Recoil Page 12

  “I’m not sure if this is the best career for me—nothing against this office. I love it here. But I sometimes wonder what I would have done if I didn’t let my parents dictate my choices.”

  “Totally understandable. If you want to take the rest of the week to think it over, then the offer’s still open. I’d hate to see you leave, though.”

  “No, honestly.” Steph stared out the window at the birds hopping along the concrete. “I’ve tried to work it out the last few days, and so far all I’ve come up with is a headache.”

  “Did you want to start back today? Or tomorrow?”

  “Today. If that’s okay?”

  “More than okay.” Barbara moved back to her seat, and looked down at a report she had spread across the top. “Good to have you back.”

  “Thanks.”

  Steph took her leave, and wandered through the office to her desk. It was a little after the start of the workday so most people had their heads down in their work, not noticing her as she walked by.

  Marcus leant back in his chair as she passed his cubicle. “Hey.”

  “Hey, you.”

  “I thought you weren’t back until next week?”

  “Keeping tabs on me now?” Steph smiled.

  “Busted.” He chuckled. “Serious though. Why you back early? You must be mental.”

  If only he knew.

  “The trip I had planned fell through, and I was going stir crazy at home.”

  “Trade places,” he grumbled. “I’ve got a million things I could be doing outside of here.”

  “Yeah, well, me not so much.” She shrugged.

  “What about Mr Intense? Thought you’d make the most of your down time, if you know what I mean.” He waggled his eyebrows, making her laugh.

  “You need to get laid.”

  “Truth. You offering?”

  She stared at him. Her common sense told her he was joking, but given the past few weeks, her nerves still sat on the edge.

  “Too much?”

  The regret on his face made her heart soften toward him. “It’s okay. You caught me off guard.”

  “Sorry. I’ll just, ah, you know.” He pointed at his computer, wiggling his finger around.

  Steph giggled as she took the last few steps to her desk. She round the corner, her bag in mid-flight to its position under the desk, when her heart stopped and she bit back the urge to vomit.

  “Oh yeah,” Marcus piped up, his head over the partition. “They showed up on after you left.”

  Her hand trembled as she reached for the slip of white amongst the dying flowers.

  “Tried to keep them alive, but as you can tell I’m not much of a gardener.”

  “They’re cut flowers, Marcus. You don’t ‘garden’ them.”

  “Point taken.” He smiled, and disappeared into his cubicle.

  Steph brought the card to her chest as she looked at the white lilies. She wanted to believe so bad that they were a spontaneous gift from Pete, but her gut swum in tight circles, warning her there wasn’t a chance that was remotely true.

  Her finger edged the tape at the centre apart, and she flipped the card open to read the hand-written message.

  To the good times.

  He sent them before the funeral. Before he took her hostage.

  She dropped the message on the floor before Ivan’s words could creep across her skin and embed themselves in her flesh. What did he have planned for them? What would have happened if she hadn’t been able to fight him off?

  Steph drew a deep breath, and hoisted the cardboard vase off the desk. Walking through the office with the enormous arrangement before her, people finally took notice.

  Perfect timing. Thanks guys.

  She pressed down on the handle of the back door with her elbow, and backed out to the rear of the building. Steph made a beeline for the large, blue skip, and heaved the flowers into the rubbish.

  Pretend you never saw them.

  Out of sight, out of mind, right? Problem was, Ivan was far from out of mind. Wether she wanted to admit it or not, he was still the final thread left unresolved.

  Come home, Pete. I need your help.

  Trevor gave Pistol a slap on the back outside the small, corner supermarket. They’d trailed his mother for the past day, waiting for her to be away from other people, and it seemed they might be about to get their chance.

  See, his mother had this time-old habit when she got high; she bought Cheetos. A strange, but steadfast habit she’d had as long as he could remember. And there she stood now, at the checkout, rattling through her pockets to come up with the meagre change it took to buy the packet.

  Fuck, he had to resist the urge to go in there and buy the damn things for her to speed this along.

  A few minutes later, her scrawny frame crossed the threshold to the outside world, and she lifted a thin arm to pull her sunglasses down. The rain had cleared, leaving an eerie blue sky. The light reflected off the puddles left behind, and cast an oddly upbeat glow on their surroundings.

  She walked left, paused, and turned back to head in the opposite direction. This again was not unusual for her pre-hit state. The woman’s mind lay so focused on what she intended to do that he was surprised she managed to dress herself before she went out.

  He elbowed Trevor, and they split in opposite directions to come at her from both sides. The woman may not have had a pound of muscle to her body, but he could bet she’d fight like a beast unleashed once she realized what was going on.

  He shadowed the supermarket as Trevor made his way behind a row of parked cars. The stupid bitch had her head down, texting.

  And they say it’s the younger generations problem.

  He closed the gap between them, and as he reached the final steps, her head snapped up like a startled jackrabbit. Pistol lunged, and caught the sleeve of her T-shirt when she faked left in an attempt to duck his attack.

  They spun in opposite directions, forcing his wrist at an unnatural angle. He growled as she slipped from his grasp. However, her freedom was short-lived as she ran straight into the brick wall that was Trevor’s chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and as Pistol predicted, the woman kicked and clawed for her release.

  The bag of Cheetos dropped to the ground in the struggle, and he kicked it aside as he approached to settle the wildcat down. Her arm lashed backwards, and a lucky shot collected the side of his face. He swore, the sharp shock ricocheting through his temple.

  “Just give up, ya silly cow.”

  “Fuck ya, Pete. I’ll never let you have one up on me.”

  “Christ woman,” Trevor griped as she wriggled about in his hold.

  “And as for you,” she started, and then promptly stopped when her teeth found the flesh of Trevor’s upper arm.

  He cried out, grasping her hair with his free hand, and wrenched her head off him. Blood seeped through the fabric of his shirt, and the rage Trevor contained broke out full force.

  Pistol took a leap back to dodge his mother’s flying body as Trevor threw her to the ground. “Fuck, Carol! I’ll probably have to get a fucking HIV test now, you stupid whore.”

  “Merry Christmas,” she sneered.

  Pistol stepped up, and wrapped his arms under her armpits, hoisting her to her feet. She threw an elbow back, and collected him square in the stitches. He reeled at the immediate hit of nausea, and pushed her forward into Trevor’s waiting stance.

  The bitch stumbled, and as she headed for the pavement, took out Trevor’s legs like a couple of bowling pins. An episode of the Three Stooge’s would have looked more co-ordinated at that moment. Trevor wobbled, and put a foot back to regain balance, but lost any chance he had at righting himself when his foot struck a stormwater drain.

  He tumbled back, landing awkwardly on the curbing of the raised garden. Pistol winced at the pained roar the big guy let loose as Trevor rolled to his side and clutched at his back.

  “Fuck me.” The big guy’s face contorted with pain.

>   His mother made a break for it, but came crashing onto her chest, her face colliding with the ground when Pistol landed atop of her. He wrapped a leg around hers, pinning her down.

  “Oi! What’s goin’ on?”

  Great. Witnesses.

  Trevor got to his feet, looking none too pleased, and limped across to help Pistol pull his mother off the ground.

  “Oi!” The onlooker called out again, making his way over from the front doors of the supermarket.

  “We best be getting a wriggle on.”

  He nodded at Trevor, and took his mother by the ankles. Between them, they managed a small miracle, and got her into the back of the waiting car before the do-gooder could reach them. Pistol climbed in the back, and sat on top of the woman while she hissed and scratched at him.

  He looked out the back window as Trevor sped away and sighed. The confused onlooker stood with hands on hips, stunned at the scene he’d witnessed. Another near miss. The last place he wanted to be was locked up in the local slammer. One more close shave they could have done without, yet still one step closer to getting home to Steph.

  One step closer to ending this charade he called his family for good.

  ***

  Trevor pulled up outside the hit house, and turned to look at the spectacle in the back seat. Pistol smiled a toothy grin at the big guy, and the two of them cracked up at the ridiculous predicament they were in.

  Halfway to the location he’d officially lost his temper with his mother’s attempts at escape, and had knocked her out with a quick fist to the face. She lay cramped into the small space the back of the loan car provided with Pistol still sitting on top of her, his legs folded like a Buddha contemplating life.

  He flicked the handle on the door, and folded himself out of the car, rubbing the kinks out of his neck from where he’d had it craned against the roof of the vehicle for so long. Trevor met him on the curb, and shook his head at the sight before them.

  “Jesus, man. I’m not usually one to say anything untoward about another mans mother, but fuck, that woman has no class at all.”

  Pistol winced at the sight of her track-marked arms, dirty dress, and pasty, dry skin. A person could have picked her as a junkie from a mile away. She screamed desperation.

  “Aye, you’d be right, though. Let’s get this done with.” He rubbed a hand over his face, and drew a deep breath.

  Trevor grabbed Carol by an ankle, and dragged her across the seat until she hung out of the car from the hips down. He hoisted her into his arms, and promptly dropped her to the ground with a grunt as his knees gave out.

  “You right, brother?”

  He shook his head, pain etched into his features. “Not so much, Son. I’ve fucked my back good and proper on that curbing back there.”

  “Step back. This’ll at least make ya laugh.”

  Pistol stepped up to his mother’s slumped form, and stood with his hands on his hips.

  “You look like you’re trying to work out a physics equation.” Trevor laughed.

  “Fuckin’ close. How do you make it look so easy?”

  “Practice.” Trevor sighed. “Agh, man. Put your arms under her and run with it.”

  He shuddered. “It means I have to get close to her. I ain’t been that close without laying one on her in fuckin’ forever.”

  “You’ve never cuddled your mother?” Trevor arched an eyebrow.

  Pistol swept his arm in the direction of the woman between them. “Does she look like the type to cuddle?”

  “Point made.”

  “Fuck it. Let’s give this a shot.” Pistol bent down, and scooped the woman into his arms. Picking the likes of Steph up was one thing—she was live weight. But his mother? Passed out? She was a fucking lump of rock.

  “Christ,” he groaned. “I need to hit the gym with ya.”

  “You’d have to kick your smoking again, first.” Trevor shook his head at the spectacle.

  Pistol wrestled her up the path, stepping aside to let Trevor past to open the door for him. The big guy unlocked the two deadbolts, and pushed the door wide.

  The place was nothing out of the ordinary. To any onlooker it was another well-kept suburban home: manicured garden along the front fence, a path free of weeds, and fresh paint on the window frames. Only the local underground, and the police knew otherwise.

  Pistol sidled past Trevor, and dropped his mother in the living room. She landed on the worn couch with a whoompf, still out for the count.

  “For a scrawny guy you’ve got a hell of a hook.” Trevor smiled, and hobbled toward the kitchen.

  “Hey, I’m not scrawny. Just because my shoulders fit through the door without me havin’ to turn sideways doesn’t mean I’m malnourished.”

  Trevor chuckled, searching through the cabinets. He dropped his shoulders after opening the last cupboard to find nothing.

  “What ya after?”

  “Something to kill the pain in my back.”

  Pistol snorted. “Ask her when she wakes up, I’m sure she’d have a suggestion.” He thumbed in his mother’s direction.

  Trevor laughed, and socked him on the arm as he headed for the stairs. “I’ll go see how the other patient is.”

  “Aye.” Pistol turned back to the living room, and fell into an empty armchair to watch his mother.

  He hadn’t fully decided what to do with the two of them yet, but knowing how volatile a junkie on a forced comedown could get, he had a few ideas up his sleeve. He fished his phone from his pocket, and did some quick sums in his head.

  She should be awake.

  He pressed dial on Steph’s number, and sat back, bringing the phone to his ear.

  “Hey, Baby.” Her voice sounded dry, and sleepy.

  “Did I wake ya?”

  “Doesn’t matter. How are things there?”

  “Nearly over.”

  “That’s good.” She hummed gently down the line. “Not long until you come home.”

  “Aye.” Staring at his mother dredged up memories of a time less pleasant. He could feel himself slipping back into the gloom that was his upbringing. “Tell me about ya day.”

  “Nothing interesting, really.”

  “I need the distraction, Love. What did ya do?”

  She sighed. “Well, I went back to work today. That’s about as exciting as it got.”

  “Yeah? But ya had the whole week to take off?”

  “I know, but I was driving myself stir crazy being at home all the time.”

  “How was the funeral? I forgot to ask.” He scuffed a boot along the worn carpet.

  “As to be expected.”

  “A Hollywood production?”

  “Damn close.” She giggled. “I didn’t see too much of it though.”

  “No?”

  “Nah. I left early. Couldn’t stomach what was happening.”

  The ease at which she spoke about the funeral disturbed him. He’d completely expected it take a huge toll on her, and leave her distraught. But she recounted it as though it were an outing to the movies.

  “Anything else been happenin’?”

  “No. I don’t think so. Nothing that can’t wait until you get home.”

  “If ya sure.” He didn’t believe her care-free attitude for a second, but he wasn’t about to start an argument thousands of miles away from her.

  “Positive, Baby,” Steph assured.

  Liar.

  She hated to lie to him, but hearing about Ivan, and his behaviour at the funeral was the last thing Pete needed right now. What help would worrying about her be when he was in the middle of a rather sensitive situation? Besides, she’d taken care of it.

  In a manner of speaking.

  “How’s Trevor?”

  “He hurt his back today, and it’s givin’ him some grief, but knowin’ him he’ll be back throwin’ trees around in no time.”

  She had a chuckle at the image in her head of Trevor tossing the caber. “Tell him to take it easy. Your back isn’t something you
should mess with.”

  “Yeah, right. “Pete scoffed. “Can you imagine how that would go down?”

  “Tell him I said so. He’ll listen to me.”

  “Or what?”

  “I’ll think of something.” Steph laughed, but her heart lay empty. The humour came from a hollow place inside. “I miss you.”

  “I know. I’ll make it up to ya.”

  “Yeah? How?” she teased.

  “I’ll think of something.”

  Cheeky bastard.

  “Love, I’ve got to go. Me Ma’s wakin’ up.”

  “You letting her have a nap?” Wasn’t he supposed to be killing her, not giving her a day off?

  He chuckled. “Not that kind of nap. I had to knock her out.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ll call ya in the morning, Cutie.”

  “Okay.” Damn. Her eyes stung already. She hadn’t even hung the phone up yet.

  “Love ya.”

  “And you.”

  The phone beeped to indicate the lost connection, and she dropped it to the bed with a sigh. Hearing from him should make her feel better, but the reprieve was bittersweet. Her heart soared at the sound of his voice, hell, at seeing his name on the display. But as the end of the conversation approached, the sickness crept back in, swirling in her belly, waiting to rise up and choke her as the tears flowed.

  Salty droplets plopped on the sheets, making small dark circles in the blue fabric. She traced them with her finger, and reminded herself that he had a return ticket booked which wasn’t so far away.

  From what he’d said so far, the worst of it was over. The immediate danger had subsided, and now all Pete had to do was take care of the loose ends. Sure, her nerves settled a little with that knowledge under her belt, but her head still worked overtime on worst-case scenarios.

  She had to silence the demons.

  Steph climbed out of bed, and slipped a pair of socks on to keep her feet warm. The days had been bright, and warm, but the nights could still hold enough chill to numb her toes. She walked through to the living room, and turned the T.V. on. Even if it was something as mundane as an infomercial, she needed the lull of noise to quiet her mind.

  While the ads for the current program played out, she made herself a coffee, and dug about in the cupboard for something to eat—some comfort food. Thanks to Ben, she’d been on a clean-eating jaunt. All good and well for her health, but when the nights were tough and she wanted to wallow, not having anything sugary ready at hand was kind of a bummer.