Page 31 of Demon

“Everything. Everything in the house, anyway. I have another drop coming soon, but no means to pay for it now.”

“Fuck’s sake.”

“We found out who they were yet?” Indie asked.

Magnet nodded.

“I put the feelers out. Ran into a few dead ends. But there is one name standing out from the crowd.” Magnet paused for effect.

“Fuck’s sake Magnet. Just fucking tell us. We’re not filming a fucking murder mystery here,” Indie grunted.

“The Aces.”

I glanced up from the table to where my father sat, flanked by his officers, catching my brother’s eye and Fury’s exasperated look.

“Who the fuck are the Aces?” My dad shrugged, shaking his head.

“Street gang,” Magnet continued. “Been around a while from all accounts but been pushing the boundaries recently.”

“Well, they’ve fucking snapped this boundary. Fury,” my father turned to his left, “find them. Make sure they never steal from us again.”

“Got it.”

“Magnet. You either find a way to pay for the next lot of product or you get the shit back from these Aces. Either way, this isn’t fucking coming out of club funds. Understand?”

Magnet nodded, his skin turning just a little paler and I couldn’t help grin inwardly at his sudden misfortune.

“Now. The rally. Let’s talk logistics…”

My father’s voice crackled a little, the rattling cough he’d had for weeks taking hold, irritating his chest, unrelenting as he barked and spluttered and struggled for breath. Indie pushed his pint of lager towards him before taking over the conversation, and we planned out the last bit of detail of the event we put on in Newcastle every year.

*****

We emerged from Church an hour or so later, re-joining the prospects and hangarounds in the bar downstairs who were getting rowdy as they waited for someone to serve them. Any regular bar left unattended would probably have been ransacked of alcohol by now, but our lot knew the rules, or mostly the consequences of not following them.

Ciara and Suzy sat apart now; Ciara’s head bent below the laptop that looked like it was from the dark ages. I could hear the frantic tapping as I approached, her fingers flying over the keys, her eyes darting left and right, her teeth pulling at her bottom lip.

“You ok, Ciara?”

My voice made her jump, and she swore, almost under her breath.

“Yeah,” she said eventually, not looking up at me, “fine.”

“We’re going to hang around here for a drink. Want to stay?”

She didn’t look up, shaking her head, her eyes not moving from the screen. But she did speak, her fingers moving over the keyboard at the same time.

“Is my car fixed?”

“Yeah. All done.”

“Thanks. I’d better get away then.”

“Right.”

Something heavy hit me in the stomach, a rapid deflation. Disappointment. I slid the keys across the table reluctantly, watching her close the laptop lid and push it into the bag on the seat beside her. She moved out from the table, hoisting the heavy old computer onto her shoulder, stopping in front of me. For a moment she searched my face, like she was looking for something, but I didn’t know what that something was. And then she dropped her gaze, and I didn’t know whether I’d detected a hint of sadness. But when I looked again, it had gone, and her face was as defiant as usual.

I stepped sideways.