Assumptions. We all make them, especially about people we don’t know. We look at someone and assume we know what type of person they are. If a woman is fat we assume she eats a lot. If a man wears glasses we assume he’s intelligent. If a girl wears loads of make-up she’s a slapper. Get the picture? We can’t help ourselves. It’s a lazy way of figuring out what someone is like without having to actually get to know them. I mean here I am; a skin head wearing a leather jacket. Most people would assume that I’m a bit of a brainless thug, but if they took the time to get to know me they would realise how wrong they were. Anyway this story isn’t so much about me as it is about a girl I met at the train station. She was a reasonably good looking girl who looked like she was in her late teens. I say reasonably good looking because there was nothing particularly ugly about her. She had long black hair and green eyes. Everything was in proportion and she seemed to have a fairly nice face, but she wore far too much make-up and had the hardened expression of someone who had grown up fast. I thought at first that she might be interested in me because she kept looking in my direction. Granted she wasn’t really my type, but there was something attractive about her which I couldn’t put my finger on. When I caught her gaze, she smiled awkwardly and looked away. After that nothing happened for the whole time we were at the station. She did not approach me and I did not go over to her. When the train came, it seemed like that would be the end of our encounter, but no sooner had I got on, when she took a seat directly opposite me. For the first few minutes of the journey nothing was said, but then just as I had picked up the newspaper from the seat next to me, she spoke.
“Excuse me. I’m sorry to bother you, but how old are you?”
“Good. Look this is going to sound really weird since I’ve only just met you, but if you’re not doing anything today, I was wondering if you could help me out with something?”
“Depends what it is.”
“I want to visit my boyfriend in prison, but they won’t let me in because I’m only 16. Apparently I can only go if someone over 18 goes with me, and since my parents don’t approve of me going there and I don’t know anyone else who can take me…”
“You thought you’d ask the first random person you met on the train there,” I said.
To this she laughed.
“When you put it like that it does sound a bit crazy,” she said.
“A little bit. Look I’d love to help you out but I’m meeting someone in Basingstoke so...”
“Please. If you took me I’d be ever so grateful. All you have to do is sign me in and then when I’m done I’ll take you out and get you shit faced. Or I could just give you the money. Your choice.”
“How much money would it be?”
“Give me a chance to think about it.”
It was the money that would make most people think twice about doing something like this. I mean fifty quid for doing practically nothing is very appealing to anyone. I however had other reasons.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll do it, but I think I’m going to take the money.”
“Oh thank you so much,” she said. “My name’s Chelsea by the way.”
So that’s how I met Chelsea Brock; a girl who would be found dead in less than 24 hours.
As the train came to a halt we got off and left the station. From there the prison was only ten minutes away so we decided to walk. On the way Chelsea pulled out a pack of Marlboro lights and offered me one. I told her ‘no thank you’, so she just took one for herself and lit up. It didn’t surprise me that she was a smoker. I’d smelt it on her clothes when we were sat on the train, and she looked the type who did a lot of things that weren’t particularly good for her. Normally a thing like that would put a guy off a girl, but not me. You see for as long as I can remember I have had a secret obsession with the bad girl persona. It’s not the individual girls I’m particularly interested in, but the danger that surrounds them. It excites me. That’s probably what I had been attracted to in the first place when I first saw Chelsea.
When I realised we had been walking for over ten minutes and the prison was nowhere in sight, I began to wonder whereabouts we were heading.
“We are going to the prison, right?” I asked.
“Sorry I forgot to say. I have to go and pick something up from one of my friends. He only lives a block down from here.”
“What are you picking up exactly?”
“Oh it’s just something for my boyfriend.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is he in for?”
“Murder,” she replied.
“No,” she laughed. “Assault and Battery. He threw a guy out of a window.”
“Because he thought we had slept together.”
“Who was the guy?”
“Fergus Hutchins, as in the big supplier?”
“He’s not so big anymore.”
“So was it true?”
“Was what true?”
“Had you slept with him?”
“So your boyfriend attacked him without even finding out first? Sounds like a great guy,” I said sarcastically.
“Oh he’s just got a bit of a temper. He’s really lovely the rest of the time.”
“Has he ever hit you?”
“Oh only once,” I said with another hint of sarcasm. “I’m relieved to hear that.”
“Look I admit that things aren’t perfect, but he does try, which is more than I can say for a lot of guys, and he does love me. He just has a different way of showing it.”
I chose not to say anything else because I gathered that it was a sore subject. Soon we came to a dilapidated house and she stopped to knock on the door. It opened to reveal a skinny man with an unkempt beard and blood shot eyes. I knew what sort of person he was before I even saw the needle marks on his arms. He was a smack head and if I wasn’t mistaken, this was a smack den, which meant Chelsea had come here for only one thing.
“Wait here,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
For some reason, most likely because he was completely out of it, the guy left the door wide open, so I was able to see the whole transaction between Chelsea and her dealer. She gave him a few folded notes and he gave her a small packet that she immediately put in her pocket. Anyone else in my position would have done a runner there and then, but I chose to wait until she came out.
“Sorry about that,” she said.
“Okay that’s it! I can’t do this!”
“Because you never said anything about sneaking drugs into a prison.”
“This,” I said as I pulled the packet from her pocket and held it in front of her. “Now are you honestly going to tell me that this wasn’t for your boyfriend?”
“Oh chill out Dave, it’s only a bit of speed, it’s not as if it’s heroine.”
“It’s still smuggling drugs,” I said as I placed it in my pocket, “and I don’t want any part in it.”
“Look I’m the one sneaking it in. If I get caught it’s only going to be me who gets into trouble. If it’s that much of an issue with you I’ll give you another fifty.”
“You have that on you?”
“No, but I can get it from a cash point. I’m not saying it won’t pretty much clean me out, but if that’s what it takes to get you to come.”
“A hundred quid?”
“Yes, that’s what I said didn’t I. Now can you give me my stuff back?”
“And there’s nothing else that you’re not telling me?”
“Okay then,” I said as I pulled the packet out of my pocket and handed it over to her, “but I want that money as soon as we’re out of there.”
It wasn’t long before we reached the prison, and after signing us both in and going through several security checkpoints, I found myself outside the visitor’s room waiting for Chelsea to finish her visit with her boyfriend. It was thirty minutes later that she returned looking quite upset, and told me we could leave.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as we left.
“We had a bit of an argument,” she said.
“Oh this and that. Pretty much everything you had been saying earlier. You’re right; I don’t know why I stay with him sometimes.”
“Did you slip him the stuff okay?”
“Yes, fine. I told you there wouldn’t be a problem. Listen if it’s okay, I wouldn’t mind stopping at the next pub along the way.”
“I told you that I wasn’t interested in getting pissed.”
“No, it’s for me. I suddenly feel the need to get completely rat assed.”
“Well you can do that once we’ve parted ways.”
“Oh chill out. There will probably be a cash point inside. Besides I need you to hang around, because they won’t serve me otherwise. I only want to have a few.”
So once again the manipulative Chelsea Brock had me doing something which had not been part of our deal. I didn’t care that much though, because one of the first things she did when we got into the pub was get my money out of the cash point; all one hundred pounds of it. Then as promised I went and bought her a few drinks, and sat with her while she drowned her sorrows. The drunker she got, she really started to show her age, transforming from a hard faced vixen into a giggly little girl. Very soon she found herself needing the toilet and wandered off to use the local facilities. She did not notice that I had followed her in and locked the door behind me. The moment she saw me, she wasn’t sure what to think, but made an assumption of her own and practically leapt onto me, snogging my face off. I reciprocated and pushed her over to the wall, enjoying the taste of her saliva and the warmth of her breath. Then just before she thought we may go further, I jabbed a syringe into her throat and pushed down on the plunger. The effect was instantaneous. As she fell back gasping for breath, I leant down to her and whispered into her ear.
“Fergus Hutchins sends his regards.”
Then I wiped the syringe of fingerprints and placed it in her cold, dead hand. When the police find her, it will appear that she was a smack head who had been given some dodgy gear, like her boyfriend; who will no doubt have sampled the small bag of poison I had exchanged for his intended fix. A double hit carried out on behalf of a powerful drug dealer who felt a little sore about being led on by a teenage harlot, and then being thrown out of a window by her jealous boyfriend. It just goes to show, you can never make assumptions about anyone, not even a random person at the train station.