1: The Murderer in the Red Dress

Marley Felix

Sunday, 1st March 2015

11:05pm

Marley Felix pulled a cigarette from its pack, tapped it twice against the bar and put it between her shocking red lips, leaving a distinctive scarlet print upon the filter. She rummaged through the pocket of her coat for a lighter, but she knew that there wouldn’t be one there. She never kept them.

“Need a light?” A suit-clad man appeared before her, presenting a box of hotel matches. He’d been watching Marley from across the bar since she’d arrived and had jumped at the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the beauty.

Marley flicked her gaze upwards and stared at the thirty-something year old through her false eyelashes. He was dark skinned with slick, black hair and a clean shaven face. There was an air of cockiness about him. Instead of taking the box of matches from his outstretched hand she leaned in.

The man fumbled with the box for a moment in his hurried attempt to extract a match. As he presented the fire to the tip of the cigarette Marley saw the wedding band around his ring-finger.

Marley inhaled and the tip glowed. She leaned back, pulling the cigarette from between her lips.

“Thank you,” she said in a sultry voice before exhaling a long stream of smoke.

He smiled. Marley enjoyed these moments beforehand – loved the way they squirmed as they entered her web.

“You can keep them,” he said, handing over the box of matches. “I don’t smoke.”

She smiled and took the box, pretending to observe it for a moment. “How kind of you.”

“So, uh, what’s that accent you’ve got there?” he asked, perching himself on a stool next to her. “You’re definitely not from around here. Russian?”

The corner of Marley’s mouth twitched. “Ukraine.”

“Oh wow. A long way from home then.”

Marley did not want to talk about herself. “So, are you staying in this hotel?” She already knew he was, of course. She could tell a lot by looking at someone. She pocketed the matchbox knowing that it would be in the trash within the hour.

“Yeah, business trip,” he nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “You?”

“Just stopped in for a beverage,” She shook her empty drink, the ice chinking against the glass. Usually that was enough indication for the target to offer her a beverage.

“You on holiday here? Your English is really good.”

It took Marley a lot of willpower not to roll her eyes. “I’ve lived here for five years.”

“Oh, cool. So, what’s your name?” he asked, leaning against the bar as casually as he could muster, clearly missing her invitation to buy her a drink.

“Marley,” she said, taking another drag of the cigarette. “You?”

“Sanket.”

“Sanket?” Marley repeated. A Hindu name.

“Yeah, as in I got on a boat and sank it.” He waited for Marley to laugh at his joke. He said it fast, like a well-rehearsed line. She could tell he’d introduced himself in this way on more than one occasion.

Marley forced a smile. “Funny. Nice to meet you, Sanket.” She extended her free hand, which he held delicately.

“That’s an interesting name, by the way, Marley.”

“Not as interesting as Sanket.”

He smirked, showing straight, white teeth. “Were your parent’s fans?”

“Of Bob Marley? No.” She flicked the ash from the tip of her cigarette before taking another drag, watching Sanket closely. “Ever read A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens?”

“No.”

“There’s a character called Jacob Marley. It is his ghost who visits Scrooge first-”

“The face that appears in the door knocker?” He gave her a sheepish look. “I’ve seen the kid’s movies.”

Marley’s red lips curled into a smirk. “That’s the one. He’s your run-of-the-mill worst case scenario. A literary device to show scrooge what awaits him if he doesn’t change his ways.”

“Isn’t that a little morbid?” Sanket asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Marley stubbed out her cigarette and smiled delicately. “Like a taxidermied family dog. I’ve always found beauty in the morbid and macabre. I guess it’s one of the few things I inherited from my parents.” It was all lies, of course. The story, her name, everything. Marley toyed with her empty glass, wondering if Sanket would pick up on this hint.

“What are you drinking?” he asked, right on queue.

“Gin and tonic,” she replied.

Sanket caught the barman’s attention and ordered Marley a drink, adding it to his room’s tab.

“So, what brings you to town, Sanket?” asked Marley, curling a section of blond hair around her index finger and allowing it to unravel. It was a human-hair wig, though the men never could tell. She loved the way it made her look, but god it was itchy. The men never paid her any attention when she was a brunette. Black hair was a no-no with her pale skin as it made her look gaunt and unapproachable.

“Business,” said Sanket, straightening his tie. Marley could tell he was about to begin bragging. “I’m the business manager for an international gaming company specializing in slot entertainment.”

Marley could tell by looking at this young-man that he was not the manager of anything. A sales-man, perhaps. Business managers didn’t stay in three-star hotels on business trips. Clearly it had been a case of finding the most affordable accommodation within the city’s heart. Marley knew all about men and business, and Sanket’s one-hundred-dollar suit was a dead giveaway.

“Impressive,” said Marley, picking up the gin and tonic that had been placed in front of her by the barman.

“Yeah, it’s tough work and long hours, but the pay is good.” He gave an indifferent shrug.

Smug cock, Marley thought as she sipped her drink.

“Can I just say,” Sanket said, placing his hand over his heart. “You have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They are so green.”

It took Marley all of her willpower not to sigh in exasperation. How many times had she heard that one? They were contact lenses. Nothing about Marley was real, but she was very good at faking it.

“You are too kind,” Marley said, uncrossing her legs and re-crossing them the opposite way. Sanket’s eyes darted to her thighs which were exposed due to the short length of her tight red dress.

One thing Marley had come to notice about men was they never asked her what she did for a living. They simply didn’t care. She was an object to be admired – not questioned. However, Sanket took her by surprise.

“So, what about you?” he continued. “You must be a model.”

“Well, aren’t you charming?” Marley said. She wasn’t sure why men thought it was a compliment. They often assumed that beauty and brains could not coincide. But Marley was clever. Very clever. “But, no. I’m not a model.”

“You should be,” Sanket said, continuing his praise. “So, what is it then? What do you do?”

Marley stirred her drink slowly and allowed a smirk to play her lips. She grew tired of this conversation and no longer wanted to waste time. It was getting late and she had plans. Let’s get this over and done with. “Why don’t you try and guess? You get five chances.”

“Guess?” he repeated.

“Mmh-hmm. Guess what I do and win the grand prize.”

“What – what’s the grand prize?” asked Sanket, trying to remain calm, though he was visibly excited. He brought his drink to his lips, his dark eyes never leaving hers.

“Me.” Marley said simply.

Sanket’s pupils dilated. Whatever he had been expecting her to say, it wasn’t that. They were often taken by surprise when she spoke so plainly. It was the quickest way to get the job done.

“I … I’m flattered but I’m actually, uh, married.”

Marley knew this already. He might think that he’d approached her of his own free will, but their meeting had been carefully orchestrated by Marley. However, she was mildly surprised that he had confessed it to her. Most men did not bring it up.

“Yet here you are, buying a strange woman drinks at a bar, telling her how pretty she is.”

Sanket’s jaw tensed and he straightened up. Shit. Bad move.

Marley leaned in, her ample cleavage on display, aided by a very good push-up bra. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” she said, smirking.

Sanket put his drink down and studied Marley intensely, his eyes sweeping over her form, mentally undressing her.

“Well, my first thought is air-stewardess.” He said, Marley was relieved that he had decided to play her game.

“Why is that?”

“The airlines always hire the prettiest girls.”

Marley felt a pang of impatience. “Thank you, but no. That’s one guess. Four left.”

“Hm … what about a hairdresser?”

Another common guess. “No. Three left.”

“Shit, okay. Um … something in retail?”

“You need to be more specific than that.” A smile played her lips.

“Right, like, fashion retail?”

“No. Two left.”

“Maybe a – a make-up artist?” Sanket asked, clearly becoming nervous. Marley shook her head slowly, and he swore. “Fuck. Can I get a hint?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Marley chuckled and leaned towards him.

“Aw c’mon, it could be anything.” Sanket was pleading now.

“All right.” Marley drained the last of her drink and placed the glass on the bar. “My work involves … punishing naughty boys.”

Sometimes she saw the answer flit across their face, just for a moment - but they never said it. They denied the possibility that she could be such a thing. Not a sweet, young thing like Marley Felix.

“You’re not … I mean … you’re not a-” He did not want to insult her by suggesting such a thing.

“A what?” She cocked her head to the side. She knew what he wanted to say. Prostitute. Dominatrix. Hooker. Whore. They never insulted her by naming professions.

Sanket scrunched his nose and exhaled loudly. “Argh. I can’t even say it.”

Marley grinned and leaned forward. “Have you been a naughty boy, Sanket?” Her voice was low and teasing.

He gulped audibly before nodding.

“Well, then.” She stood and took him by the hand. “I guess you need to be punished.”