Sister Death (Acid Vanilla Series Book 4) by Matthew Hattersley (best short novels of all time txt) 📗

“I am a cleaner, so I work a few places. A school. Some houses. The convent on the hill.”

“Righto. I see.” Danny sighed. “She give you the evil eye, did she? The old God-botherer over there?”

“I must go,” Lola continued, shuffling off her seat. “My parents will be waiting for me.”

“Aye, go on,” Danny told her. “I’ll see you around, Lola. You take care now.” He turned his attention to the large barman standing at the far end of the counter with a gruff expression on his face. Danny nodded him over, raising his empty beer glass for a refill. “One more, please, mate.”

“No problem.”

He picked his packet of cigarettes up off the counter and stuffed them in the pocket of his off-yellow cheesecloth shirt. “I’m just away out back for a smoke,” he said, gesturing at the frothy beer being poured. “Put that on my bill, will ya?”

Muttering fecking nuns to himself, he swaggered through the taberna and out the back door, finding himself in a small courtyard big enough for only two plastic tables and a few chairs. Danny sat on one of the chairs and pulled out a wonky cigarette from the packet. Last one. He stuffed it between his lips and lit up, before leaning back in the flimsy chair and exhaling a large plume of smoke into the night air. It was past nine, but still hot out. A warm breeze felt good against his cheeks and forehead as he closed his eyes and took another long drag of the cigarette.

What to do?

He’d already risked so much. But having only one was of no use at all. Both of them or nothing – that was the deal. Meaning he might as well not have bothered. He shook his head, his libidinous mood dropping like a lead weight onto the dusty earth.

“Fucking hell,” he mouthed. “Ya stupid bastard, so y’are.”

He took another long drag on the Marlboro Light, sucking until the filter was hot and his throat burned. He held the smoke in his lungs a second before exhaling thoroughly and getting to his feet. With his nicotine craving satisfied, and feeling a little dizzy, he flicked the cigarette butt into a gnarled old olive tree at the back of the courtyard and turned to go back inside.

Only someone was blocking his way.

“All right there, Sister,” Danny chimed, seeing the old nun leaning against the doorframe. “You get lost looking for the bathroom? Umm… el baño?”

The old nun didn’t answer, but slowly she raised her head to face him. Now he saw she was younger than he’d realised. Much younger. Not bad looking either. For a nun.

Danny grinned. “I don’t suppose you fancy a drink?”

The nun still didn’t speak. But as he stared open-mouthed, she lifted her hands and peeled back her veil before removing the stiff white coif covering her head. This is a bit fecking weird, Danny told himself. He’d never turned a nun before, and in all honesty he hadn’t thought it’d be this easy.

She continued to stare at him in silence – which was becoming a tad disconcerting, it had to be said. He would have guessed now she was in her mid-thirties, but would have said late twenties to her face. (Always go lower). She stood about five-four, give or take, and with her swarthy complexion and dark eyes (wenge, he might have tried) appeared to be from the region. Her hair was thick and shoulder-length, almost black except for a long strand of white-grey that framed her face at both sides. It was these white streaks that gave the appearance she was still wearing the wimple and veil despite her flinging them, dramatically, to the ground.

“Listen, love,” he told her, grin faltering a touch, holding his palms aloft. “I’m not sure what you’re after here, but perhaps we should go somewhere more private. I’ve got a room around the corner, above the old town. We could…”

He trailed off as the nun lifted the remaining robes of the habit over her head and flung them to one side. Underneath she was dressed in all-black. Black leggings, black plimsoles, black ribbed polo-neck jumper.

“You must have been sweltering in all that,” Danny said, starting to wish she’d respond in some way. Maybe she didn’t speak English. “Hablas Inglés? Estas bien?”

Without the robes she was slim, perhaps too slim. Nothing but skin and bone, his old ma would have said. Danny didn’t like his women too thin. Liked something to grab hold of, liked boobs and bums. Still, he wasn’t going to let her lack of curves put him off.

A nun, for feck’s sake.

Imagine the stories he’d get out of this.

Still not taking her eyes off his, the nun (hard to think of her as such now) reached around her back. Going for a mobile, no doubt. Back pocket. It was how it worked. He smiled, relaxing a little and putting on a show of diffidence.

My number? Well, all right then…

But the charade was short-lived as a moment later she brought her hands back around the front to reveal a long shiny blade clenched in each fist.

“What the…?” Danny gasped, stepping back, one eye on the doorway now, his only escape route. “I’m not sure what’s going on but I think you’ve got the wrong bloke.”

“No,” the nun spat (though clearly she wasn’t a nun, was she?) “I never get the wrong person, Danny Flynn.”

His eyes were burning with how wide open they were. His mouth flapped a few times, but closed again.

Was this… Really?

“Listen, love. Whoever sent ya, we can talk about it. I don’t think we need to get silly or nothing. Whatever you think I’ve done, I’ll rectify it. Straight away. No messing. Let’s be clever about this.”

Despite the quiver in his voice, these sorts of exchanges were actually second nature for Danny. And not only with the many women he’d wronged over the years. As a fly-by-night antique dealer (and one who had long since cornered the market as