what looked to be a thick diary.
I’d seen guns on television, but never in my life had I seen or touched one in person. It wasn’t something you would see up in the Northeast of England. You’d hear of gun crime down south in the capitol, of course, but never up here.
My mouth was dry, and it was difficult to swallow. My pulse raced as I reached over to touch the cold steel.
What did Max need with a gun, let alone two?
Curious and hesitantly at first, I inspected one of them and lifted it into my hands to see how it felt. It was heavy, but not so heavy that I couldn’t raise and aim it. A powerful rush surged through me; I held in my delicate hands a weapon that could kill, and my nipples hardened with excitement. I had enough sense and had seen enough TV to check that the safety was on. I continued to hold it while removing the thick, bound notebook from the drawer. Surely, there’d be some answers contained within it.
A sudden crash rattled the building, causing the book to fall from my hands as the front door came to a close a floor below.
12
T he stout notebook landed with a soft thud on the carpet, and I stood frozen, still as a statue, with my eyes fixed wide open and still grasping the gun in my hand.
Maybe I’d imagined it. It must’ve been the coffee shop next door… but no, they wouldn’t open till morning. Creeping towards Max’s office door, I strained to listen.
I almost cried when I heard heavy footsteps climbing the stairs, accompanied by muffled conversation.
I rushed back to the desk and fiddled to find the switch for the lamp. Darkness fell, and I was blind. I cursed, panicking – I shut the drawer and attempted to find the fallen book in the shadows. I felt the rough carpet tiles beneath my fingers as I stretched them out, but the damned notebook eluded me.
Where the hell was it?
They would be in the main office by now, and thoughts of hiding in the women’s toilets were no longer an option. I had only a matter of moments to hide if indeed their intended destination was Max’s office. Reaching around once more, my fingers finally found the notebook. I shoved it into my bag and whirled in the direction of the storage cupboard, feeling with outstretched hands so I wouldn’t bump into the wall.
I pulled the cupboard door shut and nestled into the corner, careful not to knock into the vacuum cleaner; it’d just be my luck that it’d turn on, screeching to life, alerting them to my presence.
My right hand clenched the gun tight to my chest. My stomach was doing cartwheels, and I wanted to be sick. Why hadn’t I put it back in the drawer?
“Bloody alarm not turned on…” I heard one say. My ears strained to hear, but I resisted getting closer to press my ear to the door.
I urged myself to calm down; I was sure they’d hear me breathing. My legs already felt stiff from the confined position, tucked under myself, but I dared not move.
“Goddammit! I’m going to kill him!” A male voice yelled as a heavy wooden door slammed shut.
“I’ve told him, time and time again, to keep everything locked up, and he can’t even manage that. Useless…” the voice continued. Deep, thick and like a fog horn: always loud.
I recognised the voice and trembled. It was Max’s father, Terry Quadrello, the real boss. The not-so-silent partner who ran things with a clenched iron fist and had his fat fingers buried deep within many small businesses around the city, not just his own. He would be nice as hedgerow pie to all the assistants in the office, but you could tell his bubbling temper was ready to boil over at any moment. Even when the door to Max’s office was shut, we’d occasionally hear his dad bellowing at him, causing us all to go silent.
I had no idea what he would do to me if he found me whimpering in the closet; I clutched the gun.
“Want me to have a word?” a squeaky voice asked.
“Nah, you’ve done enough. I’ll give him a good talking to when I see him,” Terry
I’d seen guns on television, but never in my life had I seen or touched one in person. It wasn’t something you would see up in the Northeast of England. You’d hear of gun crime down south in the capitol, of course, but never up here.
My mouth was dry, and it was difficult to swallow. My pulse raced as I reached over to touch the cold steel.
What did Max need with a gun, let alone two?
Curious and hesitantly at first, I inspected one of them and lifted it into my hands to see how it felt. It was heavy, but not so heavy that I couldn’t raise and aim it. A powerful rush surged through me; I held in my delicate hands a weapon that could kill, and my nipples hardened with excitement. I had enough sense and had seen enough TV to check that the safety was on. I continued to hold it while removing the thick, bound notebook from the drawer. Surely, there’d be some answers contained within it.
A sudden crash rattled the building, causing the book to fall from my hands as the front door came to a close a floor below.
12
T he stout notebook landed with a soft thud on the carpet, and I stood frozen, still as a statue, with my eyes fixed wide open and still grasping the gun in my hand.
Maybe I’d imagined it. It must’ve been the coffee shop next door… but no, they wouldn’t open till morning. Creeping towards Max’s office door, I strained to listen.
I almost cried when I heard heavy footsteps climbing the stairs, accompanied by muffled conversation.
I rushed back to the desk and fiddled to find the switch for the lamp. Darkness fell, and I was blind. I cursed, panicking – I shut the drawer and attempted to find the fallen book in the shadows. I felt the rough carpet tiles beneath my fingers as I stretched them out, but the damned notebook eluded me.
Where the hell was it?
They would be in the main office by now, and thoughts of hiding in the women’s toilets were no longer an option. I had only a matter of moments to hide if indeed their intended destination was Max’s office. Reaching around once more, my fingers finally found the notebook. I shoved it into my bag and whirled in the direction of the storage cupboard, feeling with outstretched hands so I wouldn’t bump into the wall.
I pulled the cupboard door shut and nestled into the corner, careful not to knock into the vacuum cleaner; it’d just be my luck that it’d turn on, screeching to life, alerting them to my presence.
My right hand clenched the gun tight to my chest. My stomach was doing cartwheels, and I wanted to be sick. Why hadn’t I put it back in the drawer?
“Bloody alarm not turned on…” I heard one say. My ears strained to hear, but I resisted getting closer to press my ear to the door.
I urged myself to calm down; I was sure they’d hear me breathing. My legs already felt stiff from the confined position, tucked under myself, but I dared not move.
“Goddammit! I’m going to kill him!” A male voice yelled as a heavy wooden door slammed shut.
“I’ve told him, time and time again, to keep everything locked up, and he can’t even manage that. Useless…” the voice continued. Deep, thick and like a fog horn: always loud.
I recognised the voice and trembled. It was Max’s father, Terry Quadrello, the real boss. The not-so-silent partner who ran things with a clenched iron fist and had his fat fingers buried deep within many small businesses around the city, not just his own. He would be nice as hedgerow pie to all the assistants in the office, but you could tell his bubbling temper was ready to boil over at any moment. Even when the door to Max’s office was shut, we’d occasionally hear his dad bellowing at him, causing us all to go silent.
I had no idea what he would do to me if he found me whimpering in the closet; I clutched the gun.
“Want me to have a word?” a squeaky voice asked.
“Nah, you’ve done enough. I’ll give him a good talking to when I see him,” Terry
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