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  Don’t Fear the Reaper

  A. S. French

  Neonoir Books

  Copyright © 2021 by A. S. French

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, businesses, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Also by A. S. French

  The Astrid Snow series.

  Book one: Don’t Fear the Reaper.

  Book two: The Killing Moon.

  Book three: Lost in America.

  * * *

  The Detective Jen Flowers series.

  Book one: The Hashtag Killer.

  Book two: Serial Killer.

  Book three: Night Killer.

  * * *

  Go to www.andrewsfrench.com for more information.

  Contents

  1. Suffragette City

  2. Playground Twist

  3. The Shop

  4. Holiday Destination

  5. Drowning in Berlin

  6. Agents of Fortune

  7. Girl Talk

  8. Shadow of the Reaper

  9. Riders on the Storm

  10. Frank

  11. Endless Art

  12. Dress You Up

  13. Heart of Glass

  14. Drive

  15. Our House

  16. Food for Thought

  17. Theoretical Girls

  18. Vienna

  19. Lost in the Supermarket

  20. Brighton Rock

  21. George

  22. Sing me to Sleep

  23. The Director’s Cut

  24. Computer Love

  25. Escape

  26. Feel the Pain

  27. Pretty Hate Machine

  28. Art School Girl

  29. Revelation

  30. Camera Obscura

  31. Memories

  32. Down in the Park

  33. Island of Dreams

  34. The End

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  1 Suffragette City

  Astrid was used to people screaming. Like listening to your favourite Bowie song or a snippet of religious chanting, it existed at the back of her head, regardless of where she was. The rhythm would twist and turn, the instrumental howls occasionally dimming for the vocals or tortured words begging for release. She remembered one particular shriek resembling the guitar part in Ziggy Stardust. It was a soothing sound which allowed her to focus as eyes widened and blood dripped onto the floor.

  But this was different screaming, more disturbing than gasps of fear. This was the cry of kids enjoying themselves, a concept so alien to Astrid, her hand trembled as the mass approached. The thunder of feet hurried past her, childish voices shouting for joy as they headed for the playground, leaving the mothers, sisters, guardians, and nannies in their wake. Astrid kept the phone close to her chest, switching her scrutiny from the green-eyed redheaded vacuous-looking girl on the screen to the crowd of adults trooping after the children. Her fingers gripped onto the neon, nails biting into the plastic. All the lesser lights of her past paled into insignificance compared to what she was about to do. Once she found her target.

  She took a swig from the cup of coffee she’d bought on the way into the park. It was putrid and tasted like snake blood and bile, a toxic medicine she’d once sampled in the hidden streets of central Jakarta. The back of her throat shrivelled, and her eyes shrank. Astrid spat the drink onto the floor and followed it with the cup. Her long black hair swung behind her like a mane as a faint, transient, wistful smile lightened her brooding face.

  A hint of mint and sweetness hung in the air, and she thought of sipping mojitos on a beach. She gazed at the suffragette statues as she waited, staring at the long body-consuming outfits they wore and comparing them to her red leather jacket, painted-on jeans and white blouse. She’d never understood why people squeezed into clothes which were far too small for them. For Astrid, her attire wasn’t just for relaxation; it sent out an invisible signal to the surrounding multitude: usually FUCK OFF, but today she was in a more approachable mood.

  Astrid stared into the crowd, squinting to find what she wanted. She’d always found it humorous, making her eyes smaller to see something when she should have been expanding them. It was one of the few peculiarities of her childhood she’d kept; that and the escape maps stored inside her mind.

  It didn’t take long before she spotted the woman whose image she’d studied on the phone: Colleen Moore, Dublin born and now working in London as a nanny. A cigarette hung from Moore’s mouth, failing to hide her pained expression. Astrid had scoured Colleen’s social media posts and hacked the government website which stockpiled data on everyone. The nanny was squeaky clean, and that worried her. Everybody had skeletons in their closet, but not this girl. Perhaps Astrid had enough to go around.

  The stress lines etched on Colleen’s face made her look older than her eighteen years. Astrid tried to remember what she had been like as a teenager, vague recollections of hanging around with the wrong crowd. Her mother scolding her for getting up to things she shouldn’t. But she enjoyed getting up to something she shouldn’t. Soon she’d be getting up to all kinds of things she shouldn’t; as long as she didn’t mess up now.

  There was no sign of the target. Astrid shoved the phone back into her pocket, an eternity of resolutions, doubts and indecisions forcing her on. Was it the wrong place or time? Had she messed up again? The last time that happened, people suffered.

  She peered beyond the group of adults marching towards her until the target appeared, dragged behind the nanny in Colleen Moore’s cigarette-free hand. Olivia, a small blonde-haired girl, five years old, struggled to break away from the nanny. All of Astrid’s buried hopes rose from their sepulchres at the sight of the child. Alien emotions massed inside Astrid’s guts, resembling ice cream in a microwave. A week ago, she’d strangled a serial killer in Glasgow, yet now her fingers trembled at the sight of this kid.

  As they strode past, she wanted to stretch out to grab hold of Colleen and tell her to be gentler with the girl. The other hand would stroke the long hair of the niece she hadn’t seen before today. Olivia ran to the swings, smiling at Astrid as she did, and it was the greatest feeling in Astrid’s life. It made her forget her parents’ hatred of her; forget the times she’d left home until the last one stuck; forget three years on the street; forget the boyfriend who’d turned her into a computer hacker; forget the girlfriend who’d broken her heart and her arm. And forget how much her sister hated her.

  Have I the heart to take the kid from this nanny, to keep her from Courtney, to keep the girl from him?

  She captured Olivia’s smile in her mind and returned to it over the next hour, watching the kid play with a casual abandonment which only the innocent possessed. The adults supervising the children were a bundle of stress balls, rolling through the playground to keep their kids from hurting themselves. They bellowed out instructions to calm down, but it would have been easier to ask fire to stop burning than to get the kids to obey. Stars illuminated their eyes, every muscle striving to move, to run, to jump, mouths endlessly chattering, giggling, screaming. It was a childhood Astrid had never had.

  She was Olivia’s age when she got her first black eye. Her mother told the doctor her daughter had fallen down the stairs, but Astrid had never fallen in her life. She’d been knocked down
many times, but had always risen with renewed strength and determination. And her greatest resolution was to forget, but never forgive what her family did to her. But even time couldn’t wash some memories away.

  Inky clouds erupted across the sky. Most of the adults packed up their offspring and rushed off before the heavens ripped apart. As the first drops of rain fell, only two children and their guardians remained. Olivia was one of them, climbing the slide, and then slipping down it, oblivious to the weather. It didn’t appear to bother her or Colleen, who Astrid assumed was in no rush to get back to Olivia’s parents. Astrid couldn’t blame her: she still bore the scars from the last meeting with Courtney.

  You’re my older sister. You should have protected me.

  It was the last time they were together, the night Astrid fled from home and never returned. It was over fifteen years ago, but the words continued to linger in the shadows of her mind. That was when she knew her sister’s laugh hurt her more than their father’s fists ever did. Now, she stood in the park and rubbed at her flesh through her jacket. She’d put all of this behind her a long time ago; it would be easy to leave and follow through on the plans she’d spent a year making. And then she remembered her niece.

  A great pang gripped her heart. She was worrying about what the future held for Olivia, troubled at the possibility the man who’d ruined Astrid’s childhood lurked in the periphery of Olivia’s life. A harvest of barren regrets consumed her as the gang emerged from the shadows, heading towards the swings and the other child. He was a dark-haired boy of about Olivia’s age. The adult with him, a woman in her mid-twenties, was as observant as Astrid and rushed to get him before the group arrived.

  The gang left the darkness, marching towards the middle of the playground. The two at the front strode with a swagger born from years of giving orders and arrogance gleaned from the fawning of acolytes. They sat in the vacated swings while the other four stomped around in an agitated state. Astrid recognised the movements of people desperate for a fix.

  ‘Come here, kid.’

  His voice croaked through the dead frog stuck in his throat. Olivia and Colleen were in the playground, plus the six intruders. Astrid stood, glued to the shadows, and moved towards the entrance. She stared at Olivia, her mind a barrage of memories long since submerged into the darkest parts of her brain. She forgot her past, remembered what she did in the present, and considered if she’d be this lonely for the rest of her life.

  Astrid focused on the gang and knew what she had to do.

  2 Playground Twist

  ‘Olivia, come to me,’ Colleen shouted.

  Astrid hid in the gloom, small droplets of rain bouncing off the ground.

  The druggie stared at the girl. ‘We only want to play.’

  His voice was empty as a freshly dug grave, his face constructed from crisscrossing scars and a nose which had gone too many rounds with somebody else’s fists. His friends were no better, all hollow eyes, ragged, unwashed hair and filthy clothes. They stank of desperation and anti-life.

  She moved her gaze from the grunts towards those who pulled their vagabond strings. The dealers were closer to ordinary humanity, clean clobber and gaudy jewellery hanging off them; apart from the one with the swastikas and white power symbols tattooed on his neck and hands. Astrid touched her skin and admired the shine the new moisturiser gave her. It smelt of fresh peaches. She hoped the swastika man was allergic to peaches.

  Olivia ran to Colleen, who scooped the kid up in her arms.

  ‘We won’t hurt you,’ the intruder said. There was deception buried in the quicksand of his ignorance. Astrid wiped the rain from her cheek.

  ‘Come any closer, and I’ll crush your balls,’ the nanny yelled and Astrid discovered a new admiration for the Irish girl.

  The thug froze. Astrid relaxed as she observed Olivia. Silence engulfed the playground before a raucous laugh startled the birds from the trees. They scattered as she followed the laughter to the neo-Nazi drug dealer, identifying him as the group leader.

  ‘Let them go,’ he shouted at the shivering excuse for humanity Colleen had shamed. She turned from him, striding from the playground and towards Astrid, who moved into the last light of the day, cracking her knuckles to attract the nanny's attention.

  ‘Yer shud scarper while dohs scumbags are ere.’

  Colleen’s accent was so thick, Astrid struggled to get the gist of it. Olivia smiled at the aunt she didn’t know, her grin warmer than the sun, no sense of fear anywhere on her face. Being this close to her niece was blissful and confusing, the perplexity of the emotions forcing Astrid to question everything she’d prepared for her new life.

  Would I abandon a year’s worth of planning for this kid? Is isolation still what I crave?

  ‘Don’t worry; they won’t be back again.’ Astrid returned Olivia’s smile with her own.

  ‘Are ye a copper?’ the departing nanny said.

  ‘Something like that.’

  As the two of them disappeared into the distance, Astrid strode into the playground, focused on the nearest interloper and the cricket bat at his feet. She hated sports. Ever since that day at school when she’d turned up wearing high heels and the teacher made her run around the field in them. The bruises had vanished, but the pain continued.

  She stuck in the shadows, inching towards them unnoticed, fixed on the weapon against the slide as the invader bent down. She was behind him with one movement, snatching the bat while he reached for drugs inside his sock. Astrid put her foot on his back and kicked him forward. The force threw him to the ground, splitting his nose against a smiling concrete facsimile of a unicorn. The sound of cracked bone shattered the silence. The other druggies stood entranced while the two dealers remained stationary in their swings. Astrid stepped over the one she’d broken as he rolled around and swore at her. She peered at him.

  ‘Obscenity is the trademark of the ignoramus.’ A dark veil covered his eyes. ‘You think an ignoramus is a dinosaur, don’t you?’ She thought about it as confusion consumed his face. ‘You know, you’re probably not wrong.’

  Astrid turned towards the leader in his swing. The two dealers stared at her, dull black eyes peering as if she was an unexpected treat.

  ‘Free hit for the first one to take her down.’

  His voice was guttural and abrasive, the words jack-booting from his mouth. The chemical zombies didn’t falter and jumped at her as one. Their intoxicated flesh and mushed brains meant their reflexes were no better than five-year-olds trying Zumba for the first time.

  Astrid stepped to the side to evade them as they stumbled past her. She swung the bat in an arc, bringing it around to smash the middle thug in the jaw, shattering teeth and bone. She followed through to strike the next one in his cheek, sending him flying into a crazed-looking rocking horse. She turned to see the last thug gazing at her in shock, his mouth wide enough to eat a cricket ball; instead, she jabbed him in the gut with the large end of the bat. His stomach rippled under the force as he crumbled.

  They lay broken around her, but the two dealers hadn’t moved. Fear possessed the eyes of the smaller one; he was no threat. It was the fascist she had to make an example of.

  ‘There’s still time for you to leave here pain free.’ She twirled the bat above her head. ‘I don’t care who you work for or what you do, do it somewhere else.’

  She picked a piece of skin from her fingers and dropped it, drawn to the bright green hue of his eyes, the same shade as one of those frogs you licked to get high. She’d tried it once and lost two days of her life. The leader slipped from the seat, his six-foot-four frame looking ridiculous in the child’s swing. He had a physique best described as lean, muscular, and honed more on the streets than in the gym. His green eyes glared at her.

  ‘That piece of wood won’t help you, puta.’

  ‘No Necesito nada para Tratar Contigo,’ she said as she flung the bat behind her. He stepped forward, flexing his impressive arms, so his muscles bulged like Popeye
on an overdose of spinach. She imagined cracking his head like an egg.

  He didn’t make the mistake the others had; no impetuous lunging from him, but short, sharp jabs to get her measure. Astrid moved backwards each time, avoiding the druggies on the ground and luring him to where she wanted to be: in the middle of the playground and surrounded by slides, climbing frames and a rocking horse. There was no space to manoeuvre. He was a big man with long legs who couldn’t move well in the area created for little kids.

  She dodged his latest jab, his frustration growing with every miss. Her chance came as his leg caught the sharp metal edge of the slide. Astrid moved as he dropped his shoulder, dodging away from his arm and throwing her elbow into his neck. He collapsed on his side, tumbling over the slide, lying face down like a marionette with severed strings. The others scrambled to their feet and abandoned their leader to his fate.

  Astrid flexed her fingers. ‘There’s less in you than meets the eye.’

  He muttered something obscene as he pushed up from the cold metal. He followed it with some terrible insult about her parents, which she would have agreed with in different circumstances. Astrid allowed him to stand and flail his fist towards her. She ducked before bringing her foot up and kicking him in the groin. His face collapsed, his eyes, nose and mouth dropping like high-rise flats under demolition before hitting the ground with a crack.