Loaded

by Max Henry

  The drugs surged about her body as her anger grew; her pupils dilating, and then shrinking at irregular intervals.

  Pistol leant over, and picked the needle off the stand. “Nah. I’d just hate to be distracted from ya expression as I watch ya struggle to stay afloat.” He held the needle in her line of sight.

  She frowned. “Well ain’t that a fuckin’ original way to murder ya mother?” Her eyes closed briefly as she struggled to take control over her narcotic-riddled body.

  “Who said anything about murdering? Yet, anyway. I only want to talk.” He replaced the needle, and ratcheted the band tight on her arm.

  “I ain’t got nothin’ to say to ya.” A slight tremor shook the last few words.

  He grinned as he flicked at her veins. “Maybe so, but I’ve got some questions.” He rubbed the paper-thin skin on her arm, and then flicked again.

  “Get on with it then. I ain’t got all day.”

  He leant back after retrieving the needle, and grinned. “Ya look pretty laid up to me.”

  She raised her head, and spat at him, narrowly missing his arm.

  “Now, that wasn’t nice,” he tutted.

  Fear fought the grimace she held in place as he leant over her, and pushed the needle into place. Her jaw set as she resigned to her fate.

  “Let’s start this off with a bang, then.” He primed his thumb on the plunger. “Who gave ya the money?”

  She scowled, and he wiggled the vial. Her face contorted with the pain. “Paddy.”

  He stared at her, and decided she was telling him the truth naming his father’s closest friend.

  “Does he know ya here?”

  She pressed her lips tight, and looked away.

  Pistol crept the plunger down the tube.

  “Yes,” she cried out.

  “So what do ya want?”

  Her eyes met his, and the malice in that look alone sent a chill to his bones. “What’s mine.”

  “And what would that be, Ma?” He sighed, and looked at the mundane news pictures flashing across the TV.

  “Your inheritance,” she hissed.

  He lost the cool nonchalance for a second, and stared. “What in sweet Jesus’s name do I ‘ave to inherit from you worthless fuckers?”

  A macabre smile spread over her lips. “Not from us, you hopeless sack of shit. From ya father.”

  “Didn’t know he had passed. Shows how close-knit our lovin’ little family is, don’t it? What would he have to give me other than a lifetime of mistakes to his name?”

  She shook her head warily. “Ya moron. Murray isn’t ya father.”

  Pistol’s nostrils flared, and he pushed the plunger another millimetre. “And when the fuck did ya think you might want to let me know this?”

  “I’m tellin’ ya now, aint I?”

  “Do I know him?” Pistol’s voice fell to the flat monotones of a man jaded. “Me real da?”

  “What do you think?” Her eyes closed briefly as the drugs took an effect.

  “I’m askin’ you.”

  “Of course ya did. Ya thought he was your Uncle,” she whispered, soaring on a synthetic breeze.

  Compressions faulted his breathing, and the sickness in his gut swirled like his head. If Murray wasn’t his father, why had his Uncle let him go? Did nobody give a fuck about him? He edged the plunger slowly as he spoke. “Did ya ever love us; Colin and me?”

  He could lay bets on the answer, but he had to know. Surely the woman held some special place in her heart for them? No-one could be that cold.

  “No more than ya love a dog.”

  The woman sealed her death wish. Pistol pushed the plunger to the bottom with a swift thrust, and removed the needle.

  He crossed to the sink, removing any trace of his fingerprints. Her body twitched as he undid the ropes, calmly wound them around his arm, and then knotted the bundle. He deposited the needle at her side where he’d found it, and leant over her face as her eyes lost all lucidity.

  “Tell the devil I say hello, ya bitch.”

  He made a sweep of the room to check he hadn’t left anything amiss, and rolled his eyes after he spotted the chair. With it back in position he left the unit, stopping only to place an emergency call from the pay-phone behind the office, and leave the receiver hanging. The operators voice garbled into oblivion behind him as he crossed the car park, and dodged the traffic to get in his rod.

  Maybe she’d die, maybe she wouldn’t. Either way he’d get satisfaction from the result. It simply meant that he’d get to play one last game with the slag if she made it through this round.

  Goodnight, Ma.

  Steph stared at the ten missed calls from Ivan listed in her notifications. Nine from last night, and one from five minutes ago. What did he think he could say that would excuse his actions? Or was he more concerned with what she might do? Was he afraid she’d report him?

  She ran her thumb idly along the side of the phone, mulling over exactly what she’d say if she returned the calls. A part of her wanted to know he understood how hurt she’d been, but another side wanted to make him hurt more.

  Ivan was her best friend, for fucks sake. He’d been there through it all, seen it all, and helped her stand when her body wanted to quit. He’d been her constant, and now he betrayed her trust, for what? A stab at a fantasy he’d been hiding all these years? Was it worth it? Maybe that was what she’d ask him. Did he feel it was worth it?

  Her desk-phone trilled its mundane tone, breaking her daydream. She flopped her mobile into her bag, and picked up the receiver, rattling off her standard greeting.

  “Well, at least I know you’re at work.” He sighed.

  Goosebumps erupted over every inch of her skin. Shit, she could swear they even covered her earlobes. “Ivan.”

  “How … um … how—“

  “Am I?” she snapped. Ire flamed in her gut at the gall he had to ask such a question.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m fan-fucking-tastic. Had the time of my life, you know. Don’t know why I didn’t get to experience such a fantastic evening with you sooner.”

  He heaved a sigh through the line at her cutting sarcasm. “I’m sorry, Stephie.”

  She screwed her eyes shut; pressing her forefinger, and thumb to her closed lids. “Don’t call me that. Not now.”

  “What can I do?” He near on pleaded the question, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  “Tell me what the fuck was going through your head.” An unbidden tear slid over the swell of her cheek. “You scared the shit out of me, Ivan. You hurt me.”

  “I’m sorry, okay. I just hate seeing you near that jackass. I don’t know what came over me. I guess I needed you to know how much better you’d be with me, a man who—“

  “Rapes women?” she hissed. Steph darted her eyes around the office, aware her statement had come out a lot louder than intended.

  “I didn’t rape you, Steph.”

  “You tried.” Her voice wavered. “You fucking well pinned me down, and had my clothes half off. What the fuck else where you going to do? Give me a god damn new tattoo?”

  “You said it was okay, though.”

  The tips of her ears felt as though she’d put a blow-torch to them. How could he? “You’ve got to be fucking joking.” His words swirled in her ear, and the previous night’s conversation played alongside, blurring the dialogue into a deafening roar inside her head. “I told you not to hurt me. I never gave you permission, you asshole.”

  Marcus appeared at the entrance to her cubicle, and mouthed ‘You okay?’ Steph held a hand up to gesture he should wait as Ivan spewed a tirade of names her way.

  “Fuck you, you slut! Go screw around with your fucking degrading boyfriend. See how much he cares about your skanky ass when he’s through fucking you. Sooner or later, you’re going to get boring. Don’t bother coming crawling back to me when it happens either, you bitch, because I won’t wait. I’m worth more than this shit.”

  The dial tone screamed in
her ear after he disconnected, and she pulled the receiver away to look at it, mouth agape. He wasn’t worth this? Was the guy on drugs? Because nothing else explained his state-of-mind.

  “Who was that?”

  Steph whirled her gaze to Marcus, and replaced the receiver. “A lie,” she replied. “Somebody I thought had my back, but was busy screwing a knife in it the whole time.”

  “I, um, I didn’t mean to listen in, or anything, but it sounded pretty serious so I thought I’d check on you.”

  Steph’s heart slowed its manic beat as the corners of her mouth curled up. “Thanks Marcus, but I hope I won’t be hearing from him again.”

  “I hope that jack-ass wasn’t your boyfriend.”

  She laughed. “No. Amazingly, it wasn’t. Although he’s equally as much trouble right now.”

  He shook his head, a smile showing those cute dimples. “Girl, you sure know how to attract them, huh?”

  “Like a goddam bunch of flies to a shit-pile.”

  His smile faded, soon replaced by a frown. “You aren’t shit, Steph.”

  “No,” she chuckled. “My life is.”

  ***

  A light afternoon breeze whipped the loose tendrils of her hair about her face as Steph waited on Pete. To some degree, she was surprised he was late. His usual over-bearing nature meant he would be there early to make sure she didn’t have time to stand outside, but not today. The car park was short one black rat-rod.

  The moment she looked to her bag with the intention of fishing out her phone, the unmistakable sound of the V8 rumbled to a crawl. She caught a glimpse of the front end as he pulled it into the gate, and stepped out from her position under the shade of the entrance. The door behind her opened while Pete brought the rod to a stop outside the building.

  “That him? Your boyfriend?”

  She startled at the nearness of Marcus’s hushed question, and turned her head to find him right there. He smelt good—real good. Certainly make some girl happy one day. “Yeah, it is.”

  “Might say ‘hi’ if that’s cool with you.”

  “Uh,” she stalled. How did she explain that she’d rather not risk Marcus’s death at the hands of a possessive Irish-man? “If you’re sure.”

  “About what, Love?”

  Her body hummed at the sound of his lilt as Pete’s head popped up over the far side of the car.

  “Marcus here wanted to say hi.” She nodded in his direction.

  “Nice to meet you, mate. Steph speaks highly of you.” Marcus stuck his hand out as Pete rounded the back of the rod.

  “Does she now?” His blue eyes flicked between the two of them. He avoided Marcus’s outstretched palm. “What you been saying about me, woman?”

  Her heart skipped a gear as it racketed toward the land speed record. “Nothing much.”

  The intensity of his glare burned into her before he moved back to Marcus. “That true?”

  “Look man,” Marcus raised his hands. “I wasn’t trying to start an argument.”

  What the fuck was Pete doing? Wasn’t she allowed to have male friends now?

  “Just fuckin’ with ya.” Pete pulled Marcus into a clinch, slapping his back. “You should have seen yer faces.”

  Steph fought to stay upright as relief washed over her. Jackass sure fits right now. “What did you do that for?” she scolded.

  “Had a good day is all, Cutie.” He stepped to her side, and pulled her flush with his body.

  Marcus cleared his throat. “I’ll see you later then, Steph.”

  “Yeah.” She blushed as she peered around Pete’s chest. “Have a good night.”

  They watched as Marcus crossed the car park. She felt Pete’s warm breath tickle the side of her face as he leant into their hold. “What did ya say?”

  Crap. “Not much. He saw you the other day, and asked about your car is all, so we got talking.”

  Pete nodded as he eyed Marcus a last time.

  Thank heavens that lie washed.

  “Let’s get home, Love. Havin’ ya this close to me is doing all sorts of hell on me little fella.”

  “Such a romantic.” She swatted at his arm as he stepped back, and opened the door for her.

  “Only the best kind,” he drawled with a panty-dropping smile.

  Steph watched him with a curious frown as he shut her door, and rounded the car to get in beside her. He was happy, but too happy. She’d never seen him openly joke with another person, let alone a guy before. Any sane person would have been rejoicing in the fact he had dropped his intensity a few notches, but not her. It was simply unnerving.

  He pulled into the street, and they rode in sexual-tension laden silence for a while.

  “You can’t take me home, you know.”

  “Why the hell not?” He glanced at her as he shifted down a gear, and caught the tell-tale cheeky grin.

  “You wouldn’t have time to do me before you needed to start work.”

  Pistol growled, his knuckles turning white on the steering wheel. “Damn ya woman, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

  ***

  Pistol admired the glow in her cheeks as she smiled at her ribbing of him. He’d skipped enough work for the week taking care of personal matters—it wouldn’t have been fair to Gary, or Janie, if he was late, again. And Cutie knew it.

  “Have ya got anything to keep yerself busy while I work?”

  She looked his way, eyebrow cocked. “No, I didn’t think to pack my colouring book this morning.”

  He rolled his eyes, and sunk into the seat at a red light. “Very funny.”

  “I’ve got my phone,” she acquiesced. “It’ll keep me occupied enough.” A stiff silence lodged between them. She better not— “Maybe I could help you?”

  She did. “Nah. You’d get in the way.” His stupid mouth ran off shit before he’d thought it through. May as well pay for the funeral now with how fast he was digging a grave.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.” The light changed, and he straightened in the seat as they pulled away. “I meant it gets kinda busy, and I’d hate to spill something on ya clothes.”

  She snickered. “Lame, Pete. Lame.”

  He wasn’t winning this one any time soon. “What do ya expect when my minds all messed up with you sittin’ there, all dressed up, smellin’ so fuckin’ good.”

  She smirked, and leant across the centre. “Tell me, Pete. How do I smell?”

  He groaned as Steph nuzzled into his neck. “Like vanilla, and frangipani,” he croaked. That damn smell would be ingrained on his memory for the rest of his life. He could bet he’d remember it even if he ended up with Alzheimer’s in old age.

  “Well done,” she praised. The air around him emptied as she dropped into the passenger seat once more. He eyed her curiously as she ratted through her bag, finally producing a small bottle of perfume. “Vanilla and frangipani,” she confirmed, flashing the bottle his way.

  He smirked. Like there was a chance I was wrong. The daydream cut short to two small pfft’s from his left. “What the…?”

  “So you’ll smell it all night,” she laughed.

  “Ya fuckin’ sprayed me with ya perfume.”

  “That I did.”

  “What the hell, woman?”

  “Know who you’re playing, Pete.” She burst into laughter after repeating his previous threat back to him. “You should see your face.”

  “Aye, you’ll be looking much the same in a minute.”

  He scanned the landscape for anything suitable, anything discreet. Spying what he needed, Pistol pulled the rod to the side of the road, and killed the engine.

  “What are we doing?” Steph’s face paled in a mass of confusion.

  “I told ya you’d be lookin’ the same as I did.” He laughed at her irritation, and exited the car to open her door for her.

  She stepped out into the dusk light, and scouted their surroundings. “I can’t see any reason to stop here.”

  �
�Look harder.” He snatched her hand, and dragged her through a set of wrought iron gates as the lights on the rod flashed.

  “Um, it’s a graveyard, Pete.”

  “I know.”

  Her brow furrowed in a cute frown as she followed him blindly into the rows of headstones. He scanned the area, sussing out a suitable spot for his endeavours. To the back of the section ran the newer plots, and as predicted, vast areas lay empty. Native bush lined the fence providing at least minimal privacy from prying eyes. Pete stopped in a clearing, and spun Steph to face him. She eyed him expectantly, and he leant down to whisper in her ear.

  “I know ya enjoyed the show ya gave me, Love. But how about stepping the risk up one.”

  He pulled back, and watched her shock displayed clear as day. “What? Here? Like, now?”

  “Why not?” He waggled his eyebrows, and elicited a laugh from her.

  “I can’t. I mean, isn’t it disrespectful or something?”

  “Only if ya planned on usin’ an actual grave. I don’t know about you, but it crosses the boundary for me.”

  She punched him on the arm, grinning. “So, you don’t want to get any drink spilled on me, but you’ll take me for a romp in the grass?”

  He shrugged. “Guess so.”

  “I suppose then—” She leaned down, and removed her shoes. “—you’ll have to catch me first!”

  Her giggle echoed around the lonely area as she bolted away. Green waves of hair bobbed on her back while she struggled to get any real stride in the tight skirt she wore. He chuckled, shaking his head. Too easy. Pistol jogged after her, quickly closing the space between. She glanced over her shoulder, and squealed, narrowly dodging a shrub when she looked ahead once more.

  “Come on,” he pleaded, coming to a stop. “Ya can’t get far in that skirt.”

  Steph stopped ahead of him, and dropped her shoulders in defeat. “I guess you’re right.” She tossed her shoes to the side, and reached behind her.

  Blood surged through his body at the sight of her dropping the black skirt, and kicking it to join the shoes. His arousal pressed uncomfortably in his jeans as she took off again in no more than panties, and a blouse. “Fuck,” he ground out under his breath, and started after her.