Loaded

by Max Henry

“Years ago, okay. A long fucking time ago. What’s it got to do with you?” She scowled at him as the pieces sunk into place. The frown disappeared, replaced with wide-eyed shock. “Hang on. Why would Derek be telling you about Richard? I thought you had a purely business relationship with him?”

  He shrugged. What could he say?

  “You knew him, outside of your dealings with Derek, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, what of it?”

  Her hands flew to her hips. “He was murdered.” She nodded, lips firmly together.

  “Aye.”

  “Know anything about that?”

  “Don’t know what you mean, Love.”

  “Cut the bullshit, Pete. No more lies, remember.”

  Dam woman had his nuts on that one. “Fine. I did it, yeah. You off to the coppers now?”

  She shook her head. “Why? Why did you do it?”

  “Because he was selling Ma information on me schedule; my whereabouts day-to-day. He was plottin’ with her.”

  “He was going to help her get to you?”

  “Smart cookie, aren’t ya?” He stepped past her, and held a finger up at Trevor’s curious glance. “Don’t.”

  “I was only going to say your mother’s been discharged,” he said, waving his phone before him.

  “How the fuck do you know that before anyone else?”

  Trevor grinned. “When a nurse works too long, and too often, she becomes rather sex-starved.”

  “See,” Steph called out. “That’s why you pick the wrong girls.”

  “Pot, kettle, ‘aint it Love?”

  She glared at him. “Why?”

  “You haven’t had the best run with men either.”

  “None of that was my fault.” She threw her arms across her chest.

  “I know Ivan wasn’t, but what about the scumbag you had before me?”

  “Dave?”

  He nodded. “Whatever his name was.”

  “Fine. Point made. I seem to attract the wrong types.” She pointedly glared at him.

  “And I’m taking relationship advice from this woman,” Trevor scoffed. “I better check your references darling.”

  “Well, if my advice is so unreliable, you two see if you can work things out then. I need to get to work.” She took the final swig of her coffee, and dumped the cup. “I’ll catch the train.”

  He soured at the rapid descent the morning mood had taken. One minute they were all lively chatter, the next … eggshells. “Don’t be like that, Love.” One argument, and everything was back to defcon one. “I’ll drive ya.”

  “No.” She held out a hand. “You need to sort out how you’re going to deal with your mother if she’s out and about again—speaking of which you never told me why she was in hospital. I’m assuming that’s where she was?”

  “Overdose.”

  “Charming,” she remarked flatly.

  He hadn’t exactly lied about that one—simply omitted the details of how. Don’t ask, don’t tell.

  “I’ll see you after work though if you’ll still pick me up?” She curled her lip up in what appeared to be an apology.

  “Of course.”

  Steph crossed the living room, collected her bag, and stopped before him. “Love you,” she said, and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Play nice.”

  His eyes weren’t the only set on her as she left the room; he didn’t have to look at Trevor to know the big man watched her as well.

  “Honestly, son. Where the fuck do I get one?”

  ***

  Steph drew her bag into her lap as the train jostled along the track. She turned her head to look at the suburbs blazing by; apartments jammed in every space between older Queenslander homes, which patriotically held their ground amongst the newer development. A stark reminder that things were always changing, and everything around it had to either adapt, or lose out in the battle to survive.

  She had changed. She could feel it deep inside; the shift in her morals, her standards. A mere month ago she would have shied from a person such as Pete—afraid of that which she didn’t understand. But he had awakened a part of her she’d lost over the years, the part that fuelled her desire to be a survivor, not a victim. Somewhere along the rocky path of her life, she dropped the will to be herself, to do what made her happy. Sure she dabbled with the odd thing here or there: a tattoo, a new piece of clothing, a piercing. But she hadn’t fought for what made her smile, made her heart swell in the moment. Her mother had ensured she felt out of place each time she had strayed too far from the path of what the middle-class executive considered to be ‘the norm’.

  Steph smiled at the memory of the night she had dropped in to see her parents, excited at the opportunity to open her own store. Her mother had grilled her, wanting to know if she had a business plan, did she research the market, had she run the costs over a twelve-month scenario? Her dad simply sat back and watched as mother, and daughter debated every detail down to what she would name the place.

  Her mother asked what it was she wanted to sell, and when Steph had cited a gap in the market for eclectic, and one-off Rockabilly inspired pieces, her mother had laughed. Dear Mrs Drake couldn’t fathom why anybody would want to buy things that they’d ‘grow out of’. She told Steph to finish her degree, to get a ‘solid grounding for when things don’t work out’, and like the dutiful daughter she was, she’d returned to college to finish her studies.

  Where would she be now if she’d held onto that spark within? Would she be running the store? Onto greater things? Or would it have crashed and left her with nothing? Whatever the outcome, she could bet the alternative wouldn’t have her sitting on a morning train lamenting over time lost.

  Pete had given new life to that fire inside. Her passion burnt bright once more, and when she could see things with renewed vigour, a world of opportunities lay before her. The issue with Ivan had proven the point; she was strong, a fighter. As a teenager, a similar experience had brought her world crashing down about her like the Hindenburg. She’d hidden away, tried to disguise herself in the camouflage of social trend. Steph had looked like every other kid on the block, a sheep, trying not to be noticed in the flock. All she had to do was as Ben said—stop living in fear.

  This time, she hadn’t let Ivan win. He’d caused enough damage through his actions alone, so why should she have let him have the last laugh each and every day? No, she’d stuck it up the bastard by carrying on, happy. Because she was happy. Steph was finally content, and comfortable in her own skin. Pete’s mother posed a huge problem, but she was ready to stand hand-in-hand with him, come what may.

  The train pulled to a stop at her station, and she disembarked to start the short walk to the office.

  “Steph!”

  She roused from her philosophical pep talk, and looked toward the source of the voice. Marcus jogged across the street; take-away coffee cup in hand. “Morning.”

  “How you doing?”

  “I’m good. It’s actually a little unsettling how happy I am.”

  He smirked. “Unsettling?”

  “Yeah. I’m not usually this optimistic about everything. You’ll have to excuse me if I start coughing up rainbows.”

  He chuckled, and drew a sip from the cup as they walked. “Maybe a change of view is a good thing? People do change, you know.”

  “That’s what I was thinking about on the train; how quickly things change.”

  “How’s your boyfriend?” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Would you like me to tell you what we got up to last night?” She smiled.

  “Urgh.” He waved her off. “No thanks. A simple ‘fine’ would have sufficed.”

  “You’re boring,” she teased.

  “Far from it.”

  “Tell me if I’m being too personal, but you’re single right?”

  “Indeedy.” He brought the cup to his lips again.

  “Why? I mean you’re so approachable, and fun. I don’t get it? Do you have bodies buried under your floor-board
s or something?”

  He glanced across. “I could tell you, but then you’d have to join them.”

  Steph laughed, and socked him in the arm.

  “Hey! Watch the goods.”

  “Shit, I forgot about your coffee. Sorry”

  He smiled, and winked. “I wasn’t talking about the coffee, Baby.”

  “You’re unstoppable.”

  “Like an Energiser bunny.” His grin widened.

  “It’s not normal, you know.”

  He made a big deal out of looking her up, and down. “And you would be the judge of that?”

  She frowned. “I hate that label, you know—normal. It’s so limiting. Who wrote the rulebook that described normal anyway? Isn’t being who you truly are normal? Otherwise you’re just another fake if you blindly follow the crowd.”

  “Deep, Steph. Too much for my head to take in so early in the morning.”

  They turned in the driveway of the offices. “I know. I amaze myself sometimes with the shit that runs through my head.”

  He laughed, and held the door open for them to pass through. “So, I take it by your stellar mood that Mr Take-out-your-kneecaps-if-you-look-at-him-wrong is good for you?”

  “Certainly appears so.”

  “And that other person? The one who phoned? Everything cool there?”

  Steph sighed, and tossed her bag under her desk. “I guess so. I haven’t heard from him, or seen him since.”

  Marcus leant on the partition, resting his chin on his crossed forearms. “That’s a good thing, right?”

  “Yeah, but he’s a friend of the family, so we’re bound to cross paths again.”

  “Doesn’t mean you can’t treat him like a stranger if you feel uncomfortable talking to him.”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  Marcus smiled, and dropped behind the wall to his seat. Steph lost herself, staring into space while she thought about what would happen when she bumped into Ivan at the funeral. How would she feel? Could she even do it? Would people be able to tell? Her eyes drew back into focus, and as she turned to take her seat, her heart froze. Talk about uncomfortable.

  “How’s this going to go down?” Cass twitched the corner of her lip as she came to a stop next to Steph. “You going to ignore me the whole day? Or are we going to talk about it like adults?”

  Steph drew a lungful of resolve before she replied. “Depends if you’re going to listen to what I have to say?”

  Cass’s gaze dropped to the floor. “Yeah. I know I was being pushy.”

  “And …” Steph wound her hand in the air.

  Cass shook her head. “What?”

  “I’m …”

  “Sorry. Fine, I’m sorry.”

  She heaved a sigh of relief. Granted she hadn’t been happy to see Cass, but she couldn’t hide from the fact they had been good friends once. “That’s all I wanted to hear, Cass.” An awkward pause ensued. They both looked at everything but each other. “Do you want to talk over lunch? We could go out. Are you here on assignment?” The words spilled from her mouth in a hurried attempt at normal conversation.

  “Yeah, I am.” Cass glanced to the meeting room. “They’ve got a new client they’re trying to impress, so Greg put together a ‘task-force’ to handle them. I think he’s trying to feel important.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Sound’s like Greg.”

  “Uh-huh. And, get this—apparently he’s on the chopping block if he doesn’t shape up.”

  “Really?”

  And just like that, things between them were back to normal. Steph wasn’t blind to the undercurrent of tension in the conversation, but at the same time, a relief washed through her that one more thing on her list of troubles had been cleared. The weight that lifted from her shoulders was slight, but she could feel the difference already.

  Things were going to be okay.

  ***

  “How we going to do this?”

  Pistol glanced at Trevor as he rifled through another rack of t-shirts, trying to find one big enough for his bulk. “Don’t know yet. But as long as she’s gone, and Cutie’s okay, I’m fine with whatever shit goes down.”

  Trevor twisted the corners of his mouth down as he nodded in contemplation. “Leaves things open for interpretation. What about this one?”

  He laughed at the goofy print on the shirt, which read ‘I give free hugs’. “They’d be falling at ya feet, then.”

  Trevor laughed, and slotted it back in the rack. “Seriously, though. This has been your dream, Son. What’s been going through that twisted head of yours?” He accented his words with a flick to Pistols skull.

  “All sorts,” he replied, rubbing the spot. “It can’t be easy, though. She doesn’t get that privilege.”

  “Understood.”

  “What’s your preference? I don’t even know how ya operate.”

  Trevor held out a new shirt, and hummed. “I’m not adverse to a bit of the old tactics, but I prefer clean shots. Can’t say I’m a fan of getting blood out of my stuff.’

  “You are so soft.”

  Trevor shrugged. “What? I don’t have a woman to clean my clothes for me yet.”

  “And you wonder why they don’t stick around, ya chauvinist.”

  “I’m not chauvinistic,” he stated. “I’m old-fashioned.”

  Pistol snorted. “Hurry up and buy ya fuckin’ t-shirt.”

  ***

  “Ready?” Cass stood in the walkway with her bag slung over one shoulder.

  “Yeah, just let me save this.” Steph made the necessary clicks, and swiped her bag from its spot at her feet. “What do you feel like having?”

  “Something where I don’t feel like the whole place is listening to us would be nice.”

  She nodded. “I get you. There’s a café up the way that’s got outdoor tables.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  Steph led Cass out the front door, and onto the street. The sun beat a mild heat onto her skin, but she could guarantee half of her sweating was related to nerves, not UV rays. They walked side-by-side in silence for the majority of the way—the only sound their heels tapping in unison on the sidewalk.

  “So,” Cass started. “You’re still with him?”

  “Yep.”

  “And you’re happy?”

  “More than I have been in a long time.”

  More silence.

  “I was only worried about what he’d do to you. I mean, he kind of does what he wants, and I didn’t know if he’d listen to you if you protested against … you know … anything he tried.”

  Well, he hadn’t listened to some degree. “He respects my boundaries, unlike some.”

  “Was that comment aimed at me?” Cass drew her arms over her chest.

  “No.” Steph shook her head. “Not you.”

  A nod, then more silence.

  They reached the door to the café, and she led them inside. The alluring smell of savouries filled the air, and her stomach let out an involuntary growl. Steph swiped two menus as they passed through the main dining area to the al fresco section. She gestured to a quiet spot, and Cass nodded. Steph drew a wrought iron seat, and sat opposite Cass at an intimate table in the corner of the courtyard. Their old friend silence drew an invisible seat, and settled in.

  “Ivan told me you two don’t talk anymore.”

  Her head shot up from the list of lunch meals at the sudden statement. “Did he?”

  “Said it was his fault, but won’t tell me more than that.”

  “I bet he won’t,” she muttered to herself.

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing. The lamb salad looks good.”

  Cass dropped her gaze to the card spread out on the table before her. Awkward silence flowed back in like the tide as they looked over their choices. A cricket wouldn’t have felt out of place.

  “Can I get you ladies a drink? Perhaps a selection of house breads?” A young waiter stood with pen poised over pad.

  Steph exchanged look
s with Cass, who nodded. “Some water will be fine.”

  “Okay. I’ll be back soon for your order.” The guy swept away with far too much finesse to be attracted to the opposite sex.

  “At least some things are the same,” Steph commented, alluding to their preference to stick to water at meals.

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “So, how’s things with Gary?”

  Cass’s face lit up like somebody had finally found a power outlet for her. “Great, actually. He’s being real sweet, doing the whole date thing. He hasn’t stayed over yet.”

  Steph eyed her as she spoke. Was that supposed to be a jibe at how things started with her, and Pete? “Cool. He won’t tell me how you two know each other. Said I should ask you.”

  “He’s good like that.” Cass leant back as the waiter placed the water on the table. “Keeps things to himself.” She looked around the outdoor area. “What’s the new office like?”

  “Fine.”

  “Seems to be nice enough people.”

  “Yeah, they are.”

  “Any new friends, yet?” A hint of jealousy burnt like a torch in the dark.

  “Yeah. I’ve talked a bit with Marcus. He’s the IT guy. Seems really nice.”

  “Oh yeah, I saw him. Another alternate type.”

  “And there’s a problem with that?” Steph paused with her hand on the water jug to wait on the answer.

  “No, I didn’t mean it like that. Don’t look for criticisms that aren’t there.”

  She twitched an eyebrow as she poured their drinks. “Hard not to sometimes.”

  “I know I haven’t told you anything about my past, Steph. But half the reason why I was—sort of still am—so against Pete, is he reminds me of a guy I knew once.”

  “That so.” Here came the mother-hen routine. Why couldn’t Steph be left to make her own mistakes?

  Cass sighed, and spun the salt shaker. “When I met Gary for the first time, we were both caught up in a gang.”

  “Like Bloods, Crypts kind of thing?”

  Cass laughed. “No. That’s so stereotyped. I mean like a bikie gang.”

  “Oh. What changed?”

  “I woke up one day, pregnant, with a black-eye, and no idea who the kid belonged to. I new then, that I’d rather die trying to escape then let the asshole beat me until I miscarried.”