The woman was one of two passengers on the bus. She was sitting two rows behind the driver, on the opposite side. The other passenger, a further two rows back on the driver's side, was a well-dressed man with a black trilby hat pulled low over his forehead.
The woman had placed her handbag on the seat by the window and was clearly visible to the man. Her thighs were closed but splayed out below the knee. Protruding into the gangway of the bus were black fishnets and a bright red stiletto shoe with a strap high on the ankle.
Her lipstick had been applied thickly and matched the colour of her footwear. In the shade of thick mascara, her eyes were soft and brown, the colour of Demerara sugar. Her skirt was mid length and black and pulled tight to the waist by a shiny black leather belt. Her jacket, too, was black leather, short and unzipped over a maroon blouse. The top two buttons were undone, leaving a glimpse of large, but firm cleavage. Her hair was long, wavy and strikingly bright red.
The man in the trilby sat motionless and at an angle. His eyes were half shut but fixed firmly on the woman.
The bus slowed and the driver pulled up alongside an empty bus stop.
"You'll have to get off now. I'm turning round. There'll be another bus in 20 minutes."
He offered no apology and no explanation.
The woman was first off the bus. Her strides were short but quick and her heels made a noise on the floor of the bus. The man in the trilby rose slowly and followed the woman off the bus pausing momentarily to exchange brief eye contact with the driver. After exiting the bus the man walked past the bus stop and continued some fifty yards down the road before opening the door and climbing into a large, dark blue car which was visible under the direct glare of a flickering street lamp.
The woman was sitting on a seat next to the bus stop. She was clutching her handbag tightly with both hands and shivering. The pupils were wide in her Demerara eyes which were focused on the dark car which harboured the man in the black trilby and had shown no signs of moving.
A shadow and soft footprints announced the arrival and unwelcome intrusion of a middle-aged man who sat down uncomfortably close to the woman. His alcohol-tainted breath was short and fast and made a slight hissing noise as it passed over discoloured teeth. He wore a lecherous smile.
A nicotine-stained hand dropped onto a fishnet thigh and moved up and down, each movement taking the grubby finger closer to the area where stocking top met naked thigh.
"Take your hands off and crawl back into the gutter."
The voice from under the trilby was low and firm.
Still grinning, he replied,
"Go fuck yourself. I was here first."
The words were scarcely off his lips when the man from the car thrust his left hand into the other's face and grabbed him around the front of the face, his strong grip forcing the mouth to open wide, giving his expression to resemble that of a startled fish.
His next movement was much slower and more deliberate. Reaching underneath his jacket he produced a large black gun and, using his right hand, pushed the long, shiny barrel through yellow teeth into a choking throat. As he struggled to breathe, the man lost control of his bladder and a large wet patch of urine spread quickly around the top of his grubby denim jeans.
The smartly-dressed man pulled the gun from the other's mouth and released his grip.
"Lie down on the bench, motherfucker."
He spoke barely louder than a whisper."
"There's a good boy. Now put your hands behind your back and don't move until you hear me drive off."
He turned and spoke to the woman.
"You'd better come with me. I'll give you a lift home."
He touched her gently around the shoulder, ushering her in the direction of his car. As they walked swiftly towards the car he removed his coat. A large erection showed through his trousers.
After glancing back at the figure which was still prostrate on the bench, the man opened the front passenger-side door. The woman climbed in. Her skirt rode up exposing several inches of shapely thigh. Her face was pale under the blinking neon.
After walking around the rear of the car, the man climbed into the driver's seat, checked and adjusted the rear view mirror and fastened his safety belt. He turned the ignition, put the car into gear and drove off.
"I live quite close. Fancy a bite to eat and a nightcap?"
"I'd rather go straight home, please. Oh, thanks by the way, thanks very much."
The woman's skirt had ridden higher but she held her handbag across the top of her thighs. She fixed her eyes straight ahead and told the driver where she lived.
A 20 minute ride later, the car pulled in outside a small, neat semi-detached house in a well-kept but dimly lit street. Before reaching across to open the passenger side door, the driver cut the engine and briefly reached under the dashboard to his right.
Opening the low gate to the path which led to the front of her house, the woman was aware that that the car engine was spluttering but failing to fire. She paused outside the door, key in hand. The car still showed no signs of starting.
She returned to the street and after the man had wound the window down, spoke.
"Problems?"
"Looks like it. The bloody thing's been playing up for a while. I've been meaning to get it checked out. Never got round to it"
"You'd better come in. I'll make us both a hot drink."
"No, it's o.k. I'll phone for a cab, collect the car in the morning."
The man continued turning the ignition key but the car engine remained unresponsive.
"Look, I insist. You were a huge help earlier. I owe you one. You can stay the night if you want. I can easily make up a bed in the spare room."
The man shrugged before answering.
"O.k. If you're sure it's not too much trouble."
He followed her into the house. His coat, draped over his left arm, hid his erection.
They went straight into the kitchen where the woman made them each a cup of cocoa. Finishing her cup first, the woman excused herself, returning after ten minutes having quickly made the bed ready for her guest.
She had discarded her shoes and put a plain black jumper over her blouse. Although it concealed her cleavage the tightness of the jumper emphasised the swell of her firm, large breasts.
With the black trilby removed, the man's eyes were more readily noticeable. Like the woman's they were brown, but darker; Muscovado to her Demerara.
What little conversation took place was mostly polite small talk. Neither was hungry and when the woman suggested she show him to his room, the man accepted. He declined the offer of a pair of pyjamas, explaining he would sleep in his underclothes.
After bidding him goodnight and restating her gratitude, the woman crossed the landing into her bedroom. Her door closed and was quickly followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock.
Five minutes later, she heard a light tap on her door.
In the quiet of the night the deep, low voice was clear:
