Blood Whispers Read Free

stockings?’
    ‘What’s the difference?’ asked Fat Guy, trying to keep his voice low and in the mood.
    ‘You nice and quiet, I’m nice and gentle . . . take my time. You are making lots of noise, I’m to get rough: could be all over before you know what’s happened.’ Kaltrina gave a slight shrug of her shoulders, ‘Up to you.’
    ‘Why don’t you come and sit yourself right here and we can discuss it?’
    She raised her eyes to the ceiling, playing it cute like she was thinking about it, then said, ‘Okay, move your ass forward on the chair and spread your legs, cowboy.’
    She sat on the edge of the bed and slipped her shoes back on then stood up. Fat Guy edged forward and opened his legs so that his balls were hanging over the front edge of the chair.
    Taking a small step back, Kaltrina swung her right leg up as hard as she could, catching him between the legs with the full force of the blow. He let out an agonized yelp and tried to stand up, but in the same movement Kaltrina swept the champagne bottle off the table next to him and slammed it hard into the side of his face.
    The force of the blow knocked him sideways on to the floor. The end of the bed broke his fall as he glanced off it, screaming, ‘Fucking whore.’
    He was writhing around, his ankles still tethered to the chair, desperately trying to free his hands from behind his back.
    ‘Keep it down, you noisy son-of-a-bitch,’ said Kaltrina, raising the bottle high in the air and slamming it down on the back of his head again, ‘Next time you see Abazi,’ and again, ‘tell him I quit,’ and again. Each sickening thud punctuated by a loud agonized grunt until eventually Fat Guy stopped moving and the room fell silent again.
    He was lying face down on the floor with blood seeping from a mess of hair and gore on the back of his skull.
    Kaltrina was breathing heavily and her hands were shaking.
    Fat Guy’s trousers were gathered in a twisted bundle round his ankles. Kaltrina picked her way through the folds and pulled his wallet from one of the pockets. His credit cards were of no use to her. Moving quickly, she removed all the cash – almost two hundred pounds – then tossed the wallet across the room.
    She grabbed his coat from the wardrobe and pulled it over her shoulders, then, stepping gingerly over his body, she headed over to the telephone sitting on the bedside table.
    It took a few moments for someone to pick up. She didn’t want the guy to die.
    Fat Guy started to groan.
    Finally, a voice at the other end said, ‘Reception.’
    ‘Please can you send someone. My husband he is taking very ill. Please, you send someone straight away.’
    Kaltrina replaced the receiver and made her way back over to the door.
    ‘Hey Fat Guy,’ she said over her shoulder as she left the room, ‘you really fucked now.’

Three
    Valbona Dervishi grabbed the overhead handle to steady herself as the Durrës bound bus pitched her forward and juddered to a halt on the outskirts of Dushk. The automatic doors hissed open and Valbona turned and nodded her appreciation to the driver before stepping off.
    She had a part-time job as a cleaner at the Bar Piazza in the centre of Fier, a small town thirty-five kilometres south of Dushk in western Albania. She made the same round trip every day of the week except Sunday. It took her almost as long to travel to and from Fier as it did to do the work itself, but it was regular money at a time when there were few jobs around. The first scheduled bus was at six in the morning and she was usually on her way back by about ten. Today, however, was market day, so Valbona had spent a few hours browsing the colourful but sparse stalls, and caught a later bus: returning home with the week’s ration of fresh fruit and vegetables, which she carried in two bulging carrier bags looped awkwardly over her left arm.
    The sun was high in the warm cloudless sky and insects buzzed in haphazard flight patterns around the scattering of