Bang: Memoirs of a Relationship Assassin (25 page)

I stopped at the entrance to the gym hall and caught my breath, feeling even more like a teenager.

Ogling the girls.

At the far end of the gym were nine or ten of the sexiest young women you’ve ever seen. Some blonde, some brunette, a couple of black girls, one Asian. But all slim, well dressed and knock-your-eyes-out gorgeous.

Now it isn’t like me to be impressed by a pretty girl, not in my line of work. I’ve learned to appreciate what every woman has to offer, which is kind of necessary when there’s money to be made seducing them. But at that moment, I must confess, I felt like any ordinary bloke off the street, gobsmacked by the talent.

Seeing so many lovely girls in that rank old gym was a bizarre sight. They really needed a catwalk beneath them. Instead, they stood facing a woman wearing a bright red gymslip that hugged the contours of her figure. Blonde hair tied back into a short ponytail, clean white sneakers. Bright, colourful, giving off her own light.

Emma.

Damn it, I thought, annoyed with myself. This bitch was screwing up my life, I needed to hate her guts! Not stand there staring at her with my mouth going dry.

None of them noticed me, all focused intently on Emma, who stood apart from them on a blue padded mat. Her voice rang off the walls.

“…So if you’re worried that you might have missed out because you’re new, don’t be. Every lesson gets repeated anyway, ‘cos that’s the only way you learn, by doing it over and over. The more you do something, the easier and quicker it becomes. Practise practise practise, till your body gets so accustomed to fighting that you never have to think about it, it just becomes automatic, and you’ll find yourself breaking bones without even noticing.”

Yes, it’s ladies’ night (oh what a night!) at the fight club.

I had emailed Barry earlier, asking how to get in touch with Emma. No reply. Nor to my phone calls. It was like he’d cut me off. That worried me, but it was more important to speak to Emma. So I phoned up the VenusVisions agency she used to work for and pretended to be her uncle, thickening my voice to add twenty years. Uncle Barry, I called myself, imagining I was a fat untrustworthy money-grabbing back-stabbing old bastard.

They were reluctant to give out her details, but did tell me that on Wednesday nights she taught self-defence classes in Lambeth uni, and I could meet up with her there.

“Right!” she clapped her hands. “A few quick warm-up exercises, then I’m gonna show you all how to kick the shit out of someone.”

My sweet little niece, I thought, all grown up.

I stood and watched them being led in a series of stretches and bends. Only Emma was kitted out for the gym, the rest of them were in ordinary clothes. Ordinary as in stunning. Tight jeans and tops, short skirts and fuck-me shoes. I’d expected them to be in those white baggy judo outfits, but I suppose it made sense to teach girls to look after themselves in everyday situations, wearing normal clothes. Not much point knowing the moves if you can’t do them in your heels.

I’m calling them girls, but really they were grown women, aged from early twenties to late thirties. A few looked like they’d been round the block a bit, maybe those blocks on the wrong side of the tracks, while others looked fresh-faced enough to pass as students at the university. So much more than just pretty girls – these were professional seductresses. They took on missions, like I did. VenusVisions sent them out to chat up boyfriends and husbands, tempt them into cheating on their other halves. So of course they were stunning. They were forbidden fruit.

And maybe more, I realised… these were the girls Barry wanted to hire, if Emma turned out to be as good as he hoped. Christ, imagine this lot working for Barry! Doing what I do. Doing what Emma now did. An army of them, all on salary with a pension plan.

I went cold. I was standing in assassin academy.

“Okay,” said Emma. “I used to start off talking about the psychological aspect of self-defence and gaining confidence and all that, but I always find it’s better to go straight into hurting people and cover all that crap at the end.” Peal of laughter, hanging on her every word. “So for the benefit of the newbies, and to check the rest of you have been listening… if you get in trouble, what do you do?”

“Strike first and strike hard!” chorused half a dozen of them.

“Because,” Emma nodded, “you might not get a second chance. So don’t hold back, as soon as you can, you hit the bastard at full strength and then get out of there quick-sharp. So, if you have to strike, where do you strike? Weak spots?”

“Eyes!”

“Throat!”

“Feet!”

“Groin!”

“Bonus points for the groin,” Emma added, triggering a cheer.

Valley of the man-hating killer dolls. I slipped back into the shadows a bit.

I listened as Emma talked about the situations that women might find themselves in. Everything from some bloke’s paw on your knee to attempted rape. It was pretty sobering, to be honest, and I found myself really paying attention. I’d been in a few dodgy situations over the years, but it’s not like I had much to worry about from my targets. Few nasty words, some insults maybe, a slap in the face if I wasn’t quick enough. Mrs Harrison’s parting shot, yelled down the street from her bedroom window, was
“Stumpy-dick!”
(And you shouldn’t believe everything you hear, okay?)

But these VenusVisions girls were playing with fire. Their jobs meant they had to come on to a man and then, whether he took the bait or not, back away before anything actually happened. All they had to prove was his
intent
to cheat, they never had to do anything. But the bloke didn’t know that. He thought he was in. And some men don’t like being led on.

“So the most common thing first then, removing a guy’s hand in a way that makes it clear he doesn’t wanna be touching you again…”

She organised them into twos and taught them how to get out of wrist grabs. Then how to disengage from a clothes grab. Some people would have paid good money to watch beautiful girls grapple with each other like this! But I was more fascinated than turned on. Emma made it look so easy, using a series of sharp movements, twists and turns. Amongst the jiu-jitsu and tai kwon do were some dirty tricks too, including bites and headbutts.

She stressed that you didn’t need to be especially strong, that she wasn’t teaching a fitness class. “Anyone can do these,” she said. “You don’t need to be Xena Warrior Princess to make a guy back off. You just need the know-how and some practice, and the balls to do it.”

She had that, all right. More balls than a football team.

“Okay, let’s try that again, but this time assuming there’s two of them. That your problem has brought his mate along for the fun. Claire, Tara, I know you’ve both been in this situation before, maybe some of the rest of you have too. Here’s what you do…”

I watched as Emma described methods of taking on two men at once. Best way was to blind one of them first. As she put it, “Make those fingernails work for you.” She even made the wet popping sound. Urgh.

“Shit, wish I’d known this stuff back then,” said Claire, a tall black beauty with dyed blonde dreads. One of the other girls rubbed her back sympathetically. I was scared to imagine what she’d been through.

I got a shiver of recognition when Emma demonstrated how to escape from an armlock. That’s what she did that to me! I watched closely as she showed how to twist out of the armlock, including a sweeping kick that knocked the attacker onto his back.

Fantastic. I agreed with Claire – wish I’d known this stuff back then! I peered in from the doorway, watching intently.

“Mister Rowley!” called Emma. “Good of you to join us!”

Oh bollocks.

I froze, the women turning and staring my way. Emma sprang up and strode towards me, smiling. Shark-smile.

I backed into the corridor. “Um, look, sorry, I just wanted to – ”

“Don’t just stand there, come in!” She grabbed my arm and hauled me into the gym. Again, I was startled how strong Emma was – I tried to pull away but it was like she had a bionic hand or something, biting into my forearm.

“Girls, this is Scott!” she said. “He’s going to be helping us with our workout today!”

Man, you should have heard them. They chuckled and hooted and cheered, one even letting out a wolf-whistle. Emma dragged me right in front of them. They didn’t seem too bothered about suddenly having a man in their women-only space. I felt ten pairs of eyes size me up.

Lion’s den.

“Look – ” I argued.

“Now it’s all well and good practising between us lot,” said Emma, “but thanks to Scott, I’ll be able to show you how effective some of these moves really are. Stand here, face me.”

“Er – ” I protested.

“So! We’ll assume you’ve got this complete dickhead coming on to you, and he’s not getting the message. You need to disable him quick. For that, the grab-and-shove manoeuvre I showed you last week will do the trick.”

Suddenly Emma gripped my balls. I bent over in agony, she slammed the heel of her other hand into my shoulder, lost my footing, face-down onto the blue mat, crash!

The laughter of seductresses rang round the hall.

“So you can see for yourselves,” she said, walking around me, “how those weak spots I keep talking about really are weak. Shall we try another?”

“Yeah!” sang the girls.

“Up you come.” Emma gripped me under one arm and hauled me to my feet. God, that had hurt! Everything went a bit liquid as tears came to my eyes.

“Emma, listen…”

“So let’s say the guy is trying to kiss you.” She kept me nearby, but talked to her audience. “He’s going for a kiss, whether you want one or not. All you’ve done is talk to him, but of course that makes you his bitch.”

I noticed how the girls glared at me. Suddenly I was the enemy. None of them had even met me before, but they all thought I was a bastard. Even more suddenly, Emma pulled my face right up close to hers – kissing close. Her dark eyes met mine. “So what do you do?”

“Neck twist!” demanded the petite Asian girl.

“Neck twist,” agreed Emma – snapping my whole head sharply to one side, then bending me over with her arm wrapped round my throat, carrying my head like a basketball. She had me almost paralysed. Again, a cheer. “And of course, from this position you can…?”

“Choke him unconscious!”

“Poke his eyes out!”

“Chuck him to the floor!”

“Let’s do that last one,” said Emma thoughtfully, sweeping my legs out from under me. Crash, blue mat, pain.

TILT.

I lay there for a second, breathing in stale rubber. Angry. Hurting. And, if I’m honest, kind of scared. I felt like Emma’s plaything, like the new boy at school being bullied by an older kid, totally helpless. She was making me out to be the worst kind of man, some kind of sex-hungry scumbag, so nobody here was going to help me.

I was so pissed off! But how could I get out of here without looking even more of a fool? I was trapped in assassin academy, these girls would –

I blinked. Yes, I thought, this is relationship assassin academy.

And
I am a relationship assassin!

Right.

I rolled onto my back, laughing. “Glad we went for door number three!” Then I sprang back up, ignoring the fact that my neck and balls were hurting like hell. I brushed myself down, straightened my shirt, and beamed at Emma.

“Okay!” I said brightly. “What’s next?”

She said nothing, surprised, but I heard Claire say “Glutton for punishment!”

I shrugged, smiling – my special, killer smile. “Well, if it’s gonna help you ladies look after yourselves, then it’s worth it, I think. So bring it on. Happy to help! Just don’t break my right hand, that’s all I ask. Might need it later.”

They laughed again – but with me, not at me.

I grinned at Emma, hands open as if to say
Come on then!

“Some men can seem quite charming,” she instructed her class, circling me slowly. “They deliberately break down your defences by making you laugh. They can come across like they’d never hurt a fly, like they’re one of the good guys. Those are the most dangerous bastards of all.”

I kept smiling. Who, me?

“All they want is for you to waste time listening to their bullshit while they close in on you. Best to get them out of your way pronto.” And Emma lunged forwards, grabbed my shirt, straightened one leg and judo-threw me over it. I went tumbling – and instinctively I rolled with it, right off the mat and into the group of girls, who scattered.

I shook my head, blinking up at the beauties looking down at me. “Died and went to heaven there,” I sighed. And a couple of them went
Ahhh
, like I was a limping puppy.

They bent down and lifted me to my feet. “Thanks. Hope you’re making notes, this is good stuff Emma’s teaching.”

All of them were smiling now. “You can take your licks, boy!” said one. “Does she throw you round like this in the bedroom?” asked another.

Emma’s voice cracked like a whip. “He’s
not
my boyfriend.”

I offered a rueful smile, as though I’d once given that a go. “She’s got high standards.” And again, a round of
Ahhh
s, with one of them even ruffling my hair.

It was working. A new mask. Part me, part John Holmes’s boy-next-door nature, maybe a dash of Simon Templar’s smoothness. But I wasn’t the enemy any more. I was Emma’s victim.

“One more then.” Emma snapped her fingers at me. I trotted obediently back onto the mat.

“Despite your best efforts, some men are simply too stupid to get the message,” she said. “You’ve put them down, showed you’re better than they are, but they just don’t know when they’re beat. And that can make them angry and dangerous.”

“Angry, right,” I nodded, and held my hands out like claws, panto-villain style. “Grrr!” Big laughs from my audience. Not her audience,
my
audience.

“So let’s say you get attacked from behind…” Emma span and backed herself into my reach. I wasn’t sure whether to grab her or not but she suddenly she threw her head back, slamming into my nose, jarring my whole skull. Then an elbow jab into my stomach. Wham, bolt of pain, and again I lost my footing and was on my hands and knees.