Pistol Read Online Free Page B

sons had attended the same Primary and Secondary school as Steph and her brother, and the four of them still kept in touch. Thankfully, Dave wasn’t one for being social as a ‘couple’, so there should be no questions about his absence. With a woodpecker hammering away on the inside of her skull, the day wasn’t the best one to field twenty-questions from her mother on the split. Steph sat up and grabbed her phone to send a text to Ivan, the Peterson’s oldest.
     
    You going to be at your parents tonight?
     
    She tossed the mobile on the bed, pushed off, and sighed at her reflection in the full-length mirror. Sleep dishevelled hair, and worn PJ’s gave her a rough appearance that could shock a blind man first thing in the morning. She dragged her feet into the en suite, and ran warm water over a face cloth. Doing little to refresh her appearance, she returned to the bedroom as a message sounded.
     
    Sure will.
     
    She punched in a response.
     
    Awesome. I’ll bring your hoodie.
     
    A spring clean in her wardrobe a few weeks back had turned up a long lost hoodie of Ivan’s that she had forgotten she borrowed. Steph reached into the shelves, and pulled the sweatshirt down. She ran her thumb briefly over the Fox logo, and then tossed it on the bed with her phone.
    She went through the motions: showered, ate, and eventually settled into the sofa with a bowl of apple wedges to watch re-runs of The Biggest Loser . As terrible as it sounded, the guys doing a number on Cass last night had been a blessing in disguise. They gave her the perfect excuse to lounge for the afternoon and get her pitiful grief under control. Only a singular box of Dave’s things remained at her unit, and she’d placed it at the front door signalling she wasn’t in the mood to talk, if and when he came to get it.
    The hours slipped by until Steph glanced at the microwave from her position sprawled length ways on the sofa, and grunted. It was time to get her ass off the seat, and into attire respectable of a BBQ at a prominent magistrate’s house. She picked a ruffle-neck blouse to cover her tattoo’s since her mother preferred they weren’t so ‘on display’ when they were in the company of friends. Steph teamed the blouse with a pencil skirt, and bordello’s, then finished with a high pony-tail wrapped in a scarf. She took a last look at herself, and shrugged. Best I can do.
    The Petersons lived four blocks from where she lived, which was about a ten minute walk on a good day. But when she wore a tight skirt that restricted her stride, and heels that defied gravity, the walk became closer to twenty minutes. She passed tidy front gardens—weeded, and pruned to perfection—with Ivan’s hoodie draped over one arm. A bottle of Moscato filled her handbag, which she slung over the opposite shoulder.
    A block shy of the Petersons, she approached the final intersection she had to cross. The burn on her heel signalled a blister already formed from the unbroken shoes. She cursed at her stupid idea to wear heels she knew she couldn’t walk too far in, and leant against a light pole to adjust the heel.
    “Steph.”
    The hoodie slipped from her arm as she rushed to straighten up.
    Sharp blue eyes pierced hers , before the bartender from last night picked up the sweater, and looked it over. He held it out to her. “I would say this is yours, but I don’t think I’d be correct.”
    “Thanks.” She took it from him, and jolted as their fingers brushed.
    “Boyfriend?” He asked coldly as he pointed to the hoodie.
    She shook her head. “Friend.”
    He nodded in approval, and stepped closer. “What brings ya to this neighbourhood?”
    “Friends of the family.” She ran her gaze over his attire: white t-shirt, and tapered dark denim jeans tucked into loosely-laced boots. “What about you …?” She purposefully dragged out the last syllable to bait for a name.
    He chose to ignore her. “Business.”
    “Oh.” Who the hell did business