I put some trousers on?" Adam warbles.

The man shrugs. "Yeah," he says. "And a shirt. You'll need 'em anyway 'cause you an' me are going for a wee drive."

His face slack, eyes round, Adam gasps, "What? Wuh-where?"

"To a cash machine. You'll cancel the cards as soon as I'm gone, eh? So you an' me are gonna take a drive. You can get me some cash outta the cash machine and I'll be away." He looks around again, quickly scanning the room. "Now," he says, pointing the blade at Adam, who's still on the bed. "Off your arse, put some clothes on and then make me a happy man."

"What about me?" April whines.

"You can lie there and dream about me, hen." The man pauses and then grins. "Or mebbe you'd like to come along? We could dump this toss-pot here an' have a good time." He eyes April with a lascivious leer. "I didn't mean it before. I was lyin' when I said I wouldn't poke me cock into you. You're fuckin' lovely. I wouldn't mind a bit."

"Go with you?" hisses April, the fight back in her. "I can't think of anything that disgusts me more."

Apparently unconcerned, the man pouts and says, "You don't like me, do you?" He sighs and feigns emotional anguish, clutching a hand over his heart. "I'm crushed, hen; really hurt. I thought we could have a bit of a time of it. You know -- drinkin', dancin' ... Shaggin'.

"I just don't get it," he continues, shaking his head, focus going from April to Adam and back again. "Unless it's his money? Is that it, April? You turn me down -- and I'm guaranteeing you the best shag of your life." The man leers at April, winking again as he clicks his tongue. "But you're spreading your legs for him? For this fuckin' posh fuckin' wanker?" The knife point goes to Adam again, jabbing to punctuate the end of the sentence.

"Are you not getting dressed?" the man says to Adam.

"What will you do when you've got what you want?" Adam asks.

The balaclava cants to one side. "Have a piss-up ... Mebbe get meself a woman ... Or two."

"I meant," Adam gulps. "I meant, what will you do with me? With us?"

"Fuck-all. You get me a few grand and I'll be off."

A sigh comes out of Adam. He blinks at the man, throat working. "Honest?" he croaks.

"Scout's honour."

A shrill cry from April. "What?" she yips, squirming to look at her lover. "You believe him? Are you mad, Adam?" The woman nudges her chin towards the masked man. "He's a thief and a bully," she splutters, indignant, rising ire making her reckless regardless of the knife. "He sneaks into people's homes and terrifies them. He's nothing but nasty, horrible parasite. You can't believe him, Adam. Don't give him anything. Call his bluff. He hasn't got the balls to hurt us. Not really."

Surprisingly, the man nods. "A fair assessment," he says. "I'll go along with the thief bit. I'm not too happy with the bully part, though," he adds, tone thoughtful. "Oh aye, I ken me popping up wielding this fuck-off knife scares the shite outta people. But that's kinda necessary. Otherwise it'd be mayhem. I gotta have some leverage or else nobody's gonna take me seriously."

April, however, isn't having any of it. "You're a gutless, sneaky, thieving bastard," she spits.

Adam is horrified. "April, just shut up, will you. He's said he'll let us go unharmed. Shut up, please."

But April is flying. Her contempt knows no limits. "You!" she shrieks. "I'm laid in piss because you're a bloody coward. Look at you," she scoffs. "Too bloody scared to move. You're free, if you wanted to...

"If you had any bollocks at all you'd be up and fighting him. You had your chance, too. He put the knife down and gave you the opportunity.

"But what do you do, Adam?" April cries, eyes rolling. "You lie there and whinge on about being naked. About how you can't stand up and fight.

"What is it?" she says, the rant rolling on. "I've got a useless drip for a husband and a sad, soft-dicked tosser for a lover. What did I ever do wrong to deserve this?"

"Jesus, mate," says the intruder to Adam when April finally stops. "She must be a great shag. I dunno how you can put up with such a whinging cunt." He blurts a laugh, mouth twisted into a mocking smirk, his tone matching as he adds, "And you're not even married to her? You picked a right one there, didn't you? Mebbe you should keep the gag and use it next time you're poking her."

Without realising it, Adam blurts, "There wasn't going to be a next time. I was going to end it."

The silence stretches. Time is elastic while the man waits for a response from April, the woman herself gaping at Adam, her jaw hanging in surprise.

It goes on. April's mouth works but nothing comes out.

Then she explodes.

Four

April's fool is sitting in the bar of a hotel near London's Gatwick Airport. He has a pint of some kind of fancy-name lager in front of him. He picks the glass up and sips, smiling when he sees a man enter. He lifts a hand in acknowledgment. The man sees him and smiles in return, waving as he makes his way to Simon's table.

"Good evening, Simon," the man says, his diction English Home Counties. "Can I get you another?"

Simon shakes his head and indicates the chair opposite. "I'll get you one," he says. "Sit down, Paul."

"Very kind," says Paul as he pulls the chair away from the table. "But I suppose you can afford it now, eh?"

Simon grins and nods. "Yeah," he drawls. "So, what's your poison these days, Paul?"

Paul's lower lip curls out. He nudges his chin at Simon's beer. "What's that like?"

Shrugging, Simon replies: "Fizzy yellow piss."

They both laugh.

Paul grins. "In that case ... Gin and tonic. Bombay sapphire," he adds when Simon rises.

A few minutes later Paul sips and closes his eyes, leaning back in his chair.

His eyes snap open. "So," he says, "you're off?"

Simon nods. "Yep."

Paul takes another sip, eying his friend. "Sorry about the missis."

Simon shrugs. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Does she know about the money yet?"

Simon shrugs. "I sent a letter. She's probably got it by now."

Wincing and pouting, eyes closed as though warding off a physical blow, Paul says, "I'd love to see her face when she reads it."

Simon chuckles. "I'd not get too close. Not unless she was in a cage." He looks at the man opposite, expression suddenly altered. Simon pouts and says, "She had her chance, Paul."

"She did, yes. But I don't know why you'd just walk away and give her the house. I'd leave her without a bean. I don't know how you stuck her for so long," Paul sighs, looking at his friend. "I can't imagine me being so bloody patient." Paul shakes his head. "All those other men--"

Simon's throat works. He grimaces, face warming while holding up a hand. "Yeah, okay. I know." He examines the silver plate fixed to the table-top, his fingers tracing the number 11 embossed into its face. "You think you're clear of it?" he asks.

"What, with those two?"

Simon nods.

Paul shrugs and grins. "Well," he says, "first off they'll be looking for a mad jock with blue eyes. I wore the contacts, Simon." He bats his eyelids in an exaggerated Hollywood starlet fashion, eyes going wide to show Simon green irises. "Ya ken, Simon? A loud-mouthed cunt with tattoos on his hands!" Paul adds, raising his voice and winking. He holds up fists devoid of ink, the LOVE and HATE washed off.

"It was classic, Simon," Paul grins, rueful as he shakes his head. "I wish I'd filmed the lot. He pissed himself. And when he let it out he was going to dump April anyway..."

Simon holds up a hand. "Spare me the details, mate. I don't want to know."

"I got some pictures of April," Paul reveals, expression feral. "You know," he adds, smirking. "I might have a crack at her ... If you don't mind, of course."

Simon snorts a laugh. "You don't change, do you?"

"Cracking set on her, Simon," the man grins. "A few hours tumbling about in bed with your wife ... soon to be ex wife," he amends. "I wouldnae mind a long ride on her," Paul continues, slipping into role.

Simon's shoulder lifts. "Be my guest. But be careful, Paul."

"Where you going?" Paul asks, changing the subject. "Somewhere she can't chase you for the money? Three million quid, mate? She's bound to come after you."

"Belize to start," Simon informs his friend. "Then, after that, I'm going to drift."

Paul nods, a moue of approval pursing his lips. "Belize, eh?" he says, eyes glazing as he slips back a decade. "Some mental piss-ups there, eh?"

"Different life back then, mate," says Simon.

"Good life," Paul agrees. "Great lads."

"Special Forces treating you all right, Paul?"

Paul nods. "Can't complain. You never should have left Royal because of her you know."

Simon sucks in a breath and takes a deep swallow of his beer. "Yeah, yeah, my mother said the same."

"How is your mum?"

Simon grins. "Fit as a fiddle, mate. Thanks. Look," he adds, "can't I give you some money for doing it?"

Paul grimaces. "No need, old chap. I got quite a substantial sum off your wife's friend." He grins. "Nowhere near a lottery win -- well, not in your league, but--" He grins and gulps his drink. "I'd better get off," he says, rising to his feet. "Send me a postcard from wherever."

Simon watches his friend walk away, mixed emotions turbulent inside him.

Near the door, Paul halts and turns. "I'll give your wife a kiss when I see her," he smirks.