Recoil Page 9

  “Ya mother knew it from the moment you left her screamin’ for ya revenge. You’ve been bad since the day the doctor smacked ya red ass to life. Ain’t nothin’ you can do about it now but accept what you’ve been given in life. Be the monster, not the man.”

  He stood with his shoulder turned to Murray, who struggled to catch his breath after the intensity he put into each rage-fuelled word. Pistol focused on a spot on the floor, catching Trevor’s defensive stance in his peripheral. One word and he could unleash the big guy’s anger on the old fool, but the fucker had been right—he wanted to do this himself, slow, and meaningful.

  “Cheers for the pep-talk, pops.” His nostril twitched, and he pulled the lip-ring between his teeth to redirect his anger. But efforts remained futile. The beast within wanted to play, and thank fuck it chose now.

  His elbow flew back in a high arc, and collected the fool off-guard. A loud crack filled the room as Murray stumbled back, clutching at his face.

  “You fuckin’ little shite!” Pure, untainted anger burned in the man’s eyes.

  He held a hand out to Trevor who looked like he could tear the head right off the old man. “This is my fight, big boy.”

  A grumble erupted from Trevor, but he ceded, and stepped back to keep an eye on the tussle.

  Murray launched himself, and connected with Pistol shoulder to shoulder, stealing his balance. Pistol spun on his heel, grappling for the asshole's shirt as he stumbled on his heels. His fingers found purchase in a handful of fabric near the man's throat, and he pulled himself toward Murray with a snap of his elbow.

  Stars danced in his vision after their heads collided, but fuck what it did to him, he wanted the poor excuse for a father to hurt. The old guys eyes squinted shut as the pain probably spread through his skull also. Yet it didn’t slow the bastard.

  They sure bred them tough back then.

  Murrays foot hooked behind Pistol’s calf, and he heaved them back together at the same time as he placed his grip around Pistol’s throat. Every ounce of energy Pistol had was directed into pulling from the hold, but the fucker had strong, worker’s hands.

  “Come give yer old man a hug, boy.”

  He spat in the fool’s face, and drove a closed fist into the man’s ribs. Murray’s lungs expelled all their air with the hit, but still his grip held. Pistol placed a hand onto his face, and drove his thumb into the old guy’s eye.

  A fleeting second, a glimpse at success, doomed to be short-lived as agonizing pain lanced his side. He dropped his gaze from Murray’s face, and looked down to see the fucker’s free hand attached to a short knife that protruded a little above his hip.

  Fuck.

  “What kind of sissy fights dirty when his opponents unarmed, huh?” He bit the words out between clenched teeth, trying to redirect the pain to some other part of his brain that wasn’t currently occupied with tryin to take his ‘father’ down.

  “What kind of idiot comes to a fight unarmed?” Murray replied.

  Trevor appeared over Murrays shoulder, a boot knife in hand, and rage etched in his expression. Pistol pulled his hand from the old guy’s face, and took the offered weapon. The glint of the steel as it passed by Murray’s face was enough to make the old man release his grip, and Pistol took a step back to gain a second to regroup himself.

  The searing pain in his side was slowly going numb, but the sticky, wet feeling of his jeans against his upper thigh told him the injury was bad. The fucker had hit something serious, which dictated the fight would need to be short.

  Like hell he would pass up the chance to make the fucker pay, though. He’d have to subdue him to be dealt with later.

  Murray stood braced, feet apart, knees bent, and knife ready in his hand. Pistol smiled, faked left, and fell to the floor on his right side as Murray lunged forward. The stupid bastard hardly had time to register the move before the blade of Pistols knife slipped across the back of the man’s ankles.

  He rolled aside, avoiding Murray as he crumpled to the floor, clutching at his severed Achilles. The screams of pain would surely be audible several doors down. They couldn’t leave the prick here while he got his stab-wound attended to; they’d have to take him with them.

  “Trev, old mate. We’re gonna have to take him with us while I get this sorted.” He gestured to the growing pool of crimson on his denim.

  “You’re fucking lucky I respect your choice’s here, Son. I was ready to take that fucker the minute he knifed you.”

  “Aye, I know you were. But you know this is personal.”

  “That I do. He can’t go in the car like that.” Trevor looked down at Murray, who rolled on his side, hands grasping his ankles. “I need to shut him up.”

  “Fuck, please do.” The sound was enough to drive the most hardened man loopy. He kind of imagined this was what people referred to when they complained about a baby crying; he just wanted the asshole to shut-up.

  Murray’s complaints came to an abrupt stop as Trevor’s boot connected with the side of his head. The big guy looked up, and smiled. “Who would have thought he was such a pussy?”

  “Always was a good actor,” Pistol chuckled. He grabbed at his side, and headed for the bathroom to grab the towel Trevor had earlier. “We better get him in the trunk of the car, and get out of here,” he called out.

  “Already on it.”

  The pain reignited as he applied firm pressure to the gash with the towel. The blood quickly turned the sky-blue cotton a strange shade of purple. He held it in place, and wandered out to see Trevor heft an unconscious Murray onto his shoulders in a macabre fireman’s hold.

  “Get the door, will you? Fucking man weighs a tonne.”

  “That’s rich comin’ from you.”

  “Agh, maybe I’m out of practice.”

  Pistol opened the boot of the car, and Trevor lumped Murray inside. He tucked the old man’s hands inside the compartment, and closed the lid on him, doing one last sweep of the motels.

  Quiet.

  Too quiet.

  “I’ll drive, yeah?” Trevor grinned, and opened the door for Pistol with a flashy bow. “My fine gentleman.”

  “How the fuck do ya stay so chipper all the time?” he winced as his injured body complained at the drop into the seat.

  “I was born into it.” Trevor winked.

  Steph wiped her mouth, and set the napkin down on the table. She pulled her wallet out to pay for the meal when her buzzing phone caught her attention instead.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Have you got any of my messages?”

  She pulled the phone from her ear, and noted the red icon, and number of messages. “What do you know? I have messages.”

  “It’s not funny, Steph.” Her dad sighed. “You disappeared from the funeral, and given everything that’s happened in the past, I was worried.”

  “I’m fine, Dad. Honestly.”

  How could she have ben so lax. Of course he’d be worried for her when not only had she had a near-on breakdown at the airport, but her history with Richard would immediately point to her having trouble dealing with the emotions of his funeral. World’s best daughter, aren’t you?

  “I dropped by your place, but you weren’t home. I thought we could have had lunch together.”

  “Sorry, Dad. I didn’t stop to think about how it would look when I left. I felt off colour, and to be honest, some time alone was what I needed. How about I pop over tonight?”

  “Only if you want to. I don’t want you to feel obliged. I wanted to check you were okay.”

  “A, okay.”

  “All right. I’ll leave you to whatever you’re doing then. Just make sure you check your bloody messages in the future?”

  “Promise.” Steph smiled.

  Even further affirmation that life wasn’t so bad after all. Her dad cared enough to worry about her, and she had a family that loved her. So why the sad face?

  “Love you, Steph.”

  “You too, Dad.”

  Sh
e hung up, and bagged her phone, swapping it for her wallet. The waitress smiled, and made her way to the register as she approached.

  “How was your meal, darling?”

  “Lovely. Thank you.”

  The woman rung up her order, and Steph waved her card over the machine. She dug the keys out, and pocketed the receipt the lady handed her.

  “Enjoy your afternoon.” She smiled, and turned for the door.

  The waitress’s hand touched her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks.

  “I might be speaking out og turn here, but I saw the trouble on your face while you sat there, sweetheart.” She nodded toward the rod. “Just remember you’re special to someone.”

  Steph choked back the lump, which magically appeared in her throat, and smiled at the woman. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Such kindness from a stranger. How the hell was she meant to get through the rest of the day if this was what the world was going to be dealing her; random acts of kindness? Her heart swelled with the hope this was it—the climb out the other side, and that her dark days hadn’t been anything like what she’d imagined they would.

  Perhaps she had made progress after all?

  The lights on the rod flashed, and she dropped into the driver’s seat, tossing her bag over to the passenger side. The waitress had spurred the urge inside of her to turn and hug the woman for her kindness, but such closeness was the last thing she’d ever be okay with. She had never been a cuddly person, and starting now only seemed fake.

  But cuddles aside, the few kind words had made realise that there was one more person who deserved a special thank you for helping a person in their time of need.

  Steph started the rod, and backed out of the park. The engine purred as she slowly set off for her next stop, enjoying the sun while she could.

  Maybe she was riding a false high, maybe she wasn’t, but in that moment the world was good.

  ***

  The street had already begun the slow submersion into the nocturnal hive of activity it became as soon as the sun fell below the horizon. Steph found a free park, and paid the meter. The sun sat low in the sky, casting the area in a warm, orange glow.

  She made her way along the frontages until she cam to the distinctive crimson doors. She still had an hour until the place opened, but it couldn’t hurt to see if anyone was there already doing the set-up.

  She took the steps, and pushed the discreet buzzer hidden off to the right of the doors. People walked down the street, not showing an ounce of attention to the woman who stood outside a club before it opened.

  Man, you must look like an alcoholic.

  Her hope dwindled, and as she thought to leave, one of the doors inched open, and a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair peered through the gap.

  He frowned as his eyes ran the length of her. “Can I help you?”

  “Sorry, I was wondering if Gary is in yet?”

  “He is. Is he expecting you?”

  “No, but—“ The man moved to close the door. “—Can you tell him I’m here?”

  The guy sighed as though her request was the hardest thing he’d ever have to do in his life. “Name?”

  “Steph.”

  The guy’s eyes narrowed for a fleeting second, but long enough for her to notice and worry what exactly he’d heard about her. Had Pete mentioned her to the other people here? Or did he know what she’d done in the staffroom?

  Her cheeks burned as he closed the door with a click. Did she wait, or was that his way of saying he wanted her to leave? Her doubts were squashed as Gary opened the door, and met her with a wide smile.

  “Steph, doll. What brings you here?” His smile faded, and became a frown when he checked her serious expression.

  “Do you have a spare five minutes?”

  “Always for you.” He pulled the door wider. “Come in.”

  She stepped through the grand entrance, and waited as he relocked the doors. “I don’t think that other guy liked me.”

  “Phil?” He asked, pocketing the keys. “Ah, don’t worry about him. He’s one of those moody types.”

  “Yay,” she replied flatly.

  The place looked strangely different when it was illuminated by normal white light, instead of the dim blue lights of opening hours.

  Gary held the beaded curtain aside, and pointed to a stool. “Take a seat, and I’ll grab us a water jug.”

  “Thanks.”

  Phil wandered around the far side of the room, placing promotional stands in the middle of the tables. Being in the bar brought her memories of Pete to life with such vividness she fought to contain tears.

  Gary returned, placing a carafe, and two glasses down before he took the stool beside her. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” She smiled. “Just thinking about Pete.”

  “Miss him, huh?”

  She giggled. “Is that pathetic?” He’d been gone all of a few days, and she was already a blubbering mess.

  “Not at all.” He poured them both a glass, and pushed one towards her. “Cass said you two had sorted things out.”

  “As best we can.” She took a sip of the cool liquid. “She’s actually why I’m here.”

  “What happened?” the concern dripped from his tense features.

  “Nothing bad. Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like that.”

  He smiled, and shook his head. “I always assume the worst with her.”

  “I wanted to come say thank you for what you did for her. I don’t know if she ever has, but I know from my own experience of Cass, that she doesn’t find saying thank you very easy.”

  He rubbed his neck, and cleared his throat. “No, she hasn’t said it in so many words, but I know she meant it.” He turned to meet her gaze. “What brought this on?”

  The question was asked out of concern, not malice, and for the second time since she’d arrived, Steph forced back the tears. “I’ve done a lot of thinking today. I’m sure you’ve heard a filtered version of why Pete’s back in Ireland, and what happened in the airport.”

  “Just a bit here, and there.”

  “I have issues. Usually I don’t like to talk about it because people are so quick to judge, wether they say they won’t or not. But with you, I guess I feel a little more at ease knowing what Cass has said about you.”

  One side of his mouth curled in a badly contained smile. “What’s she been saying about me, then?”

  “What you did for her. The risk it put you in. I want you to know how much that means to not only her, but also me. Underneath her hard-ass exterior, Cass is a great woman. She needs to learn to trust people, and I feel like with you around, she’s getting better.”

  “Jesus, woman. You know how to make a bloke uncomfortable.”

  Steph laughed. “I’m sorry. I know this kind of feely talk isn’t a mans thing. I guess, I realized while I was thinking today how little people share things that are important with each other before it’s too late. I wanted you to know before for whatever reason, it couldn’t be said anymore.”

  Gary took her hand in his, and patted it with his other one. From anyone else it would be creepy, but from Gary, it was comforting.

  “Do you take your own advice?”

  “Huh?”

  “I appreciate what you’ve said, Steph. Honestly. It means a lot to hear it, and I thank you for that. But maybe, you should be telling that person what she needs to hear.”

  Steph followed where his finger pointed, and met her reflection in the mirrors behind the bar. Her gaze transfixed to the pale, tired woman before her.

  “I think that’s the person you need to be telling the important things to before it’s too late.”

  Water blurred her vision. Her nostrils flared, and she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth. Her chin quivered, and she groaned inwardly at the mess that was sure to follow.

  Gary scooted forward on his stool, and enveloped her in a hug. He patted her between the shoulders, and she had to giggle at how g
ently he tried to do it, yet how much he still knocked the wind from her lungs.

  “It’ll be fine, sweetheart. You need to keep focus on yourself, though. I know life feels grand when you can see the virtues in others, but burying your head in the sand with other peoples troubles, and joys won’t fix your own problems.”

  “I don’t know where to start,” she sobbed into his shoulder.

  “Don’t think about it so hard. Look in the mirror, and tell yourself two things every morning that you appreciate about yourself. The rest will take care of itself.”

  “How do you know so much about all this? You’re a guy.” Steph pulled out of his embrace, and wiped her eyes on the backs of her hands.

  “A guy may not show the same emotion as a woman, Steph, but it doesn’t mean he hasn’t walked the same path.” He patted her knee, and stood, sensing her unease. “I better get back to set-up, but come around any time. I’ll tell Mike not to be such a hard-ass.”

  She chuckled, and sniffed back the last of her outburst. “Thanks, Gary.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Suck it up, and get in there.”

  Pistol looked at Trevor with a raised eyebrow. “It’s a fuckin’ Vet, man.”

  “Well ya can’t go to the hospital and get on their records now, can you?”

  “Agh, fuck.” He flicked the last of his cigarette into the gutter, and pushed off the car.

  “You do realize smoking thins your blood out. You’ve probably lost another pint with that lunger.”

  “Fuck up. Let’s get this done.”

  “Come on, cupcake. I’m sure getting your tat’s felt worse.”

  “I’ll tell ya when we’re done. Who is this guy again?”

  “Cousins husband. He knows the game.”

  “I’m fuckin’ relieved.”

  Bitch all he wanted, but Trevor had said the truth; he couldn’t go to hospital given the circumstances. His name would be up on a record, and in the wrong person’s hands before he had time to sneeze.

  He eyed the paint-chipped exterior of the low-set building, and started up the path. Trevor followed behind, checking their surroundings as they walked.

  Paranoia wasn’t madness when he had people who’d love to see him six-feet under. Paranoia was essential to survive.