Bang: Memoirs of a Relationship Assassin by David Wailing

In about ten seconds flat he’d sprung open the chain securing it to the lamp-post, and somehow started the ignition without the key. How the hell had he done that so fast? Who was this guy? First he films me, now he nicks my bike!
    Or rather… he nicks Jake’s bike.
    A chill went through me. It wasn’t my property that had just been stolen. It belonged to Darren’s mate. Darren’s tattooed, shaven-headed, done-some-prison-time mate.
    What had Jake not said to me? “One scratch on my bike and I’ll kneecap you.”
    Or had it been: “One scratch on my bike and I’ll stick a broken bottle right in your pretty-boy face, cocksucker.”
    Yeah. Probably something more like that.
    For a while I just stood there, not sure what to do, but then found myself jogging back down the alley. I had to get back to Becky. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been gone, probably only two minutes, but I knew I had to carry on with the mission. My detective was still in there, taking snapshots, and they wouldn’t be much good if I wasn’t in them. What a mess!
    The Glasshouse’s fire exit door was still ajar, so I went back in through the kitchens. Straight away, chefs started telling me I couldn’t do that, asking me what was going on. I whipped out my wallet and held it open, flashed it around left and right, too quick to get a look at the credit cards inside, and shouted “CID! Thanks for your co-operation, ladies and gentlemen, it’s all over, we’ve got our man, thank you!”
    And the whole kitchen shut its face and let me stride right through.
    Another lovely audience. This should have made me smile. But I was far too furious with myself. Too little, too late. If I’d thought of that trick earlier, I might have caught him.
    With a deep breath, I approached our table. A waiter was leaving the bill with Becky. “Hope you’re giving a good tip,” I told her.
    “I am. I’m telling them never to let you in here again,” she smiled.
    As we sorted out the bill (with Becky insisting on paying half), I tried to think what came next. I couldn’t remember. Did I have some kind of plan for after dinner? What was my next move supposed to be? Had I agreed it with the agency or was I just making it all up from here on in…
    Shit shit shit shit shit. I was lost.
    “You all right?” Becky asked me.
    “Oh… sorry. I was just… thinking about something.”
    He’d rattled me. Blonde guy had really rattled me. I wasn’t used to it. Nobody had ever tried to interfere in one of my missions before. Things had gone wrong plenty of times, other people had stumbled along and messed up my plans, but that was part of the job. Think on my feet, work around it, come up with something. That’s fine, that’s what I do.
    But not like this. Not someone actively spying on me. Who was he? How did he know I’d be here, tonight? Bloody hell, he nicked my bike! What was I going to do, how could I explain that to Jake without getting bottled?
    How had he known I was a relationship assassin?
    “I’ve been thinking too,” said Becky. Uh-oh. Her voice rang alarm bells.
    “What’s up?”
    She was still smiling, but there was a little twist to her lips now. Arms folded beneath her (had she worn her engagement ring tonight?) as she leaned forward. “Shouldn’t really be doing this, should we?”
    I just went blank. What was I supposed to say to that?
    I glanced at the Londonwide Associates detective. He was also paying his bill. Making sure he left before us. He didn’t meet my eye. Professional. I could rely on him to be in place for what happened next. And that reminded me: I was a professional too. We were on a mission here!
    And suddenly my mask was back on and I was John the courier, John the cheeky lad, taking out a receptionist he’d pulled.
    “Why not? S’no big deal.”
    “Well, not for you…”
    “Look at your face, getting all serious on me! Look, I’m not trying to muscle in on your fiancé or anything, am I? I just thought you