Loaded

by Max Henry

  At least now, she had all the uninterrupted time she wanted to rest up. Every situation had a silver lining. Don’t kid yourself—you’re dying at the thought of so much time alone.

  Ugh. What to do.

  ***

  Trevor looked up from his position slouched in the armchair as Pete closed the door.

  “I’m fucked, aren’t I?”

  The big guy straightened up. “She wasn’t interested in what you had to say?”

  He shook his head. “Opposite. I was so fuckin’ interested in her point-of-view, I bloody well agreed to time apart.”

  “Maybe it’ll be for the best.”

  “You’re such an optimist, it’s filthy.”

  “Someone’s gotta be the yin to your yang.”

  Pete slumped into the couch, and kicked his legs up on the opposite end. “What ya tryin’ to say?”

  “You always find the worst in a situation.”

  “Ever occur to ya that maybe some people only get dealt the worst?”

  Trevor snorted. “Such a fuckin’ pussy.”

  “Eh?” He threw his legs down—his boots hitting the floor with a whack.

  “Man up, boy. If she’s yours, she’ll come back. Stop crying like a fucking wuss, and use the time to sort out your mummy issues.”

  “Who said I wouldn’t?”

  The big guy shook his head. “You, walking around like she cut ya dick off said your mind wasn’t on task.”

  “I’m on task. Don’t ya worry about that, Brother.”

  Trevor pushed out of the armchair, and swiped his keys from the counter. “Fancy a ride, then?”

  “Bit forward for a first date, ain’t it?” Pete chuckled.

  “Dream on Nancy-boy. You coming, or what?”

  “Where ya headed?”

  “To a fucking bake sale. Enough with the questions. I’m going, and if you want to sit here, wallowing in your self-pity, be my guest.”

  “All right, son. Keep ya tighty-whities on.” Pete launched himself from the sofa, and crossed to the front door. “I call shotgun.”

  Trevor laughed. “You mickey. Just get in the damn car.”

  ***

  “What’s up, Sis?”

  Steph shut the door behind Ben as he walked into her house. The day at work had dragged, in most part thanks to her rampant thoughts about Pete. She gave up on trying to ease her mind on her own, and after Marcus did his best to cheer her up at lunch, and failed, she enlisted the services of the only person left who knew her well enough to be able to help—Ben.

  “I need an outside perspective. But from someone who understands me.”

  “I can try. Is it to do with that Pete guy?” He dropped onto a stool as she headed for the jug.

  “Yeah. It is.”

  “What’s he done?”

  She laughed at Ben’s threatening tone. If only he knew what Ivan had done. “Nothing too serious … yet.”

  “So, start with why you’re not talking to him about this.”

  She pulled two mugs from the cupboard, and stilled with her fingers on the handle. “I have, and that’s the problem—we go round in circles.”

  “Why?”

  Steph laid him with a scowl. “Isn’t that why you’re here? If I knew, I wouldn’t need the help.”

  Ben shook his head. “How am I going to know what’s up between you, and your boyfriend? He is your boyfriend right? We are talking about more than a bed-warmer?”

  Steph rolled her eyes. “Yes, Ben. We’re in some form of a relationship … at least until this morning.” She spun to the jug to hide the tears that slipped free.

  The stool scraped across the tiles, and Ben’s shoes scuffed toward her. “Start with telling me why you split up, then.” His arms encircled her, and she found solace in his worn work-shirt.

  “Because I can’t handle the stuff he does when I’m not around.”

  “What does he do? Is he a gambler?”

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “Womaniser?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Drunk? Help me out here.” He gave her a gentle squeeze.

  “He’s a crim, Ben.”

  “Oh. I wondered if it was that Pete.”

  “Yeah, oh.”

  “Kinda complicates things then, eh Sis?”

  “Just a little.” She chuckled.

  He pulled back, and gave her space to prepare the drinks. “Does it put you at risk?”

  She shuffled the coffee container around and scooped two teaspoons into the mugs. “He says it does, but I haven’t seen any evidence of it.”

  “I’m sure he knows what he’s talking about.”

  “That’s what worries me. What if he’s right, Ben?” Her guilt surged at the concerned expression on her brother’s face.

  “I can only offer advice as a brother, and that would be to stay the hell away from the guy if he puts you at risk. But –” he crossed his arms over his chest, “—I’ve done stuff that was stupid in my time, too, and I know that if you want something bad enough, nobody can advise you against it.”

  “Am I suicidal for wanting to be involved in his life?”

  Ben smiled. “No, Steph. You just care too much.”

  “So why do I keep walking out on him?”

  “Because you’re scared.”

  Was she? Probably. “I guess.”

  Ben sighed, and retrieved the milk from the fridge. “Do you remember what you said to me the day you got your first tattoo?”

  Steph shook her head. The day was a typical memory—vivid in parts, but equally foggy in others.

  “You said you didn’t want to live in fear anymore.”

  She smiled. Ben was right; she had said exactly that.

  “So what are you doing now?”

  He held her stare, raised eyebrows and all as the reality sunk in. She was letting fear get the upper hand yet again. All of this: Pete, Cass, Ivan—she withdrew from all of them out of fear of what would come. “You’re so right. I can’t believe I let myself slide back into that.”

  “Sometimes it’s hardest to see the fault in ourselves, Sis.”

  Steph handed him his cup, and held hers between her hands. “I guess I’ve got some grovelling to do.”

  “I don’t think you need to grovel.” Ben led them across to the living area. “Maybe just explain what it is you want out of this. If his connections make you feel uneasy—tell him.”

  “Yeah, but what’s the point in that? I can’t expect him to change overnight. So why complain about something he can’t help?”

  “It’s not complaining, it’s being open. If you’re going to find a common ground with him, you won’t be able to do it if you don’t talk about the shitty stuff.”

  “True.” She took a sip from the mug, and stared at nothing in particular as silence fell between them.

  She’d been angry at Pete for not including her in his discussions with Trevor, but as much as he needed to open up to her about that kind of thing, she would need to learn when to leave it alone. Knowledge wasn’t always power. There would be times when it ate at her not to know what he was doing, but isn’t that what trust was all about? Steph needed to learn to trust him. She had to get her head around the fact he knew what he was talking about, and that anything she thought she knew about his kind of lifestyle was probably no more than a fabricated storyline for some TV show.

  Pete wasn’t kidding around when he warned her of the trouble his mother could cause. The woman had killed her son for Christ’s sake. Of course she should take her as a real threat. But damned if it didn’t mean she could stand by Pete’s side while he closed that particular chapter of his life.

  “What are you stewing over, Sis?”

  She lifted her eyes to Ben’s, and smiled. “I think I’ve decided what I need to do, and nobody’s going to make me change my mind this time.”

  “Good.”

  “Hang there, I won’t be long.”

  Pistol watched Trevor exit t
he car, and round the hood to walk up the driveway of the dilapidated house. He recognised the place the instant they pulled up. Every rotting weatherboard, and misplaced paver belonged to none-other than Bruno, the small-arms dealer.

  Trevor wanted a gun then, hey?

  Brother definitely meant business.

  He came out ten minutes later with a red duffle bag, and slung it in the boot of the rental car. “All sorted,” he remarked as he dropped into the driver’s seat.

  “What’d ya get?” Pistol asked.

  “Glock, and a sawn-off. Nothing flashy.”

  “Bitch doesn’t deserve the money spent on her as it is.”

  Trevor chuckled. “Last I heard she was still in the hospital for observation. Since we’ve got some time up our sleeve, I was hoping you could show me where you found your doll.”

  “Got an itch?”

  “And it needs scratching.” Trevor grabbed the crotch of his jeans, and made several thrusts of his hips.

  Pistol shook his head, and laughed. “You won’t find one as good as her, I promise ya.”

  “Son, anything with a heartbeat would do with the case of blue-balls I’ve garnered coming over here to sort you out.”

  “Anything, huh? I’ve been told there’s a toothless bitch in the hospital that’ll do anythin’ for a fix.”

  Trevor socked him in the shoulder. “I ain’t perverted, you muppet. Besides, I’m not into bestiality.”

  The two of them laughed.

  “Seriously. Where did you find her?”

  His eyes glazed over as he indulged in the memory of that night. “She just walked into my work, like an angel sent from heaven.”

  Trevor clutched at his throat, making gagging sounds.

  “Oh fuck off, ya asshole. I can guarantee you’ll sound like as much of a girl as I do when ya find the one.”

  The big guy shrugged. “Maybe. Got to find her first.”

  “Stop looking.”

  Trevor turned the engine. “That what you did?” He pulled out into the street.

  “Aye. Given up ever finding somebody who’d see past my bullshit.”

  “Did it ever occur to you, that perhaps if you stopped dishing the bullshit you wouldn’t have to worry about that?”

  He looked the guy over as he drove. Trevor was serious. “Kinda hard to drop it when it’s been a part of ya life for so long.”

  “That it is, son. That it is.”

  Trevor had been in the game as long as Pistol. He knew more than anyone how hard it was to shirk a part of yourself when it had been ingrained from near-on birth. All they’d ever known was how to get things the easiest way. It wasn’t always legal, and it sure-as-shit most times wasn’t moral, but they’d been taught from a young age, that if your heart was set on something, you risked it all to get it.

  And look where they’d ended up: one hit man, and a petty thief and part-time murderer.

  Definitely learnt the ways of the world from their elders. Maybe he should have paid more mind to Bert and Ernie in the mornings as a kid? Maybe then he would have become a better adult?

  “We’ve been out all day, Trev. How about a pint?”

  “You’re talking my language, Son. Point the way.”

  Pistol chuckled. “I’ve got to be at the bar in a couple, so if ya want to hang about for dinner, I’ll give you a lift in.”

  “Dinner, and a date? A man could get used to this lifestyle.”

  “Steady on,” he chuckled. “I aint got eyes for ya, Princess.”

  “Why not?” Trevor laughed as he roamed his free hand over his chest.

  “Always the clown,” Pistol scoffed.

  “Gotta keep my head up in the business somehow.” Trevor’s features flattened.

  He eyed the guy as he negotiated the traffic back home. The man oozed loneliness, but on the other hand, Pistol could also recognise the same stubborn behaviour he’d sported before Steph. The guy didn’t want to admit that the lifestyle they led didn’t hold much benefit for their twilight years. There was a reason why most hit men executed one last job the day after they retired. Most couldn’t stomach the idea of not having a purpose to get up in the morning. Life didn’t seem so rosy when nobody wanted you anymore—professional or otherwise.

  “Never fear, fella. We’ll find you a girl to keep ya busy.”

  ***

  Steph twirled side-to-side in front of the full-length mirror on her wardrobe door. Everything had to be perfect. She wanted Pete to know that the reason for her visit meant the world to her, and she wasn’t simply attracted back to him like a helpless magnet. Her hair was immaculate—each curl in perfect symmetry. Her make-up took the better part of an hour, but like hell she’d cut corners tonight. It meant too much.

  The shrill tone of her phone rang out as it vibrated on the bedspread. She swiped it up, and frowned as she took the call.

  “Hi, Derek. What’s up?” She couldn’t shake the fact that it had to be bad news for him to be calling her directly.

  “Hi, Steph. How are you sweetheart?”

  “Fine.” Her word wavered as she took a seat on the edge of the bed.

  “Good. That’s good. I, ah, asked Ivan to call, but he said you two weren’t on speaking terms.”

  “No. Sorry.”

  “I hope it’s nothing too serious. You two have been buddies since childhood. It’d be a shame to waste that over something trivial.”

  “Trust me,” she bit out. “It’s not trivial.”

  He drew a deep breath. “Well, okay. But it’s not why I called, anyway.”

  “Oh?”

  “Are you sitting down, Steph?”

  Her heartbeat amped. “Yes.” Please, not her dad. Or Ben. Why hadn’t her parents called? What happened?

  “Richard was found dead in his apartment. Murdered. The police are investigating.”

  “Oh, Derek.” Her heart broke at the emptiness in his words. As though he’d practiced the speech a thousand times until he could say it without evoking emotion.

  “I’m sorry Steph. I know the boys have been like brothers to you.”

  If said family was into incestuous behaviour, sure. “Don’t apologise to me, Derek. I worry for you. How’s Martha?” Her pulse hammered in her skull, and she struggled to retain focus on his words.

  “Tired, distraught. As can be expected.”

  “And you?” Her fingers wound circles on her thigh.

  “Tired, but not surprised.”

  “Why not?”

  Derek heaved a sigh. “He was into some pretty bad stuff, Steph. Sooner or later it catches up on those involved.”

  “Yeah, I guess it does.” Could he also be meaning Pete when he said that? “My condolences all the same. No matter what he did, you don’t deserve this.”

  “Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll be in touch once we finalise the details of the funeral.”

  “Thanks, Derek. Give my love to Martha.”

  “I will.”

  The call disconnected, and Steph dropped the phone to the bed. The rushing waves crashing in her ears tripled in volume as she slid from the bed, and sat crumpled on the floor. She should be sad, mortified, upset in some way, shape or form.

  But after what Richard had done to her as a teenager, she felt nothing but sweet relief.

  Tears flowed as she broke into mad laughter.

  All she needed now was Pete to agree to her conditions, and it would be the best day of her life.

  ***

  Pistol laughed as Trevor approached the bar; a woman off each side. “Didn’t take ya long.”

  “What can I say?” He kissed the top of each woman’s head. “They love my accent.”

  “Same again?”

  The big guy nodded, his black hair pulled into a high ponytail showing the bulk he carried beneath his shirt. Yeah, like the accent is the only thing the vultures are after. Pistol drew another round of beer, and candy spirits for the girls. He slid them over the counter, when his eye caught a colourful distraction over T
revor’s shoulder.

  Fingers slid over his, and he jolted back to the task at hand. “Easy on,” one of the women drawled. “You nearly had that in my lap. If you want me undressed, ask.”

  “Yeah, right, whatever.” He muttered as he made his way to the end of the service area. “All yours Janie,” he called over his shoulder, and lifted the partition.

  Steph caught his eye, and smiled coyly as he approached. She wore a bright red, knee-length coat done up around her neck.

  “I thought ya wanted some space.”

  “I’ve had enough,” she purred. Her slender hands fisted in his shirt, and drew him close. “You and me? We need to talk.”

  “Jesus, Love. Are ya sure it’s only talking?”

  “For now.”

  He took hold of her hands, and led her toward the staffroom. If he had to block the door with every piece of furniture in there to stop interruptions, so be it. She smelt fucking divine as she passed him by to walk in first. He eyed the sway of her hips while Steph made her way to the centre of the room. With a last sweep of the bar, he shut the door behind them, well aware there were at least two people out there curious about what was going on.

  Lock.

  “What do ya want to discuss?”

  She stood with her back to him, head dropped. “Our future.”

  “I’m listenin’.”

  “I’m going to tell you how it is, and you’re not going to argue.”

  His dick perked up at the gruffness of her voice. “That so?”

  She spun, and he near melted at the determination in her eyes. “That’s so.” Steph stalked toward him, and he fought the unusual urge to back away. “I understand that your mother’s dangerous, okay? I mean, look at you, and she’s your mother.”

  “I’ll let ya away with that one.”

  “So, she needs sorting out. I understand that too. But this is the deal, Pistol.”

  The woman would have him blowing his load early if she kept up such a demanding tone.