THE NEEDLE - BASTING STITCH

Right, Needle told herself firmly, straightening her rainbow visor. This time, no complications. In, grab, out. Follow the plan. No ditzy colleague, no red-haired hulk-man with a bad attitude. Just in, grab, out.

Needle wouldn’t say that she was a simple girl, or a killjoy, at least, not most of the time. She just liked to have a plan and for it to go smoothly. She had nothing against working with other people either, it was just that she was very used to working on her own, she was her own best friend. She wasn’t rigid either, God knows she was fast at adapting when the plan went awry. But this job? This job should be watertight. Needle had tacked down the routines of her quarry, like most single guys, he posted entirely too much on Facebook. Due to one of the flats on the floor below coming up for auction, she knew his building lay-out, and she also knew the code for his home alarm, the guy made the mistake of having the same one for his office building. It was a more common mistake than people thought.

Needle checked her watch, a chunky man’s watch in stainless steel, Invicta make, noticeably scratched across the face, dinted on the one side, the wrist strap slightly too large for her. It was interesting as from everything from Needle’s boots to her nails were carefully maintained, that she would wear such a battered watch.

5:15. Time to roll.

Needle stepped up to the corner of the building, and using the reflection in the wing mirror of a van nearby, watched the mirror as it panned right and left... then began to walk briskly. One step ahead of the camera, she slid into the alcove of the door, the wall easily shielding even her 6 foot frame. The front door to the lobby had a warden, a security camera and a panic button. The back door, used only by said wardens, the janitor and the occupants of the flats only had the car park camera. Sure it had a magnetic lock, but people really needed to learn to shield their codes.

Luxuriously flexing her fingers in their black gloves, Needle tapped the code in lightly, catching it as it obediently popped open, and sauntered nonchalantly through the door. Wardens changed on the hour, every hour, so she was unlikely to bump into one now, they should be at their posts, but still, it paid to look like you owned the place. It put off irritating questions.

Fortunately, the back stairway was empty and she allowed herself a small smile as she took the stairs 3 at a time with her lazy leonine gait, mentally ticking the floors off as she went. There were 7 flats. Her quarry was on flat 6. Flat one contained an old man who never stirred in the afternoon, Flat 2 was empty, Flat 3 was a family flat, and currently contained the Nanny and the family’s 2 children, the parents in their high powered jobs wouldn’t be back until 7 at the earliest. Flat 4 were a little more unpredictable, but she’d watched them go out a half an hour previously, and from the state of the girl, when she left for the night, there was no going back. Flat 5 was resident to a pair of artists that seemed to keep nocturnal hours, and as for Flat 7, neither of them would be back from work yet. She’d spied them a couple of times, nice people, if a little eclectic in their dress sense... in fact electric in the colour of the boy’s hair.

She stopped at floor for Flat 6 and padded up to the door. 5:30. Her Quarry, if his routine held up, should be at work until 6:30. She needed to be out by then. An hour to ransack a flat? Bitch please, she could do it in 10 minutes. Not that she was planning to ransack it. As always, Needle went for the specialty items, the ones she knew she could get a buyer for and shuttled out of her garage before any-one came poking around. She had a few pieces in particular in mind from this place, and those pieces would be worth so much more than what she could get from indiscriminate theft. Needle glanced up and down the corridor, then slid her picks out of the leather pocket on her belt, eyeing up the latch lock... Only to freeze. She gave the door the lightest brush of her fingertips, and watched it swing easily open. Needle tensed, sliding her picks away and feeling for the familiar weight of her knife, ears pricked up. There was no regular beeping from the alarm, so it must have been deactivated... but at the same time, the lights were still on. It was 5 in the afternoon, who the hell still had lights on?

Simple plan, my arse. Needle drew the knife, holding it flush against the inside of her arm, out of plain sight, but ready. Her hesitation was over. She knew that she should simply walk back out, but curiosity had her, and her ears were telling her that nothing was moving inside the flat. Needle wasn’t complacent, she knew that her quarry wouldn’t have left it unlocked or unalarmed, the guy had it down to a habit, and habits weren’t easy to forgo. At the same time, it wasn’t screaming trap. She knew he hadn’t noticed her, and if he had? Why leave the door open?

Needle liked it when things went smooth. But, God, there was nothing more exhilarating than when it got rough.

She padded silently down the hall, silent as a cat in her boots, keeping close to the one wall, covering the corners, watching the angles. A quick glance to her right revealed that the kitchen was empty... and unkempt. Stacks of dirty washing on the floor near the washing machine, dirty dishes and plates piled to one side of the sink, waiting to be washed. And from the dried on stains, they’d been waiting for a while. Typical bloke, Needle found herself thinking, then caught herself and shook her head, tightening her grip on her knife. Everything she’d seen about her quarry said that he was, if not meticulous, clean.

From the tidy heaps to the fact that the carpet was devoid of fluff, that held out. This was out of character for him. Something was off, and that thought set her nerves jangling, at the same time as it sent an electric thrill through her. A smell hit her, an odour that seemed to strip the lining off the inside of her nose, making her snap to attention. Dreading what she would find, she tapped the door open with the knuckles of her left hand, leaning around the doorframe, visor flashing...

Then almost retched as the stench assaulted her.

The living room was in a total state of smash. The large room had been ringed cabinets, the frames stainless steel, and they were the only thing that remained like jutting metallic ribs, every piece of glass has been shattered, the broken pieces like hail on the floor. Safety glass, Needle noticed absently, the glass was in tiny glass cubes rather than jagged shards. The contents had been rifled, the red velvet linings ripped out and bleeding out over the carpet. The racks along the one wall had been almost wrenched out... even the sofa had been attacked, the stuffing oozing like alien blood out of the torn blue skin.

And all this destruction was nothing to what lay at the centre. A young man, lying on his front, motionless.

At first, she thought that he was dead, his head resting on the carpet, forehead first, then he saw his chest give the slightest rise and fall. Needle took an slight step towards him, and almost jumped as he stirred, very slightly, giving a muffled whimper. She hadn’t made a sound still, but he must have felt the boards shift under her weight, but he seemed to squirm under her surveying gaze.

He was in a hogtie, a pretty damn secure one at that, Needle had to admit. His arms were cinched together at the elbow, as well as the wrist with what looked like extension cords, a plug digging into his skin, his ankles and legs lashed together with strips cut from the curtains... and to add insult to injury his face was taped up with what looked like parcel tape, wrapped over and around and around his jaw to totally silence him. He looked like he’d been getting out of bed when he was attacked, his long legs bare, uncovered by his black boxers and oversized Star Wars t-shirt, both of which were drenched in a mix of bodily fluids she really didn’t want to think about.

The conclusion, the logical part of Needle’s brain stated, was obvious. Some-one had hit this place before her, and they hadn’t expected him to still be in the flat. That much was observable from the improvised bonds. If they’d been expecting him, they would have brought more business-like gear, or a gun. The fact that he was still alive denoted a petty criminal, some-one not accustomed to getting their hands dirty or lacking the spine to make a kill, but not experienced enough to time it better so that it wouldn’t have been necessary. From the glass around and covering him, they’d kept raiding while he was incapacitated, then made their escape. And no-one had been back to help.

Her gut twisted, and her jaw set in a rare show of anger. Hadn’t they marked him better? It was plain from his Facebook he lived alone. He was single, and a bit of a loner. All of his friends were mostly his colleagues at the business he ran, and who was going to snitch if the boss didn’t turn up for work. Sure the nerdy type looked after their own, but they weren’t exactly going to run around here to make sure he was ok. Who was supposed to find him? A freaking telepath? The least that they could have done was call the police as an anonymous tip-off. She’d had to do that once, there was no shame in it. Sure she and Mouse had left that Waiter tied up, but she’d made sure to check that they’d found him. She wasn’t sure that Mouse had extended the same courtesy, but she liked to think that she would have.

This though, this sickened her. Who knew how long he’d been here, or could have remained like this. And those petty criminals, those men without the spine to be clean about it could have been his murderers all the same.

Needle took in a deep breath, trying to cool the rolling fire inside her. Calm. Be practical. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, taking several snaps of the room, and of him, then pulled her goggles and gloves off. She wasn’t being like Mouse, and anyway, she doubted that even Mouse would have taken pictures in this situation, he wasn’t her conquest. But... if he went to the police, which he well might, he deserved the ammo to bury the bastards.

Needle pulled off her belt with its somewhat shady contents, goggles and gloves, tucking them into her satchel, sheathing her knife, and snapped out a pair of mirrored sunglasses out, going instantly from ‘burglar’ to ‘random woman’. She then went over to the window and took careful aim. Her bag fell down the 6 flights, and straight through the open sun roof of her van, where she’d deliberately parked it, far below. At least she wouldn’t have to explain that.

Then she headed for the man. His ears twitched as he finally heard her as she crunched off her glass, and she saw him give a muffled whine, struggle again, try to look up. She crouched down, putting a hand on her back, feeling him flinch automatically.

“Don’t panic,” Needle told him quietly. “I don’t know who did this, but I’m not with them. Relax, I’ve got you.”

And absurdly, he did as he was told, giving a soft sigh and letting his head flop forwards onto the carpet again. Needle clicked her back up knife, an unremarkable (and legal) penknife out of her pocket and took a careful hold on his ankles, sawing through the makeshift rope. She lowered his legs slowly and gently to the floor as the rope gave, wincing sympathetically as she saw them cramp up, the man giving a hiss in pain as his muscles screamed in protest. Being tied up for any length of time was no fun. Needle’d only had it happen to her once, and had sworn to herself, never again.

She caught him by the upper arms, rolled him adeptly onto his back, then caught him by the underarms and pushed him into a sitting position, sliding him across the mostly glass-free area of carpet to the sofa. Needle leant him against the arm and knelt down on one knee next to him, trying not to display any disgust, keeping her nose carefully wrinkle-free. It wasn’t his fault he stank, after all. Her eyes flickered over his face, what was visible of it anyway. Yup, definitely her quarry, and in one hell of a mess.

He blinked hard several times, gazing up at her, but his eyes, a soft blue-grey, just couldn’t seem to focus on her.

“This is going to hurt,” she warned him grimly, sliding her knife under the tape, and deftly slitting it. “My sincerest apologies in advance.”

Needle yanked the tape away, trying to get the worst of it off as quickly as possible. He contorted in pain, eyes sharpening instantly. Pain was a hell of a wake-up call. She peeled the rest of it off, wincing at the sweat and glue still on his rapidly reddening face and leant back to let him cough up what looked like a balled up pair of socks. She hoped, for his sake, that they’d been clean.

He was trying to say something, and she had to lean very close to hear his whisper, but she nodded, getting up briskly and striding out of the living room, straight into the kitchen. There weren’t any clean glasses, so she took a mug, emblazoned with the face of Leonard Nemoy, and filled it up with water. Needle paused in the kitchen, noticing a load of plastic straws to the one side. Trying not to wonder why a guy in his mid-thirties would have pink plastic straws in his kitchen, she took one back with her, sticking it in the mug.

“Try to drink slowly or you’ll want to hurl,” She advised, angling the straw for him.

Needle really hadn’t expected him to listen, and sure enough, half of the mug vanished in a matter of seconds. She caught him by the shoulder as he dry-heaved, but gave him a mental hat-tip as he managed to keep it down. Needle waited until he’d steadied, then offered him the mug again, watching him closely. Needle rarely came up close to her quarries, and it was quite fascinating, noticing the small things that profile pictures never seemed to capture; the way his pale blonde hair seemed to shimmer more silver than blonde, cropped quite short to his head, not a buzz cut, but not long. Needle had to approve, she had never liked guys with long hair, although she made the exception for Aragorn from Lord of the Rings.

She allowed her eyes to skim over the rest of his face. He had quite a narrow face with a sharp nose and thin lips, his cheekbones almost seemed to jut through his paper-pale skin. He was a wreck, face drawn, a bruise along the one side of his face, dark shadows around those smoky eyes, but he was still... yummy-looking. Dear God, she was starting to sound like Mouse.

The mug empty, he sat back, eyes mostly lidded, drawing in deep breaths, steadying breaths.

“More?” she asked him.

He nodded weakly, and she got up easily. His blue eyes slid open, looking up at her.

“Thanks,” He said quietly, voice cracked as she returned with the refilled mug.

“You’re welcome,” she replied, kneeling down again.

He had more life in him now, watching her closely, tired but wary, an almost wolfish look. She stared at the extension cords, running a finger over her knife then sighed. Her little knife wouldn’t make a dent in it, and she wasn’t going to make a trip downstairs to get her big one from inside her van.

“Sit forwards,” Needle requested. “Some bastard thought it was funny to use sailor’s knots.”

Needle started to deftly unweave the thick cable, posting the plastic-coated wire back through the elaborate knots... and watching as the colour faded back into his arms, blushing pink as the blood rushed back. She threw the cables to one side and proffered the mug, which he took with shaking hands, taking a long draft, watching her over the brim. Needle met his gaze easily, looking straight back.

“Not that I’m not grateful,” He said, every word croaky and grating. “But who are you and what are you doing in my flat?”

Needle smiled and sat back on her haunches, watching him carefully, mind clicking over. She didn’t want to give him one of her standard aliases, and she didn’t want to give him ‘the Needle’ either, he’d be bound to ask why and she didn’t want to go there.

“Hi,” She said. “I’m Roza.” She held out hand to him. “Your front door was open.”

He laughed at that and took the hand. He had large hands, Needle realised. Big hands with long tapered fingers and thumbs that seemed to tilt right back. She tilted her head at him.

“Do you want to call the police, or shall I?” She offered mildly, then narrowed her eyes, the corner of her mouth tilting up at the very corner. “Unless this was come kind of convoluted bondage play?”

He shook his head firmly with a shudder.

“You can,” he stated. “I don’t think that I’m in much of a state.”

Needle looked down at him with a grimace.

“That’s one way of putting it,” She admitted. “Right, let’s get you cleaned up, then I’ll call the police while you’re in the shower or whatever. Reckon you can stand?”

He tried to push himself up, but his arms shook wildly, and his knees gave out. Needle darted forward with almost inhuman reflexes, catching him and escorting him upright, slinging his arm around her shoulders, hers tight around his waist. 2 realisations hit her. One that the guy was actually, when stood up properly, taller than her, and two... he really did stink. She shot him a reassuring smile.

“I guess not then,” Needle remarked cheerily.

“I really am very sorry about this,” He said shakily, pinching the bridge of his narrow nose. “Really, you must think that I’m pathetic. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I don’t think that you’re pathetic at all,” she assured him. “It’s not your fault, and I’m glad it was me, not anyone else, right now the last thing you would have needed was a headless chicken running around. Although, you definitely do need that shower.”

He gave a shaky laugh.

“Sorry,” he apologised again.

“Shush,” She commanded lightly. “Now, come on, let’s get you in the shower. Bathroom to the...?”

She trailed off questioningly, although she knew very well that it was the second door on the right. No need to freak him out anymore than absolutely necessary. He pointed to the door, then cursed as he stepped on some of the glass, and grimaced, limping slightly with her. She elbowed the door open and he managed to haul himself into the shower.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll leave you to it,” Needle said wryly.

“Roza, thanks,” He gave her a shaky smile. “I’m Joseph, by the way. Joseph Harper.”

And she couldn’t resist a broad grin, lighting her normally controlled face.

“Oh, I know,” She told him cheerily, darting out of the room and shutting the door after her.



“So what did they take?”

Needle had called the police, an unusual experience, and they’d sent two uniforms over, and they were stood, kinda hopelessly, in the middle of the wrecked lounge, looking at the newly scrubbed up Joseph. He still looked ghostly, but better. He looked even yummier clean, she thought, in a grey t-shirt and blue jeans, his hair darkened with the water from the shower, but he still looked rough, the bruising rapidly bluing, especially across his face and wrists, currently folded across his chest defensively. Needle was perched on the arm of the disembowelled sofa, watching with interest. She’d never seen this end of a robbery before, it was... educational.

Joseph looked at Policeman One with a dark humour in his face.

“Everything, near enough,” Joseph sighed. “I work for a big gaming company, I have... had, a lot of concept art, a lot of posters that wouldn’t be available to the general public and probably worth a whole lot to the right collectors. I also had props from films, memorabilia, collectors’ items, signed film items... I’m a rich nerd, I had a lot of things that would be worth a lot. A very lot.” He sighed, sitting down on the sofa next to Needle. “I’ll write you out a specific list. I have photographs too.”

“You do have insurance, don’t you sir?” Policeman Two asked.

“I’d be damn stupid if I hadn’t,” Joseph observed. “I have got insurance, it’s going to be fun to get it, but I have it.”

“And it rather sounds like you’ve given up already on trying to get it back if you’ve asked that this early on,” Needle remarked, unable to keep the sharpness out of her tone.

Both of the policemen gave her a long look.

“Not given up, just pragmatic,” Policeman One assured her, then raised an eyebrow.

“And you are?”

“Rosamund Edgerton,” Needle reeled off her most common alias.

“And may I ask why you’re here?”

The room seemed to go quiet, all eyes on Needle, who gave a serene smile. She’d been expecting the question.

“I was his date.”

The silence went instantly from suspicious to stunned. Joseph looked bemusedly amused.

“His date Ma’am?” Policeman Two repeated slowly, as if trying to decipher great meaning out of the words.

“Yeah, you know, two people meet up for drinks, get to know each other?” Needle smiled and patted Joseph’s shoulder. “I forgive you for forgetting hunny. One of my mates set me up on a date with him, you know, blind date, and when he didn’t turn up I got pissed off.”

At the raised eyebrows, she smiled.

“Oh come on, do I look like the kind of girl who takes being stood up?”

“No,” Policeman One admitted with a small smile.

“So I went home, still pissed, got more pissed and started stalking him on Facebook. Found his address, thought I’d come confront him, found his front door open...” She shrugged, and gave Joseph an apologetic smile. “If you hadn’t been tied up and looking generally helpless, you’d’ve got both barrels babe.”

He gave a low laugh.

“I am so sorry,” He rolled his pale blue eyes.

Policeman One gave her a long look.

“You’re not dressed for a date,” he observed.

She folded her arms.

“Look mate, do you really think that I’d walk across town and appear at a bloke’s house, when that bloke stood me up, in my little red dress and fuck-me heels?” She demanded flatly. “No, he gets my ordinary kit and sturdy boots for me to kick the hell out of him. It takes significant pissing off before I lose my sang-froid enough to march over here in my 6 inchers.”

Policeman Two gave a soft whistle.

“I wish he’d got you that mad then,” he grinned, then frowned. “Although, with you in heels I’d feel dwarfed.”

Needle stood up and looked down at herself.

“Yeah, curse of being 6 foot,” She said sadly.

As the police took down the particulars, Needle kept feeling Joseph watching her speculatingly, a gaze that became fully corporeal as he shut the door after them.

“You’re a practiced liar,” he stated.

Rosa just smiled and stood up.

“Hun, you have no idea,” She checked her watch. “Hell, it’s gone 8. I was going to be home for 7.”

“You’re not going, are you?”

She looked up, those impassive mirrored sunglasses boring into him. He twisted his hands together, tugging at his thumb... he was nervous, Needle realised. He had every right to be. She would not have wanted to be left alone in his circumstances either.

“Do you want me to?” She asked him.

“No,” He said quietly. “That’s the last thing I want right now.”

Needle tapped her fingers absently on her thigh, trying to conceal the anger that was licking up from inside her stomach again. Those bastards. If they’d done it cleanly, sure he would have been a little jumpy for a few days, but he would have settled. Now he wasn’t going to feel safe again, not for a long time anyway. An icy resolve settled in her heart. She was going to make them pay, and if the Police or the Insurance Company wouldn’t get his stuff back, she damn well would. Payback and reclamation.

“Do you really want to stay here?” Needle asked him softly.

He hesitated, then shook his head. Vengeance later, she chastised herself, looking after the bloke first.

“Grab some stuff,” she told him quietly. “Call work, tell them whatever you need to tell them. I’m going to break my previously unbroken rule, and invite you back off a first date.”

And a smile flashed across his face like quick-silver, eyes dancing, and he took a step forwards.

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly call this a ‘date’,” He said casually.

“I’m curious,” She tilted her head. “What would you call it then?”

“A rescue,” He reached forwards and stroked her cheek. “Thanks Roza. Is that even your real name?”

She pulled a face.

“I have many names,” she shrugged. “Roza is what my brother used to call me. It’s the closest to my name I’m prepared to give any-one. Be proud, the only other people that have got that close are my nieces.”

He sighed, tucking her hands in his pockets, then his eyes flickered up to hers, a wry smile on his face again.

“That story you told them,” he said. “I wish it was true. I wish we had met on a blind date or something.”

“Really?” She asked him. “How dull.”

Joseph laughed, the musing look lost.

“You,” She pushed him gently on the chest. “Go grab your stuff. I’ll go bring my van around. I’ll be out front when you’re ready.”



Needle ended the second call she’d made while waiting and tucked her phone away as Joseph walked out of the front of the flats, a bag on one shoulder, looking grim, and still deadly pale, but still gorgeous, especially silhouetted in the red/orange light of the sunset. She leant over to open the van door for him and he clambered up lightly, slamming the door shut after him.

“I’ve ordered a take out, we should get there at the same time it does,” She informed him cheerily, putting the van into gear and pulling away smoothly. “My flat isn’t far.”

“No rush,” he peered out. “Wow, you really do get a great view in vans.”

Needle just smiled... and got the impression of him watching her again.

“What?” She asked.

“Roza, I have to ask; what were you actually doing there? In my flat?”

Needle grinned, shifting gear nonchalantly.

“Well hunny, if you will fill your Facebook with picture of your collection of gear, you might as well have made us a catalogue,” she stated, still grinning, and glanced up at him. “I was after your concept artwork actually, the Endorian Leap work? I had a buyer lined up in Japan. If I could, I would have taken that Amulet of Samarkand and the Vambrace from the Assassin’s Creed too, had fences who would have chewed my hand off for them. I am a thief Joseph. Sorry about that.”

He sat back, folding his arms, face inscrutable.

“Sorry that there wasn’t much left taking,” he said after a minute, voice wry.

She looked across at him as they stopped a red light, face, though partially concealed, strangely soft.

“There was you.”