Recoil Page 10

  The hinge creaked on the door, and a plump woman looked at them as they entered. She pulled her fluffy dog closer to her chest. The over-sized rat eyed them as they approached the front desk.

  “How can I help ya?” the young redhead asked.

  “Trevor here to see Don.”

  “Aye. Take a seat.” She lingered her gaze on the towel Pistol still clutched to his side, and smiled back at Trevor.

  He shuffled across the waiting room, and levered himself into the hard, plastic seat. No sooner had his butt touched the thing, than an older guy appeared in front of them.

  “Trevor. How you been, old chap?”

  Another Englishman. His snowy white beard dusted the front of his cream shirt.

  “Great. Don, this is my friend, Pete. He needs your opinion.”

  “I see.” Colonel Sanders rubbed his beard, and nodded toward the examination room.

  Pistol reluctantly got up, and entered the sterile space, trying no tot choke on the fumes of antiseptic cleaner. Trevor chuckled from a corner seat as Pistol struggled to push himself onto the small table.

  Don moved to stand in front of him, snapping latex gloves into place.

  He stared the old man down, and grinned. “Woof.”

  Trevor burst into a fit of laughter. Don shook his head, a smile on his lips.

  He gently pulled the tacky cotton of the towel off the drying wound, and set the bloody rag aside. Don’s expression soured, and he let out a low whistle between his teeth.

  “Have you kids been playing a bit rough again?”

  “Somethin’ like that.” He gritted his teeth, and screwed his eyes shut as the man pushed a finger around the wound. “Jesus, take it easy.”

  “I can collar you if you won’t be able to sit still.” Don raised an eyebrow.

  He smiled at the old bugger. At least the prick had a sense of humour. Maybe the experience wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  The doc set to work cleaning the site, and prepping his suture needle. Trevor cleared his throat, and stood from his seat.

  “I think I’ll go check on those groceries, make sure they aren’t getting too hot in the car.”

  “You can bring them in if you like,” Don replied.

  “Agh, no. That’s okay.”

  The big guy slipped from the room before the conversation got any more awkward.

  “This may smart a little.” Don held the needle up, and fluffed with the length of the thread. “You’re lucky there wasn’t any major damage.”

  “So I can still wag me tail?”

  “Even catch a ball if you so desire.”

  Pistol chuckled, and closed his eyes to think of anything but the pain as the needle stuck his flesh. His mind quickly drifted toward the island that was all Steph, and his good humour dwindled.

  What would she say when she saw the gash? He could imagine the look of pain on her face now. Hurting her by getting himself hurt made the situation seem so pointless. He did all this for her, but if what happened to him made her feel worse, then why did he bother to start with?

  Because things could get so much worse if you let it be.

  They were halfway, him and Trevor. One parent bundled in the car, and one to go.

  The big guy re-entered, and winced at the sight of him being stitched up.

  “How were they?”

  “Fine. Didn’t shift during the journey at all.” Trevor resumed his position in the corner, thick arms folded over his chest.

  “How’s the hostage?” Don asked, his gaze still firmly on the job at hand.

  “Excuse me?” Trevor choked.

  “I’m asking if there is another patient I need to attend to before you leave.”

  Pistol looked over the old guy’s shoulder, and met Trevor’s confused look as he shrugged. “I think he’ll be all right.”

  “I may be a bit long in the tooth, boys, but I’m not stupid. Did you honestly think I’d believe you two stopped for groceries on your way here?”

  Trevor laughed, and Pistol drew a breath as the last stitch tugged tight. “Aye, you’ve got a point.” He looked down at the wound as Don clipped the thread. “That was a lame excuse there, big fella.”

  “Oh, right. And what you have had me say?”

  “Fucked if I know. You could have been goin’ for a slash for all I cared.”

  “Right. I’ll leave the talking up to you next time, huh?”

  “Don’t be like that.”

  “He’s always been like that,” Don interjected. “Takes things to heart, our Trevor.”

  “Thanks for the verdict there, Doc.” Trevor rolled his eyes, and stared at the door as Pistol edged off the table.

  “Now. I can’t prescribe you anything for it, given my tendency to treat animals most days—” Don smiled. “—But I can give you the name of a couple of over the counter medications with antibiotic properties. I suggest cleaning the area with a saline solution at least twice a day, and for mercy’s sake, try not to do anything too physical for the next few weeks. You have to give the flesh time to bind.” He turned from them, and scribbled a couple of names on a piece of paper. “Here. If you have any trouble with it, or even if you aren’t sure, come and see me.”

  “Thanks,” Pistol said, and took the paper from the guy’s hand. “I don’t plan on being here much longer though. Your help is appreciated.”

  Don waved them off, and turned back to his computer. He took the cue to leave, and nodded toward the door. Trevor exited first, effectively shielding his blood-covered clothing from the view of the public in the waiting room.

  He tailed the big guy out to the car park, and shook out a cigarette as they reached the vehicle. “Gimme five, eh?”

  Trevor shook his head, and opened the door of the car. He dropped into the driver’s seat, and sat with his legs out the door, facing Pistol. “You do realize this detour has given the grapevine time to get to work?”

  “Well aware, thanks.”

  “Just saying. It’s going to be a darn sight more tricky picking your mother up now they’re onto us.”

  Pistol chuckled, and sucked a lungful of smoke. “You overestimate how much they think of her.” He blew the ashen cloud out in a thin line, disturbing it’s perfect shape with swipes of his finger.

  “I’m not worried about what they think of your mother, Son. I’m worried about what they think of him.” He thumbed toward the back of the car. “I’m guessing Murray still has enough sway in these parts to have a few people concerned for his whereabouts, even if it is for their own business interests.”

  The little nugget of truth Trevor had decided to share was the exact same thing that had been worrying him since they left the motel. Murray was the kind of guy with his finger in every pie. Somebody would want to know where he was, where their cash was, or who was organizing a heist for them. People like Murray didn’t go on vacation without appointing a second in charge.

  “Best we be at it then, huh?” He drew back another long drag of he smoke, watching the amber sparks crackle as they climbed up the stick. “Sooner we’re at her, the less shit we’ve got to contend with.” He chuckled. “Well, at least that’s the idea.”

  Trevor rubbed a large hand over his hair, and pulled it back into a short ponytail. He flicked the tie from his wrist over the tuft of black, and sighed. “Ever have those days where you wonder how it was you got stuck into this shit? What it was that made fate decide you were the sucker who deserved to have it hard his whole life?”

  “Every day, brother.”

  “I’m fucking over it, Pete.”

  “I know.”

  “I wanted to be a Personal Trainer when I was a kid. Whip people into shape. I guess I still whip something out of them.”

  “Yeah, I guess you do.”

  He watched as Trevor buried the pain, and regret behind his steel mask once again. Everybody had their demons, but some people walked shoulder to shoulder with the suckers. Trevor was the kind of guy who had the fucker sitting on his
back, taking a free ride at the expense of another’s pain.

  He could recognize the signs in Trevor that reflected true to himself. The need to joke about his hurt, the need to hide behind a cold, unaffected exterior, the inability to hold down a meaningful relationship.

  Well, until now.

  What a fine match he’d found in Steph. She thought he was the one who showed him truths about herself she needed to know. She thought he was the answer to her insecurities, that he could help her live a life less afraid. But who was he to judge? Who was he to tell her how to work through the mess when he couldn’t even sort his own shit out without creating a tidal wave of carnage in his wake?

  He rounded the car, and fell into the seat beside Trevor. The big guy backed them out of the parking space, and exited the car park over a small, sharp judder bar. The car thumped as its back axle crossed the lump in the pavement.

  He smirked, and revelled in the little things in life.

  Little joys.

  Simple pleasures.

  Pity they were always at the expense of another’s pain.

  Steph stood at her front door, key in the lock, and eyes glazed as she stared at her hand on the cool metal of the door handle.

  Home.

  It wasn’t remotely close to a place she could feel comfortable laying her head any more. She sucked in a lungful of courage, and pushed the door open. The stillness of the empty house sent shivers through her limbs. She dropped her bag at the end of the kitchen counter, and walked past the door to the spare room on her way to the master bedroom.

  Her feet stopped of their own accord, and she eyed the plain white door. So unassuming, yet so filled with dread. The room signified everything that was wrong in her world, and in some weird way of coping with the stress, having the door shut seemed like the best way to keep her demons at arms length.

  The room was her Pandora’s box.

  But this time, the temptation wasn’t there. She’d gladly keep it closed knowing the evil that was inside.

  Her room sat shrouded in grey as she pulled the blinds closed. After visiting Gary, she’d driven for another solid two hours, mulling over her past choices, and the options she had at starting again on the right foot. The manic episode at the airport hadn’t been a precursor to something worse as she had feared. It had simply been a warning, a wake-up call that life could be a lot uglier if she didn’t take the time to worry about herself above others every now and again.

  Her hand paused on the light-switch, but the dark of the late afternoon seemed more welcoming. Sometimes light could be too revealing for her tastes. It showed every scar, imperfection, and fault she possessed when she caught herself sneak a peek in the mirror. The gloomy grey could dampen those faults, and make her feel happy being in her skin—even if only for an hour or two.

  Steph crawled onto her bed, and slid under the covers—fully dressed. She nestled her head into the pillows, and stared up at the fan in the centre of the ceiling. She lost herself, mentally drawing lines around it’s metal outline. Ever since she was young there had been something serene about busying her mind with mundane activities.

  A few hours and it would be night time; her favourite part of the day. At night nobody rushed from appointment, to errand, rushing their way through life without having a moment to revel in the beauty of the world about them. Perhaps at night people physically slept, but during the day most were mentally asleep; going through the motions without using full function of their brain. Simply staggering through the routines of life without true purpose other than to pay the bills, and eat.

  Night had always brought her imagination to life. She dreamt of alternate worlds, of parallel universes where her life hadn’t been sent spiralling off the track at one ill-fated bonfire party.

  What would have she been like if she’d never felt the need to shield herself from the world in a coat of false bravado. Because at the end of it all, that’s all her bright hair, and tattoo’s were, right? A mask to shield her from people being able to judge the real her? If she could manage to keep people looking at her art first and foremost, then they wouldn’t see past it to the broken shell of a woman, trying to make her way through the day without the need to cry, or hide in an empty bathroom stall.

  The simple, yet effective art of distraction.

  Even if that’s all her style was born of; a need to ‘disappear’, then it didn’t matter. Alternate was her normal now, and she wouldn’t change a thing about the way she looks. Besides, Pete likes it, too. But was that the wrong way to think? To want to please him by being who he wanted her to be?

  Nonsense.

  She wasn’t being who he wanted her to be—he appreciated who she was. Big difference.

  Her eyes drew heavy as her thoughts plundered on, unboxing, and assembling the pieces of herself she’d swept under the carpet for too long. When was the last time she could truly say she’d spent time on herself, and herself only? It was too easy to immerse herself in the task of keeping everyone around her happy, to ignore her issues by stonewalling them with the issues of others.

  Sure, there’s nothing inherently wrong with wanting to help her friends. But when it’s at the expense of her health, she had to take a step back and ask why? Why was she ignoring her own needs? What was so hard about the problem that she couldn’t just face it head on?

  Steph rolled to her back, and sighed. Maybe she’d been wasted as a forensic accountant. All this brain-ache about why she acted the way she did said she should have directed her studies into psychology.

  Then again, who said it was too late? She was in her prime as far as a career was concerned. Plenty of years left to retrain. An idea for another time. The thought of studying had appeal, but her common sense reminded her that when her boyfriend was overseas, taking out his parents, and God knows who else, it wasn’t exactly the time to implement major life changes.

  Besides, she had other issues to attend to before she thought about anything like that. Her gaze wandered to the wall her bedroom shared with the spare room.

  The tone of her phone pierced the silence of the house, sending her heart racing. Steph scrambled to her feet, and dashed out to retrieve it from her bag. The ring-tone neared the end as she swiped the slider to answer.

  “Heya.”

  “I nearly thought you weren’t going to answer.”

  Her stomach became a gooey mess at the sound of his voice, and she became acutely aware of tension between her thighs. “Just in another room, is all.”

  “Hope ya weren’t doin’ anything without me, Love.”

  She giggled like a pathetic little schoolgirl. “Hardly.”

  “I miss ya, Cutie.”

  “I miss you, too.” She bit her fingernail, chastising herself for wanting to ask. “How’s it—” she started at the same time as he spoke.

  “I’ll be—” Pete chuckled. “You go.”

  “How’s it going? I mean have you, you know, sorted anything?”

  “Aye. Mickey passes on his apologies for being unable to attend, and Murray is still unsure if he can.”

  She smiled at his guarded way of talking about such a macabre subject. “It’s a second language to you, isn’t it?”

  “Entirely.” He sighed. “Not long and I’ll be able to hold ya again. I feel like a part of me is missing, or broken without ya here.”

  “Pete O’Malley,” she smiled. “I never picked you to be the sweet romantic.”

  “Full of surprises, Love. Would you rather something else?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “I could tell ya what I’ll do when I get home.”

  Steph made her way to the bedroom as the ache in her intensified. “Are you going to wait that long?”

  “What do ya mean?” The humour in his voice was clear.

  “Oh, nothing. It’s just so long from the airport to here. A girl could be mistaken for wondering how badly you missed her if you can wait that long.” She shimmied out of her shorts, and crawled o
ver the bed.

  “Fuck, Love. You better not be makin’ a promise you can’t keep.”

  “You tell me. It’ll be you who’ll have to live up to what he’s telling me.”

  He growled. “Public, or private?”

  “Place?”

  “Aye. If I had my way, I’d fuck ya against the wall the minute I got through customs and saw your sexy ass waitin’ for me.”

  “Bet the families with kids would love that.”

  “Keep on track, Love.”

  “Sorry.” Steph nestled further into the bed, and attempted the laborious task of getting her shirt off without putting the phone down. “Let’s make it interesting—public.”

  “Hmm. You’re going to be fuckin’ wet for me, I know it. You gonna have the collar on?”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “Is the Pope a Catholic?”

  She giggled, and tossed the tangled shirt aside. “Collar, and dress. Nothing underneath.”

  “Fuck I’m hard right now.”

  “Don’t tease me. It’s not fair.”

  “What the fuck do ya think the image of you in a dress with nothing on underneath is doing?”

  “Touche.”

  “First of all, we’re goin’ to need to take the escalator to the car park. And ya know what that means.”

  “Enlighten me.” Her voice had taken on a gravelly tone of its own accord.

  “You, in front, and me behind ya. Right behind ya.”

  “And?”

  “That dress of yours looks fine on that ass of yours, but the temptation of what’s underneath is too much, Love. I’m goin’ to lift that thing just enough to be able to slide my fingers in that sweet warmth, and remind your pussy what it’s been missin’.”

  “I think it knows.” Steph drew her eyes shut, and slid down on the cushions. “It’s pouting right now.”

  He chuckled before continuing. “You’re goin’ to be ready by the time we get to the bottom, but since there’s not enough time on one of those things, you’re gonna have to stand there, and watch as I lick my fingers clean, knowing what it is I’m tastin’.”

  “Sounds fine to me.”