Page 55 of Fifty-Fifty

She got off the bike, opened the storage compartment beneath the seat. It had been difficult to choose what to store in the seat compartment. It was larger and deeper than most seat compartments, which on average could hold about half a

gallon of storage space. This bike had two gallons of space.

She reached inside, lifted clear the brown paper bag and closed the seat lid.

She stood facing the pharmacy. Helmet visor down. Bag in hand.

Once she got within a few feet of the store, the sliding doors opened. Penny, ten feet away at the counter, glanced up from her phone, then went back to the

screen.

The store played a selection of nineties hits through its PA system. As the doors closed behind her she heard the opening bars of a Britney Spears song, ‘Oops … I Did It Again’.

She went quickly to the door control panel, on the wall next to an umbrella stand, and hit the button marked with an icon of a padlock. Neither Penny nor Afzal had seen her do this, the display of umbrellas masking the move. The sliding doors closed behind her, and would not open unless Penny hit the unlock button. She walked past Penny, her eyes on the diet drinks and bars on the shelves, until she got to the end of the aisle, and then walked straight up to Afzal. He took the last bite from the Twinkie, rubbed his hands together to get rid of the sticky residue and placed both hands on the counter.

‘Can I help you, ma’am?’ he asked, still perched on his stool behind the counter. One eye on the customer, but also reluctant to stop watching what was

on his computer screen. She figured he was watching a show, whiling away the

late night hours.

The counter was below her waist, so Afzal, in a seated position, was the width of the counter away, but below her full height.

Perfect.

Her right hand dove into the bag and came out fast as she raised it overhead and brought the small hand-axe down with all the force and speed she could muster. There was a sound when the axe blade lodged an inch deep into the top

of Afzal’s skull. It was an unusual sound, like an opening being broken into a hollow trunk. A jet of blood splashed across the left side of her visor. She didn’t want to wipe it away, it could smear the glass and then she wouldn’t be able to see anything.

The axe came away easily, and one more blow into the skull broke it open.

This was a wet cracking noise, and she quickly turned and ran toward Penny.

Penny had heard the noise and moved around the counter. Penny called out, ‘Afzal, you okay?’ but then Penny saw her, with the hand axe, dripping blood.

Penny turned and ran full speed toward the doors. Penny screamed, but the sound died when the doors failed to open and her head smacked off the glass, sending a ribbon of cracks across its surface. Penny staggered, fell onto her back, dazed, her hand reaching up to her forehead.

She stood over Penny, who rolled onto her hands and knees and tried to get up.

She took the axe two-handed and swung it up high as she joined in the end of the chorus with Britney.

‘… I’m not that innocent.’

The blade whistled as it cut through the air and cleaved into the back of Penny’s neck. Penny’s body instantly went limp, folding flat on the floor. The axe hadn’t lodged, it had come free with the blow, but it had left a huge gash in the flesh through which she could see white bone. She struck again, this time at the side of the neck.

The axe bit deep, and stayed buried. She had to resist the urge to wrench it free and take it with her. The smell of the oiled blade, the feel of the hickory axe handle. Even as an adult, she felt the need to touch and smell certain objects.

She stepped over Penny’s twitching corpse, hit the release button on the door control and walked through the doors as they swished open. She got on the bike, hit the ignition and pulled away fast from the strip mall, headed for the turnpike.

With only light traffic on the interstate, she opened the pipes on the bike, let it roar underneath her for ten miles. She turned off, and meandered her way back

to Manhattan.

Back to the parking lot.

She wiped the helmet clean with the suit. Put the suit, boots, gloves in her backpack and changed back into her ballcap and running shoes. The backpack would find its way into the river as she ran along the outskirts of the island, toward her apartment, and a long shower.

A good night’s work. If the prosecution managed to work out that Frank was being poisoned they might be able to trace it to this pharmacy, and Afzal Jatt.