"Scarlet," she said, taking his hand lightly, pronouncing every letter with exquisite care as they passed her deep, red lips.
She was so effortlessly elegant, so outrageously sublime in her business suit; her presence in the dreary and pedestrian Carrie's Café seemed absurd. Nikolas, now limply proffering the seat across the table from his own, could not force his mouth to produce anything other than a weak croak. Trying to avoid her dark eyes, or her inviting cleavage, he simply sat mute until she deigned to reveal the purpose of this meeting.
"I require your services in a sensitive matter," she purred, and Nikolas felt the blood rushing to his extremities. "Peter Dewey. I need his sample. For my client."
It took Nikolas several seconds for the words to finally permeate his fantasy of taking the red-clad woman right on top of the cheap table before them.
"The - the politician!?" he spluttered. Scarlet appeared to enjoy his panicked reaction, sitting back to survey the effect her words had on the pallid, nervous man.
"Can you get it for me?" She whispered breathlessly like a lover, and leaned in close to observe his response. Nikolas was helplessly in love, but he steeled himself for a rejection that felt more like a betrayal in his addled mind.
"Impossible. That's... out of the question," Nikolas had finally found his voice, but it felt several octaves higher than normal, "I would have no idea how to get his... sample." Scarlet cocked a perfect eyebrow at this.
"I was assured that you are one of the more prolific agents in the market.”
Pleased at her flattery, yet annoyed at the obvious manipulation, Nikolas stumbled over a reply.
"Look," she forestalled him, "He's attended your hospital before. It's not impossible, and I can make it worth your while. If you can get it to me within a month, that is. Just figure out a way to get him to spill his blood."
Scarlet was staring fixedly and expectantly now. Leaning slightly forward accentuated her figure, and Nikolas caught a whiff of an intoxicating perfume. There was a long pause while he considered.
"How much?" he asked.
Scarlet smiled triumphantly. She was obviously used to getting her way.
He stood in front of his purpose-made cabinet in the attic of his North London house. The vials of dark, viscous blood stood seven feet tall and almost as wide. The collection of celebrities, public figures and admirable individuals was Nikolas’ pride and joy.
Over the last four years as a senior pathologist, he had taken the opportunity to sneak away as many 'intimate connections' (as he called them) as he could without arousing suspicion from the hospital technicians. This method of feeding his hobby was obviously limited, but he sustained his passion, his raison d'être, by purchasing purloined blood samples online from a network of other pathologists.
The system took a lot of trust and goodwill between the merchants, but it was precisely this that had landed him in such deep debt. Scarlet's promise of ten thousand pounds seemed like a miraculous lifeline. He had never before targeted an individual to steal their precious liquid gold, but he was sure it could be done.
Standing in his quiet attic, staring lovingly from polished ampule to ampule, he began to feel a little faint.
by Vincent Kenny