Loaded

by Max Henry

  He stirred the pathetic portion of milk supplied in the fridge into the stale, instant blend. Reaching a tolerable shade of brown, he took a sniff of the cheap sachet coffee, and drew a grimace. Note to self—bring own coffee next time. He tipped the complimentary caffeine down the sink, and shrugged his jeans on. A fresh t-shirt lay on the back of the armchair from his preparations last night, and he pulled it over his head before toeing his boots on, and grabbing his wallet from the nightstand. Nothing seemed out of order in the room, and satisfied he had everything, he tossed the red duffle over his shoulder and headed for the door. The weapons he’d brought from Boris were stashed at Pete’s place, and he never got the chance to tell the mug where. Must give him a call. He dreaded the conversation, because as much of a skilled killer, and fighter he was, he was also a hopeless liar.

  A crisp morning breeze ruffled his hair as he stepped outside, and paused to decide how he’d get to the airport. Train? Or taxi? Train seemed less hassle, so he turned right at the sidewalk, and headed for the station. He ran a hand over his stubble, and sighed. It would be nice to get home, to his own comforts, his own things. Simply a pity he wouldn’t be staying long before he’d need to head off to see Mickey.

  His mate had come through with the car, which was good. All he had to hope was that it was something decent so he wouldn’t be left broken down on the side of the road, halfway there—as lovely as that would be. He couldn’t lie to himself and say that he didn’t dread the impending showdown. Last time he’d faced off against Mickey, he’d removed two of the thug’s fingers, but also received a broken arm in the process. Turned out the guy was no less feral, even when he was bleeding profusely from freshly amputated digits.

  Trevor scuffed a dry leaf along the pavement while he willed himself to carry on. All he wanted to do was fall into a crumpled heap on the side of the road, and refuse to move like a child having a tantrum. He was tired. He’d had enough. But he wasn’t ready to retire yet. He had things to organise before that was an option, namely finding the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his years with before he figured out where. But, with the way his headspace was at these days, he’d be luckier than Pete if he happened across such a woman.

  Even more reason why he felt shit knowing the risk Steph would be in over the next week.

  Pete deserved his future with her.

  He had to get her to stay in Australia.

  He couldn’t deal with the stress.

  Steph glanced between the itinerary in her hand, and the departures board. How was it she managed to forget six simple digits every time she did? She should have had it memorised by now, but no. She located the line showing her flight third from the bottom, and noted the check-in was open. Being an international, she had a ridiculous amount of time to waste prior. At least she still had to call her dad. There would be a good half hour or more.

  Young back-packers mixed with wearied holiday-goers at the queue to get her luggage checked in. At least she didn’t stand out like a sore thumb in her plainly dressed, over-tired state. She’d managed to hunt out a pair of flat shoes in the wardrobe, but purchasing more comfortable kicks were definitely on the agenda when they touched down. Somehow five-inch heels didn’t seem like practical footwear for the kind of activities they would partake in.

  The middle-aged, brunette lady behind the desk smiled, and ushered her forward. Still hard to stomach how happy some people could be at this ungodly hour of the morning. Her suitcase went through without a hitch, well below the weight limit. She passed the documents over to the lady, who tapped furiously at her keyboard, whacked a stamp over the sheets, and slipped everything back to Steph inside her passport. She thanked the woman, and bagged the documents in search of a café, or the like. Anything that had enough espresso to wake up a small army would be adequate.

  One over-priced Styrofoam cup later, Steph stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the ground staff go about their business. The organised chaos that went on beneath the colossal planes was enough distraction to keep eighty per cent of her brain off the thoughts that had kept her up all night. How she was even standing, who knew?

  “Morning, Lovely.”

  She startled, and cursed as the lava-hot coffee sploshed over her hand.

  “On edge?” Trevor smiled.

  “Not at all.”

  He simply stared at her, with a half smile tweaking the corners of his lips.

  “Okay, yeah. I’m worried. Worried I’ll fuck it all up, worried I’ll get hurt, and worried I’ll get in your way. I feel as out of place as a pensioner at a One Direction concert.”

  He chuckled, and lifted his own million-dollar mug to his lips. “You sure you don’t want to gracefully exit while you still can?”

  “Positive.”

  He grumbled into the mug as he sipped.

  “Do you think I should?”

  “Without a doubt.”

  Steph stared pointlessly out the window. The fact she was being a reckless idiot wasn’t in question, more so if the benefits of her actions would be worth it. “What would you do?”

  “Protect those I loved.”

  “So why are you advising me against this?”

  Trevor sighed, his unshaven appearance ageing him a little. “You’re inexperienced. There’s too much at risk, and most of all, I don’t want to be the one explaining to Pete what happened.”

  “Then don’t.”

  He growled, and rubbed the side of his face. “You are the most stubborn woman I have met, and considering I’ve been graced with Sharon’s presence, I think that says something. Ask yourself this, Steph. Why are you doing it—really? Where will you be able to do the most for Pete? Here, or a million miles away? If you’re only out to prove something to yourself, then take a step back and see what a fucking idiot you’re being by placing yourself in such danger. Jesus, Joseph, and Mary woman—think of your family.” He huffed, and shook his head. “You’ve got options. People like me don’t. Some of us can do this kind of thing without being selfish, because we don’t have anything to leave behind.”

  He stalked away from her, tossing his coffee violently into a trashcan as he passed it by. She stood shocked by his honesty. He’d called her out, and the giddy nerves that told her she was about to do the wrong thing exploded into a full-blown anxiety attack.

  Steph stumbled to a near-by seat, and flopped into it. She pulled her phone from her bag, and dialled her dad. He would be able to clear her foggy thoughts. She needed a devil’s advocate, and who better than someone who wasn’t involved in any of this yet. The ringing dragged on, and she contemplated trying again later, when he picked up.

  “This is early for you, Sweetie.”

  “Dad.” Her voice cracked. Hearing his dulcet tones placed her back in the headspace of a scared teenage girl, huddled into her father’s chest.

  “What’s the matter, Steph? Are you safe?”

  “Yes, Dad. I’m safe. I need advice though.”

  “Of course.” Muffled sounds of him moving around scratched through the line. “Let me sit down.”

  “You have to promise not to judge, okay?”

  “Sounds ominous.”

  Steph drew a deep breath. Telling him everything without coming off as crazy would be hard, but maybe that was the kicker right there? If it sounds crazy, then you probably are crazy.

  She nestled her legs beside her on the seat, and recounted the past few weeks to her dad. His short breaths, and unimpressed grumbles punctuated her rambling every so often, but he kept quiet throughout, and let her finish with her recent conversation with Trevor.

  “I’m not passing judgement, Steph … but have you lost your goddamn mind!”

  His uncharacteristic yelling cut a fresh wound, and tears sprung forth. “I don’t want him to die, Dad,” she sobbed into the phone.

  “Can you hear how ludicrous this sounds? You’re telling me you decided that the best way to protect him—a goddam murderer—is to become one yourself.”
r />   “I realise it sounds worse than—”

  “Worse than it is? What could be worse, Steph?” He muttered a few incomprehensible words while she struggled to keep her sobs inside. “Honey, are you still on your medication?”

  How could he know? The thought she sounded crazy enough for her dad to even question if she had stopped taking her pills cut like a knife. Did she sound that nuts? “It’s been a week or so, but I’ve been so happy since Pete came along.”

  “Steph, baby. You know you can’t stop your anti-depressants without the doctors say.”

  “I thought I was fine.”

  “I know you did, but Sweetie, you’ve had so much stress lately. Look, I’m coming to get you”

  “No, I’m fine. I’ve got a lift home.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” She hiccupped a breath. “I’m sure.”

  Her dad let out a long sigh. “I expect you to call me when you get home. And I expect you to be over for dinner tonight. We haven’t finished talking through this, okay young lady?”

  “Yes Dad.”

  “I love you, Steph.”

  “Love you too, Dad.” She ended the call, and dropped her phone on top of her bag.

  Steph drew her knees up, and buried her face in her legs, letting the tears leak in intervals. Her dad knew she had stopped her meds. And of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? She’d madly hatched a plan to join a hit man on the other side of the world to kill her boyfriend’s mother. If that wasn’t a brief psychotic episode, then what the fuck was?

  And you told yourself this would never happen again.

  She startled when a heavy, yet gentle arm fell across her shoulders, and she was pulled to the left. Trevor sat beside her, and brought Steph to his side, giving her shoulder a squeeze. He avoided her eye contact when he spoke.

  “I’ve called Pete.”

  “What?”

  “When I didn’t think I could stop you myself, I pulled the big guns.”

  “Shit.”

  “Sweetheart, he’ll only be angry because he cares. To be honest, I think the thought of what you tried to do scared the shit out of him.”

  She chuckled. “I can’t imagine seeing him scared.”

  “Look a little harder. Most of the time, it’s all he is.”

  Steph settled into Trevor’s hold as her insomnia caught up. She drew her eyes shut, intending to rest for no more than a few minutes. Morning sun streamed in the windows, and she relished the warmth it brought to her legs where it touched her skin.

  Only a few minutes, and then I’ll head out front to wait for him….

  Pistol crouched down in front of Steph, and shook his head. The woman was mad if she honestly thought her hair-brain plan to shadow Trevor had been the only way to see an end to the madness. He reached out, and stroked her hair from her face. His eyes cast right to find Trevor watching him with keen interest.

  “Look at her, Pete. She needs you here.”

  He closed his eyes, and pushed the thought of abandoning her away. She had family here, and friends who would support her. His skills were better utilised where it would make the most impact in the long run.

  “She’ll understand.”

  “I bloody hope so, Son. Especially since you need her to change the ticket.”

  He looked to the terminal clock. They had half an hour to sort the name-change out before he would need to enter customs. As much as it pained him to wake her from such a moment of peace, he laid a hand on her face, and stroked his thumb across her cheek. Steph’s eyes fluttered open, and she straightened the moment she realised she had her head on Trevor’s chest.

  “Pete. I’m sorry.”

  “Ssh, Love. We’ll have all the time in the world to talk it over when this is done. But right now, Cutie, I need you to come with me.”

  She looked across at Trevor, who smiled, and nodded. “Why?” she asked. “Where are we going?”

  “I need ya to authorise the change of name on the ticket.”

  She stared blankly, rubbed her eyes, and tipped her head to the side. “What?”

  “I need to change the name on your ticket to me own.”

  The moment he’d been dreading was as painful as he expected. Her chin quivered, and she looked to Trevor for support. The big guy nodded again, and her tears started anew from puffy, red-ringed eyes. “You can’t go, Pete. You can’t go,” she sobbed.

  He wrapped his arms around her shaking form, and stroked her hair. “I’ll be fine, Love. I won’t be doin’ nothin’ I haven’t done a dozen times before.”

  “You can’t go,” she repeated into his shirt.

  “Come on, Love. We haven’t got a lot of time. I need ya to be brave.”

  Her nostrils flared while she nodded. He shuffled back to give her space to stand, and hand-in-hand they walked to the check-in. They presented their details, and request to the lady at the desk, who spent the next ten minutes alternately tapping, and phoning people to arrange the swap. He drew Steph into his arms while they waited, laying kisses into her hair every so often. As usual, she smelt fucking divine.

  “Love, you’ll need these.” He pulled free, and fished his keys from the pocket of his jeans.

  Her skin was soft in his grasp as he pressed the keys into her palm. She simply stared at them like they were a piece of alien technology.

  “You need a way to get home, and I need me car taken care of.”

  She looked at the keys, then at him like he’d lost the plot. It dawned on him that he’d never actually seen her drive.

  “You do know how to drive, right? Ya have a licence?”

  She smiled, and his heart broke all over again. “Yes, Babe. I can drive.”

  The desk attendant interrupted, and passed the new boarding passes across inside his passport. Thank fuck he’d kept the thing up-to-date. Trevor greeted them as they moved to the side.

  “Hate to interrupt, my Lovelies, but I’ll see you on the other side of Customs, yeah?”

  He nodded.

  “Steph,” Trevor crooned. “You are one amazing woman. Yes, a little crazy, but amazing nonetheless. I’ll be sure to get this mug back to you in one piece. It’s been a pleasure.” He drew her hand, and kissed the back. “Later.”

  “See ya shortly.” Pistol watched his large frame disappear down the escalator, and turned back to the bundle of perfection in his arms. “I ain’t goin’ to say goodbye, because it’s not.”

  Her eyes glassed, and he cursed himself for causing her so much pain in one day. “Good. You’ll be back in seven days, because that’s when the return ticket is.”

  He nodded, stroking her hair over the top of her ear.

  “And I’ll be right here,” she stated indignantly as her voice cracked.

  “Love.” He drew her into his body one last time, and closed his eyes to memorise every inch of how she felt against him.

  He promised her the world, and he’d be sure to deliver. But truthfully he was as worried as she was that he wouldn’t be on that return flight. Mickey-Six was a callous bastard. Not to be mistaken by the fact he had a family. He might be a loving parent, and a supportive husband—but he was also one fucked up sicko when it came to killing.

  “I’ll call ya when we arrive.”

  “You better.”

  “And every night before ya go to sleep.”

  She nodded, as the tears ran down her face to drip from her jaw. He swept his sleeve along the soft edge, and collected the few yet to fall.

  “You have to understand why I’m doin’ this, Love. It’ll never stop. If I don’t take care of it, we’ll always be livin’ in fear of who’s next. Murray won’t stop, and neither will Ma. They’ll be after me, and they’ll be after you. I can’t have that. I can’t live on the run. It’s not what you deserve.”

  “Just come home,” she whispered.

  He sighed, and kissed her forehead, her nose, and then her sweet lips. The salt of her tears pricked on his tongue, but nothing could have stopped
him. Her free hand wrapped around the back of his neck, and he gripped the side of her face in his palms. A kiss which had started out as a slow show of adoration, soon transitioned to a frenzied need for each other.

  He couldn’t give a fuck if the Pope was watching. His girl needed to know she was loved, and he needed to know, that she knew. He wouldn’t be able to board the plane without feeling satisfied she understood how much she meant to his world.

  Her breaths came staggered as he broke free, and pressed his forehead to hers. “I better go, Love.”

  She sniffed, and nodded. What he would do to split himself in two so he could be both places at once.

  “Just come back,” she mumbled as he mustered every ounce of will power to take the first step away from her.

  Pistol nodded curtly, and turned for the escalator Trevor had disappeared down moments before. The moving stairs crawled at an agonising pace. He turned back, and spied her over the top, watching him go. She blew him a kiss, and without a second thought, he lifted his hand to catch it, and stuffed it in his pocket.

  Her hands flew to her face, and she turned away as he dipped below her floor level.

  Pistol pressed his eyes shut as he turned, and took a long, deep breath. He bottled the remnants of his heartache, guilt, and despair at leaving Steph behind, and shoved them in the cage with what was left of Pete.

  His life was about to be catapulted back into one he tried so hard to get away from, and he would need every ounce of twisted, angry motherfucker he could summon to make it through.

  Trevor met him as he stepped through the customs checkpoint, and slapped him on the shoulder. “How you doing, Son?”

  “Ready to go fuck some people up, Brother.”

  “Atta boy.”

  As always, I owe my biggest gratitude to my family. Without you, this journey wouldn’t hold any reward for me.

  To my hubby—your constant encouragement, and also your gentle reminders when I need to surface, and become a part of normal society again, are the things that feed my strength. Without you by my side, I honestly think the long hours, the stress, and he enormity of what it takes to publish your own book would have beaten me down until I quit a long time ago.