by Max Henry
He smiled, that delicious way which curled the right side of his mouth so softly upward. “I’m a big boy, Love. I think I can handle a few days. That’s all it’ll be right? How far are ya goin’?”
“Perth.”
His face drew stern, and he averted his line of sight back to the waiting traffic. “Who else is going?”
“My, my. Are you jealous, Pete?” She knew he wasn’t, but feigning ignorance was the best chance at getting him to believe her bullshit story.
“No, Love. I want to be sure you’ll be looked after. Perth is a little far for me to get to in a hurry should anythin’ happen.”
She tipped her head to the side, and pulled the most sweetly innocent face she could muster. “What’s going to happen to me all the way over there?”
“That’s what bothers me. If I can’t predict it, it wouldn’t be good.”
“You’re paranoid.”
“With good reason.”
Okay, so he had her on that one.
They rode the rest of the way in relative silence, only breaking the monotony of rush hour with less than interesting observations about sights they passed. His tension was palpable, although the nearer they drew to his house, the more relaxed he became. Being out in public appeared to have him on edge, and she cringed at what her departure would do to him. If he couldn’t reassure himself that she was fine, what on earth would he be like by the time she got back?
Pete pulled the rod to a stop in the drive, and turned to face her. The streetlight cast a soft glow over the right side of his face as they sat in silence. She reached out to offer him comfort, and he took her hand in his as he heaved a dejected sigh. “There’s goin’ to be times I’m shut off, Love. There’ll be times you wonder why the fuck you’re even here. I can’t promise you that I’ll always be a joy to be around, but what I can promise ya is I’ll always have your best interests above mine.” He dropped his chin, and rubbed his thumb over the back of her fingers. “What I should be sayin’, is I haven’t had to worry about anyone other than myself for such a long time; not since Colin. It’s hard to get used to again.”
“I don’t want you to feel like I’m a burden though.”
“I wouldn’t.” He tugged her hand to his chest, placing her splayed fingers over his heart. “This here aches every time I think of what you told me on the way home last night. It’s fuckin’ ridiculous to think it, but I wish I had known ya back then so I could have sorted the fuckers out, saved you the pain. But at the same time, you wouldn’t be who ya are now, just like ya said.”
“So let it go,” she whispered. If the guy mentally flogged himself every day for things that were beyond his control, he’d be a mess in no time.
“I can’t. It’s not how I’m wired, Love. Which is why I’ll never be able to let me mother be. There’ll come a day when I have to try again.”
This was the part where she was supposed to start shaking in her boots at the psychotic behaviour he revealed. If their life was a movie, she’d be the ditsy girl everyone screamed at to ‘run’. But in that moment, she’d never felt more compelled to stay put. Call it the mother-complex, but wasn’t this what women were bred to do? Nurture, and support the people who were damaged? Besides, it was her with the crazed plan. He should be the one worried.
‘You can’t fix everyone …’
Ivan’s words echoed through her mind. Yet, after his stunt, she could see the difference now. For sure, she couldn’t fix everyone, but there were two distinct types—those who deserved support, and those who should be left to battle alone.
Pete was the former option, and Ivan fit into the latter.
“I understand.” She smiled. “And I won’t ever question your reasons for it.”
“Love, you’re too fuckin’ perfect.” He leant across the centre, and placed a quick kiss on her lips. “Let’s get inside, and spend the rest of the night in bed. Ya don’t need to eat do ya?” He chuckled.
She giggled, and smacked his arm. “Yes, Pete, I do. Plus—” Her shoulders sagged. “I’ll need to go home to pack for tomorrow.”
“When do ya leave?”
“A few of us are catching a cab from the office mid-morning.”
“So I won’t see ya before you go?”
“Probably not.” She pouted.
The rest of the story may have been make-believe, but the sinking in her stomach was oh-so real. She would miss him. All she needed to do was remind herself why it had to be done.
There wasn’t any other way.
***
Trevor stretched out on the motel bed, and flicked through the generously supplied four channels on the TV. Steph had been in touch during the day to tell him what she planned to do, and he was none too pleased about the implications. More-so, he wasn’t happy about having someone to baby-sit.
He’d operated alone for the past eight years for good reason. His conscience couldn’t take another hit if somebody was hurt on his watch. Once was more than enough for a lifetime of regret, and twice would be sure to make him another statistic of the job.
He’d mentioned to Steph what happened when contract killers such as himself crossed the thin line. What he hadn’t shared was how close he was to doing it. The signs were there, and he hadn’t ignored them as such, just chosen to file them in the ‘deal with later’ category.
Trevor had plans for the rest of his life. He wanted a wife, a companion, and a brood of children at his feet. The lonely hours the job called for had never been his thing. Some blokes were happy to get the time alone, but not him. He’d always been a people person, and that trait was half the reason why he ended up in this line of work. Nothing proved the point like the fact he was now laid up in a scummy room, all in the name of being close to the airport for his early flight. Pete had offered a ride, but he’d declined. No way did he want the poor guy to have to get up only hours after getting home from his late-shift. No, he’d rather stay somewhere close to public transport, and sort himself out. Putting a friend out in the name of a comfy couch for one more night didn’t sit well with him. Besides, after the day he’d had with Pete, the poor mug looked like he needed the alone time with his girl.
Always so eager to please …
***
Her body shuddered with the much-needed release of tension. Steph stood with her back to the door as Pete drove away—the V8 rumbled until she couldn’t make out the sound any longer. They’d gone inside at his house after their conversation in his car … and spent the following three hours in bed exactly as he’d promised. Seemed he wanted to get his quota in before she left for ‘Perth’.
Her stomach growled, and she dropped her handbag to the floor in search of food. Legs on autopilot, she turned into the kitchen, and opened the pantry.
Nothing appealed.
She shuffled to the fridge, and opened the door, simply to spend the next five minutes staring aimlessly at the items on the shelves. How could she eat when her head was a jumble or nerves, and guilt? It wasn’t in her nature to lie to such an extent, and to a degree she could see why. If this was how nauseous she felt every time, then she’d happily never lie again.
Steph settled on a pottle of yoghurt over muesli, and set about putting the ingredients together. She absently stirred at the mixture while she ran an inventory of what she’d managed to organise at work. Her tickets were booked, insurances paid up, phone set to roaming, and leave approved. All she had to do now was pack her bag.
Right after she found her suitcase.
The damn thing shouldn’t be that hard to locate given her lack of belongings, but when her brain had trouble remembering which end of the spoon she should hold, she didn’t put much stock in locating her luggage. Trevor had been sceptical of her request when she phoned, and he had reason to. If she was in his position—a seasoned pro at the business of killing—she wouldn’t want a novice with only a shop-lifted candy-bar to her name hanging around either.
She had to go, though. That inane niggle in her gut w
ouldn’t subside, and she had no other way of knowing how legitimate Trevor was about finishing things on Pete’s behalf. What if he turned on her though? Maybe he’d agreed to her plan simply so he could get her alone, and out of the way? Damn, she hadn’t thought of that. Somehow though, she knew that wouldn’t be the case. Despite the fact she couldn’t be sure Trevor wouldn’t walk away from a job that didn’t concern him, she knew he would never knowingly put an innocent person in danger.
A contradiction given his profession, sure. Yet no less viable.
Steph rinsed her bowl, and left it in the sink while she went to hunt out the grey non-descript suitcase her mother had given her when she left home. It still made her chuckle to think of that gift—so sensible, and typical of her mother. Grey, because heaven help her if she let Steph have anything that stood out.
It had been a few weeks now since the Petersons party, and her mother hadn’t been in touch. Come to think of it, she hadn’t even had time to talk to her dad of late with all that was going on. She was a little surprised they hadn’t tried to coerce her into dinner for a catch-up, but then again, it may mean they were finally letting her have her space as an adult. Steph could happily go months without speaking to her mother. Those conversations always ended in her mum reigning victorious with her single-handed belittlement of what her daughter had been doing, and Steph feeling less than an inch high. But her dad—he’d never let her down. He was the one she felt most at ease with out of the two. He may not have necessarily approved of the things his daughter did, but he had never judged her for it.
She pulled the case from where she found it, stuffed at the top of the hall cupboard, and carried it through to the bedroom. Tonight would be a good time to call her parents. Lord knows she didn’t want them trying to get hold of her while she was away, and smelling a rat. It would be hard enough to hide the truth from Pete without also having to battle their suspicions.
Steph threw a collection of practical, warm items into the case. Given her wardrobe of vintage dresses, skirts, and heels—it wasn’t much. Surely, whatever she was short could be bought there? You’re not going on holiday. Who says you’ll have time to shop? Of course she’d get time to shop. What did her niggling inner voice think? They’d be holed up in gunfights and car chases the whole time? How brainwashed was she by Hollywood? It wasn’t as though she would step off the plane, and into a scene from Die-Hard.
The zipper whipped around the case in record time thanks to her lack of clothing. She flopped the luggage on its base, and wheeled the suitcase out to sit next to the front door. All she needed to do in the morning was toss in her toiletries, and wa-la! Done.
The time on the microwave indicated it would be far too late to call her dad now. Even though the man was retired, he still had a habit of hitting the hay early. Blamed it on a well-oiled body clock that refused to give up its routine. She made a mental note to call him in the morning before the flight departed, and wandered through to her bedroom to put the phone on charge.
She undressed, and headed into the shower to stand under the warm jet. The firm flow of water massaged the knots from her shoulders, and her eyes slid shut. If it weren’t for the small inconvenience of draining her gas cylinder, she could have happily stood in the soothing flow until he water ran cold. Instead, she summoned the will to switch the water off, and get ready for bed.
Several hours later, she still stared at the ceiling in the dark, running through all manner of scenarios in her head. So much could go wrong. She was way out of her depth, and really, would her presence be too off-putting to Trevor? What if she was the reason nothing went to plan? No way in hell could she live with herself if the whole thing went pear-shaped, and Mickey-Six arrived in Australia anyway.
Maybe she should back out? After all, didn’t the unease in her stomach tell her everything she needed to know? Her dad always told her to listen to her gut reaction, and right now, it was screaming blue murder while hanging on to the roof of a car speeding down the highway of danger. But then there was her non-refundable deposit, and the accountant in her couldn’t justify the wasted expense.
Steph pressed her lids shut in a final vain attempt at sleep. But the worries kept knocking about in her head like a thousand whispering voices, disturbing the otherwise quiet of the early morning. She flicked her legs out of bed, and got up to head for the kitchen. If she wasn’t going to be able to sleep, she may as well have a coffee, and laugh at some lame infomercials on TV. The digital clock happily advised her she had less than three hours until her alarm went off. Looked like it would be an all-nighter, then. Here’s hoping Trevor didn’t mind the rest of the plane staring at her sunken features while she drooled on his shoulder.
She tried to focus on the cheery presenter flashing the latest in juicing technology, but still couldn’t shake the feeling she was being as suicidal as a trainee acrobat walking the high-wire without a net. What chances did a ‘nice’ girl from the ‘burbs have against a contract killer, and a woman hardened by life, and years spent in prison? Chances or not, she wanted to do this for Pete. Correction—she had to do this.
She had to show him what he meant to her. Sweet words, and sexy outfits could only get a girl so far. But nothing said ‘I can’t live without you’ like taking out the people who threatened his life.
Pistol tossed the keys to the rod on the counter as he wandered past the kitchen to his bedroom. The night at work had been shit, all thanks to an unruly drunk who refused to leave, then promptly vomited over the bar, his stool, and a couple of patrons. Cleaning up somebody else’s sick wasn’t exactly on his list of highlights, but if hadn’t done it, he would have had two lots to clear given Janie’s weak stomach.
Learned that lesson the hard way before, hadn’t he.
Crawling into his cold bed, he snarled at the harsh reminder Steph was at home—alone. He tried to get her to stay over; offered to drive her to work as usual, but the woman was fiercely stubborn that she needed her rest before a big week on assignment, and he’d agreed like the pussy-whipped bitch he was.
Seven days and she’d be home from Perth. Seven days and he would have dealt with his mother so they could spend the rest of their life together without any major complications.
At least, he hoped.
As clean as he’d been with his past—clearing out those who got on his bad side to save problems down the road, it seemed the latest complications came from sources he hadn’t foreseen. Who would have thought that Alex was his real da? Wasn’t that a blow to the gut? Even more of a kick in the ass to know the guy had carked it, and he’d never get a chance to hear straight from the horse’s mouth the reason he was left to suffer as a child in the care of two people who should never have been allowed children.
The thought that had plagued him most over the course of the evening was his curiosity as to wether Colin was Murray’s? If he had been, that made Pistol less blood than the child his mother killed. Call him fickle, but wasn’t that more fucked up to kill her full-blood son, than her half-blood? Did it simply indicate how little she thought of him, that he was as good as invisible to her the whole time?
He let his fingers slip over his arm where Colin’s tribute was etched. The grief he’d supressed for all these years took hold in his chest with unhinged ferocity. For such a long time he had pushed back the urge to let it out. He had turned it into fuel for his hate toward his mother. But lying alone in the dark, knowing his ma had got away, and that the only thing that mattered in his life was tucked up asleep at her house—he couldn’t stop the flow.
The first salty traitor tested the front lines, creeping over his cheekbone alone. Safe in the shell of his ear, it signalled the rest of the army of misery to break free. Tears surged forth with the kind of intensity he could expect after having never cried since he was a child. Staunch until the last, he lay in the dark, stifling the sob that wanted to rip from his throat. He felt shit enough for crying like a wimp—no way was he going to admit how badly he lost control b
y sobbing like a sissy, too.
His nostrils flared, and the surging of his chest with each supressed moan became too large to hold in. A ragged cry split the eerie quiet of the night as he admitted to himself that yeah, he was human after all. The outpouring had begun, and there was no stopping it until the last inch of his misery seeped from his soul like an oozing wound.
The feeling of release was so foreign. Such an intensity of emotion that wasn’t coupled with rage was new. He didn’t quite know what to make of it. Truth be told, it scared him a little how out of control he felt. But at the same time he could recognise the necessity. For too long he’d held it in, and for too long he’d suffered because of it. When such misery was contained within, he could hardly be blamed for the cold-hearted, asshole he had been all these years.
If only Steph were here to help him.
***
Trevor woke with a start, sweat beading on his body. Fuck, I hope this isn’t one of those warning dreams. Steph had been tied to a chair, her hair a nest of dirt, and blood. He’d been on the far side of the room, trying to get to her, except his legs didn’t want to move when his knee-caps had been blown out.
Bile rose in his throat at the vivid memory of his nightmare. He hadn’t dreamt for such a long time, and to have one now, like this? Fuck. He had to talk her out of it. Who cares what she’d forked out for her fare—he’d reimburse it five-fold just to know he wouldn’t be held responsible for anything that happened to her. He couldn’t go through that shit again. Never.
The crumpled sheets wrestled with his feet as he tried to get up. Barely a slip of light broke the motel curtain; it was bound to be early still. At least he wouldn’t miss his flight. Trevor’s tired joints creaked, and cracked as he rose to carry his weight to the kitchenette. Coffee would shake him out of it. Nothing like a good brew early in the morning to kick his senses in the nuts.
