Page 11 of Hearts Held
My nerves are wrecked after the sound, and they try to throw me back into a prior scene where shells were dropped, shrapnel was exploding and soldiers were screaming.
I brace my hands on the countertop, trying to keep my composure as the war tries to rage in my mind. As my nostrils flare from trying to inhale as much air from the room as possible, a reassuring voice comes from my right.
“Boss? Ya all right, boss?”
Lyle.
I nod slowly as I scan the crowd looking for threats. I know there aren’t any. We are in a pub, my family’s pub. There’s great music, good drinks and lively people—not dead people.
Still, my body is on high alert for every sensation.
I can feel Lyle come a little closer, but he understands what could be going on.
“Boss, why don’t cha go to the third floor. I think some books need checked and you can take ’em up dere, ya know?”
I fill every inch of my lungs to capacity with air, then slowly draw out a breath.
“Good idea, Lyle,” I curtly state, trying not to sound like an asshole but finding my controlled tone can only come out as such.
He slides a small glass of amber liquid my way. “Here, boss, to take the edge off. From the shelf we reserve for ya.”
I nod. “Yer a good man, Lyle. You and your brother. Thank you.” I take a small sip, scan the crowd once more then head to the back toward the spiral staircase.
With each step, the clang of the metal staircase echoes from the walls under my oxford shoes. I focus on the sound and count each step. Each step, I control my breath.
Once I get to the third floor, I peer around the office, still easing my alerted body. I note the desk, the bookcase and shelves. Nothing is out of the ordinary as I palm my handgun within my tweed coat. I peer through the doubled mirrors, I see the third floor lounge is empty. Some tables have chairs adorning the tops, while other chairs rest on the floor, awaiting the next time they’ll be used.
It is calm.
Itis quiet.
It is what I need.
I took the accounting books Lyle mentioned off the desk and decide to sit in the dark lounge room.
I pick the farther side of the room so I may concentrate and take the vantage point, watching for any movement if someone were to enter the third floor.
Thumbing through the pages for nearly a half an hour, I notice the discrepancies and can match them with the same familiar patterns Kenneth and I had noticed the last time we were suspicious of stealing.
It only confirms the culprit I had in mind. I shake my head and take a long drink of my whiskey, then drag a hand over my face.
This isn’t going to be pretty.
My thoughts are interrupted as I hear small footsteps coming up the stairs. If my hearing is correct they are near, coming towards the third level, rather than distant and on the previous set of steps.
I turn my table light off and sit back, draping myself in darkness, then take note of the two lamps cascading light over the smaller tables in the far corners of the room. An attacker still wouldn’t be able to see my silhouette and I have mastered silently assassinatingunwelcome personnel. I know every creek in the wooden floorboards and made acquaintance with every shadow within my establishments. The shadows are my home.
My fingertips pull up my pant leg and slide alongside to find the hard hilt of my blade. I pull it silently from the ankle holder as I wait for the unknown guest.
Steadying my breaths, I see a figure emerge from the top step. Small in stature, easy to take out.
A woman?
A woman with long, wavy brown hair, and she looks like she is about to pass out. Her breathing is heavy, and she appears to be hyper focused on her steps. She has a drink with clear liquid in one hand, that holds a slight tremor.
Is she drunk on vodka?
One part of my mind wants to get up and assist her as the other protests and believes it could be a stunt.
