Page 20 of Fury
“30% then.”
“45%”
“I’ll shake on forty.”
Fuck it.
“Fine. 40%. Free installation for both offices.”
“Great,” she stood, the office chair sliding out gracefully behind her, her arm reaching forward towards me, that delicate hand outstretched, light pink nails pointing at me.
I slid my hand into hers, the flesh of her palm warm and smooth, soft, like she moisturised those hands every hour.
“Can’t do anything about the police presence though,” she said as our hands moved in unison, one movement cementing our deal. “That one’s out of my hands.”
“I’ll sort that out.”
“When can I expect to have the security up and running?”
The woman wasted no time, and I suspected she didn’t trust me. But my word was my honour. When we cut a deal, my end would be upheld, and if the other wasn’t, the full force of the Kings would come down upon them. But there was something about Heidi that made me think force would not be necessary.
“I can start in a few days’ time. What works for you?”
“As soon as possible, please. Tomorrow would be ideal.”
“See ya tomorrow then,” I smiled, watching her intently.
Her eyes bore into mine, but her face didn’t change. Hard. Unyielding. Not the hint of a smile. A far cry from the fear I’d seen on it last night. When, for the first time, she looked vulnerable. And I liked it all. Her determination, her dismissiveness, her vulnerability. Every bit. Fuck me, this woman was doing a number on me.
The knock on the door behind me interrupted this moment we seemed to have. A head bobbed in. Heidi looked up, her attention now on the receptionist who was fucking interrupting us.
“Ms Fischer, the police are here.”
“Thanks. Show them in. Fury and I were just finished.”
We fucking weren’t. I had more to say. More to ask. More to find out about her. I didn’t want to leave. Heidi looked at me expectantly, and I could have sat there until she actually threw me out, but I had no desire to hang around the coppers any longer than was absolutely necessary.
“See you tomorrow, Heidi.” I rose to my feet, smiling at her. Her eyes followed my movements, but there was no returning smile.
Behind me, the coppers had stepped in. Both uniforms, but one considerably taller than the other. Almost the same height as me, not as broad, but with the same dark eyes and the same coloured hair.
“Brother,” I commented, our shoulders brushing each other, our eyes connecting, disgust in his, indifference in mine.
*****
The clubhouse was dark when I pulled up, stuffing my truck in the pot-holed car park at the side of it. There wasn’t a light in sight. No sign of life. But Indie was here somewhere, because his van and his bike were parked outside. And next to his, another bike sat. Not a Harley. A racing bike, slick and fast and plain black.
The front doors should have been locked. Extra security measures in place. At one time, they would have been left open for members to come and go, knowing no one would take advantage. But after the burning cut situation only a few weeks ago, and the increasing threat from the Hand and their rookie club, The Aces, we’d stepped security up. The cameras above the door should have been blinking, showing signs of life. I knew that because they were the same spec I was going to install in Heidi’s offices over the next couple of days. But no red light came from the devices, no movement tracking mine. I flicked to the app on my phone, where I could see all the club installed cameras like some sinister ‘Big Brother’. Nothing. Someone had turned them off.
A heavy weight settled in my stomach. A sudden nervousness, hairs prickling on my arms under my jacket. The front doors of Indie’s pub yielded as soon as I pushed at them. Inside, everywhere was quiet, still. I didn’t switch a light on, creeping through carefully and quietly, peering through the dark, the only light a weak glow of a neglected streetlamp from the carpark, pooling a dull orange glow through the windows at the side. And as I stalked closer to the bar, there was a slither of pale grey light creeping through the bottom of the door that led to the pub’s kitchens and the living quarters above.
The floorboards under my feet groaned loudly, the silence amplifying the sound of the old wood. But in front of me in the gloom nothing moved, the line of light in front of me growing sharper, until I stopped outside the kitchen door. There was a drone of voices inside, and I listened for a few seconds, holding my breath, straining to make out how many people were inside. Two. That’s what I could hear. Two men’s voices and I was sure one of them was Indie’s. But there was a note to his tone, a hint of malice. And now I was unsettled.
I had no weapons on or near me. My only choice was my fists. And the element of surprise as I burst through the door into the gigantic kitchen and towards the two men stood in the middle.
“Fury? What the fuck are you doing?” Indie barked, as I launched myself at the other man stood with him.
The man with the long blonde haired wheeled out of my way like a graceful, overly muscled ballet dancer.