A group writing effort...

This is a continuation of a story that was started by Kat here. Chris at Spontaneous Fiction followed and Raynwomaan provided an extension to the piece. Purplesimon took the next step, followed by T here.
Here's my contribution...

The Early Days

The dark was still inpenetrable. How long had she been sitting there? Four hours? Maybe five? The waiting game. How she loved to play.

Ms. Friday had a routine, and it would be her downfall. Noel just had to wait for exactly the right moment.

Even with her patience, the air vent was starting to feel cramped and stuffy - probably because her small, muscular frame was actually blocking all air flow through it. But this was the only way. At least she had removed her clothes before settling in. Sweating wasn't her style.

Waiting gave Noel time to think and process the evening's events. When had Ms. Friday turned? And more importantly, why?

Noel thought back to when they had met. Noel was 14, living on the street and getting high on anything she could lay her hands on. Ms. Friday was the dealer's girlfriend. She knew her as 'Louisa' back then - a quiet, unassuming girl who watched the drug scenes unfold around her. Always watching, never partaking.

It was only years later that Noel realised Louisa had had the plan all along. One day the dealer showed up dead, stabbed in the eyes, throat, chest and crotch - 27 times in total. This had been personal.

Louisa and all his money was gone. And so was Noel.

***

Ok - Jackie (who doesn't have her own blog) has made a contribution, so the story continues here...

Enter Handyman

The lab below was bathed in blue fluorescent light – essentially cool for maintaining the composition of The Corporation’s premium range of pharmaceuticals. Noel knew Ms. Friday made a 4 o’clock call to check on her babies and, with only an armed guard on the outside, Noel would get no interference when she dropped in.

At a few minutes to four Noel heard the distinct echo of Ms. Friday’s wedges on the steel runners. She’d already wriggled back into her clothes, used the doctor’s comb to jostle the maintenance cover out of its frame (handy weapon she thought) and now braced herself for an attack.

The door slid open and in stepped Ms. Friday….with Handyman on her arm. Noel gasped and jerked out of view. This was unexpected – Ms. Friday always did her rounds unaccompanied.

“That wily bitch has finished off Scramton and I’m not sure what her next move is. If she’s in the compound, I want you to find her and string her up for a slow death.” Ms. Friday’s voice trailed off as the two moved towards the tube-filled cabinets. Noel took a deep breath and remembered...

Handyman did a lot of Ms. Friday’s dirty work. He had a way with blades, especially the serrated type, and could target an inch of vulnerable flesh at 200 paces. The two were thick as thieves but make no mistake - Ms. Friday was both master and mind of the pair. Handyman and Noel had trained together but Ms. Friday never allowed them any contact once they’d been activated. Handyman was like ice and wood with nails in between – he never showed a glimmer of emotion. Except once…