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out exactly
what she did do with the hairy bastard! I thought she’d got suddenly
more adept at sucking dick. And taking it from behind like a begging dog
in heat. What a bitch.”
     
    Dex remained silent. There wasn’t
much he could say to a remark like that. He knew he was in for a long night of
bitterness and hate. And all night he’d have to be careful, have to pick his
words with care - because, well, because if they, Peggs and Meesha, ever made
it up again (which was always a possibility, right? nothing more insane
than love or war) then Dex’s words would be regurgitated, examined, spun around
and re-contextualised. If Dex wasn’t careful, at some point further down the
line, at a distant spot of illumination towards which he was always travelling
like a runaway train in an eternity tunnel... well, one day Dex would become
the Bad Man in all this. He’d seen it happen before. Shit, he’d been blamed for
worse. And sometimes - sometimes it was just better to keep your big flapping
mouth well and truly shut.
     
    “She went to the gym for six
hours at a time.”
     
    “Six hours? Christ. You’d think
she’d look like fucking Arnie Neggarschwartz!”
     
    “Well that was one of the
giveaways, yeah mate.”
     
    Dex scratched his chin. “So
things got worse? I assume they did, or we wouldn’t be sat here nursing a beer
and, er, sharing the fact that your cheating wife is a bitch.”
     
    Pegg stared into his
whiskey-substitute for a while, lost in thought. When he spoke, he blurted it
out like a waterfall of disgorged words, as if eager to excise a cancer from
his dark, tortured soul. “I was suspicious. Suspicious for too long, and I kept
telling myself I was imagining things, but I let it go and let it go and let it
go, her rolling in at four in the morning after being at her cousin’s - and
that’s the worst bit, right? Smark and her, getting it on behind my back, behind
her cousin’s back. I mean, shit, they’re family, right? So I planted a BUG in
her handbag, started monitoring her progress. The wily clever cunning bitch was
constantly looking out for being followed, she was taking evasive manoeuvres,
really weird driving patterns, down back alleys and stuff. I didn’t get it at
first, until I realised she was parking up down back streets for five minutes,
getting out of the car, scouting around to see if somebody was following her.
Once, I saw a text she sent. She said she was far too clever to ever get
caught. The arse. Not clever enough to delete that message, was she? And
not clever enough to figure out the BUG. And that was her downfall - thinking
everybody else, and me in particular, were completely dumb.”
     
    Dexter took a long, soothing
draught of Dublin. “You caught her, then?”
     
    “Yeah. Last night. Using the BUG.
I saw her leave work early and then stop for an hour at a time, maybe two, in
Knightsbridge. Obviously meeting somebody. The I had a few night shifts came
in, and her nocturnal mobility went crazy. I mean, off the map. Well, off the
civilised map. All manner of dark and dingy back woods, plastic parks, places
without lights and with low population densities.” He stared gloomily into his
drink, hands clenched around the diamond tankard, knuckles white. It was then
Dex saw... no. It couldn’t be.
     
    Blood? On his knuckles?
     
    Dex groaned inwardly. Oh, God.
No. Not Pegg. Not Katrina’s brother...
     
    “I had a night shift last night.
But I couldn’t take anymore. I followed them on the BUG, down to Green Canary
Wharf, you know, the section built on the Thames Sludge. It was quiet. Three
AM. When I arrived, I saw her groundcar, all steamed up. I parked, crept over,
and there she was on the back seat with Smark. Her dirty whore legs open wide
as he pumped away at her. Her face was open in ecstasy - an ecstasy she never
bloody showed me, that’s for sure.”
     
    Dex suppressed the glib joke
threatening to slip from his tongue: You mustn’t have been doing it