Page 5 of Fury

“Yes, please. That would be great,” I answered, pulling out a handful of papers.

Invoices, receipts, handwritten notes. Nothing was typed, everything scribbled in the most handsome handwriting I had ever seen. The words were formed carefully, meticulously, and unrushed, making every piece of paper look like something from the Victorian era.

The computer on the corner of the desk was old and boxy, looking like one of the first ones ever to have been made. And the desk itself was exceptionally tidy. Nothing scattered on it. No pens or paper, as tidy as the handwriting on the documents in the file.

“How old are you, Dave?” I asked as he backed through the door, holding a tray of cups with a small plate of biscuits between them.

“Sixty-seven.”

“And what’s your plan for the next couple of years?”

He paused, the tray he was about to slide onto the desk, suspended in the air. Dave stared silently for a while, saying nothing, just looking at me with a mix of surprise and a hint of resentment. And then, stiffly, he let it slide across the desk, his eyes fixed on mine.

“I have no plans,” he answered eventually.

“Then it might be a good time to think of some. Thanks for the coffee,” I continued, ignoring the awkwardness filling the office.

“Excuse me, Ms Fischer. I’ve some funerals to prepare for.”

Turning, he left his coffee on the tray, moving to the doorway.

“Dave, one more thing,” I called, my eyes scanning over the invoice in front of me. “This doesn’t look right.”

I waved the piece of paper with the meticulously neat handwriting on it in the air in front of me.

“How so?”

“The prices you’ve itemised. I can see that this is not our normal rates.”

“That’s the invoice for the Northern Kings. The funeral of their president,” he continued when I stared at him blankly.

When he didn’t provide more information, I shrugged at him.

“That still doesn’t explain why it’s half the amount it ought to be. There’s a lot of arrangements here. More than a normal funeral. We’re hiring a motorcycle hearse? And I can’t see that we are charging the full amount back to the client. What’s going on here, Dave?”

“I…err…I must have miscalculated the invoice.”

“Well, that won’t do. You’d better reissue it at the correct amount.”

Dave stared at me, a flash of unfathomable emotions crossing his face before the dice landed on tension. He clenched his jaw, a muscle in his neck twitching. Then he nodded his head and left the office.

Chapter Three

My bed was empty when I got home, the woman whose name I couldn’t remember having left like I’d told her to. A dull grey light filtering through the venetian blinds. She’d made the bed, pulling the covers neatly back into place, the pillows carefully propped up on their ends. She’d make someone a good wife. Not me. Much to my mam’s dismay. Her second-born son, with no plans to settle down or give her the grandchildren she craved. Just like the rest of our family. Those of us that were left, anyway.

The heavy thumping in my head had doubled on the drive home, the remnants of the alcohol in my blood taking a last stand in defiance. I just needed a few extra hours’ sleep to add to the two hours I’d snatched earlier.

Club nights had become more frequent. Always something to update the brothers on, which meant that we all called into the clubhouse almost daily. Last night had been no different. We just hadn’t expected the next hit to have been on Trouble. That had taken us on the back foot.

I closed my eyes, fifty shades of shadows dancing across my eyelids, the room not quite dark enough to squeeze them all out. My stomach tightened, a stab of nausea amidst the exhaustion, but not enough that it could keep me from the desperate pull of sleep.

The phone rang beside my head, the vibration beating against the side of my face where I’d abandoned it barely minutes earlier. I could ignore it, block out the angry buzzing till the caller gave up. But I stole a glance. The display was lit up with the single word Chaos. There’d be no ignoring him.

“What?” I answered.

“Love you too, bruv.”

“Bruv me again and I’ll shove this phone so far up your arse you’ll be getting orgasm shits for the next month.”