The Facebook Killer by M. L. Stewart Page A

that the girl was the one high
on drugs, whilst her mother drank herself into a stupour
downstairs. She is allegedly the one who initiated the sexual
activity and in a moment of guilt cried rape before starting the
fire herself to try and support her story. The tragedy is that an
innocent man’s life has been altered forever due to this girl’s
promiscuity, drug abuse and neglectful parents.”
    “By God you’re life’s gonna be altered
forever,” Kalif had promised himself.
    This was going on too long. It was two days
already. He had the urge to go across there and kill them both.
That would be the easiest solution. But something in the back of
his mind was stopping him. He knew the original plan would be much
more fun anyway.
    At precisely 8:30pm the dirty blue door to
the left of the takeaway opened. The twins emerged, well dressed
and probably heading to the pub for a few. Kalif stood up slowly,
pins and needles cramping up his left leg, he handed the waitress a
tenner tip and left.
    He followed the twins around the corner to
the Golden Oak Tavern. The pub where he had parked the van. He
quickened his pace. This wasn’t a covert operation; he wanted to
hear every word they said. He needed to know who was who before he
had to resort to plan B. Kalif stood in line behind them at the
bar. One of the twins checked his watch.
    “What time did they say they were coming?”
asked the other.
    “About nine o’clock.”
    “So what’s the plan are we gonna stay here
all night or go out to a club later?”
    “Don’t know. Let’s see what the others want
to do.”
    Christ! They even sounded
the same. Kalif sat down at the table next to them, sipping his
double vodka and orange, straining to hear the conversation. At
least now he knew they were out for the night. That would give him
time to do what had to be done. He decided to have another couple
of drinks, he didn‘t want to look suspicious after all, but he
gleaned nothing from the conversation. Even when their friends
arrived, they just called them boys. “How you doin’ boys.” No one even brought
up the subject of Brian’s work. Fuck this! Kalif stood up and left.
“Life-altering time,” he thought to himself.
     
    As the Bridgewater twins embarked on their
fun-filled, carefree night with friends, Kalif went to work on the
lock to their flat. The dirty blue door on the street was a
communal entrance, which had been left unlocked giving him free
access to the first floor. The Sputnik decoder, which he now held
in his hands, had cost a small fortune. Normally used by the secret
service and such like, it was one of the items that Serge had
charged four times the market value for. Named after the satellite
it resembled, Kalif inserted the pins into the lock. Carefully
adjusting each small handle until he heard the pin click, within a
minute he was standing in the empty flat. The pattern of the fine
wires on the Sputnik gave him the exact shape of the key, should he
want one cut.
    Once inside, Kalif was pleased to see that
the place was a pigsty. The typical result of a dosser and a
computer nerd sharing the same environment. Beer cans, fast food
packaging and clothes littered every available space. He dropped
his rucksack to the floor and started to unpack.
    The listening devices were the size of a
hearing aid. Each room had to be covered, as we weren’t sure where
they would go when they returned home. He placed one under the
television facing the couch. In the first bedroom he placed one
under the stereo and in the second bedroom, on top of the wardrobe.
Opening the cupboard under the kitchen sink, Kalif moved all of the
carrier bags and unused cleaning items into a nearby drawer. He
unloaded the remaining contents of the rucksack into the
cupboard.
    All that remained was to supercharge the
appliances. For this plan to work we needed silence when they came
home. If they switched on the television or started banging out
loud music, we were fucked. The simple