Watershed: F – Funerals And Fuck Ups

He was sure that he had never noticed anyone pay such close attention to a book of condolences at a funeral but everyone had been poring through it as if they were looking for something, and they were. All those months of trawling through information trying to find something to pin on the bastards who had stolen his bar from under him had made him pretty good at sniffing through data-trails, pretty good at hacking police databases.

He had seen the car. He had seen the license plate. He had remembered the number. What else did he need to track down the sorry sack of shit that had killed Farrell? Nothing. And once he had a name there was no stopping him. Grisfleur – one of those names that kind of stood out. There was a lot of information on the guy – he had once been some kind of literary hope for the future of the novel but it seemed that for a while he had been on something of a slide; seeking his own destruction one might say. Shame he hadn’t found a way to off himself that hadn’t involved taking so many others out too.

A lot of people would have given up on the whole thing once they had found out that the guy they were after was dead, but F needed answers and if all that meant was speaking to someone that knew him then that was what he was going to have to settle for.

F watched. He watched carefully. None of these people meant anything to him so he could study them dispassionately and he was sure that something would leap out at him – something that spoke of a bond. And there it was – she stood there a lot longer than anyone else had and took her time writing something and then she left.

People didn’t notice F and she didn’t notice him either. But he couldn’t just approach her, could he? She was easy to tail – people really didn’t expect to be followed – that kind of shit only happened in movies, didn’t it? And then, when she got home, he just sat there in the car, not sure what to do next. He set the alarm on his phone. Turned the ringtone off and went to sleep. He would get his head clear and then he would tackle her.

Three hours later he started awake and nearly knocked himself out on the steering wheel he had rested his head on. Time to go and speak to this woman. He didn’t even know her name. He knocked on the door, nervous about what he might find, unsure what to say.

‘Hello?’

‘Erm, I’m here to talk about the guy from the funeral.’

‘I have a baseball bat here and I’m not afraid to use it.’

‘OK, fair enough, I really just need to talk to someone that knew him. You see he killed my nephew in a hot and run and I need to make sense of it. Please, can I just come in?’

She opened the door. She looked at him sheepishly. The hand with the baseball bat hung at her side.

‘It’s not really the best of times for me to have visitors.’

‘Oh,’ he said ‘I can always come back when it’s more convenient.’

‘With him staying here, my dad,’ she said, indicating the man on the couch ‘It’s never going to be more convenient. You know I didn’t really know him that well?’

‘Who, your father?’

‘Well, yeah, but I mean Grisfleur – I picked him up hitching and we went for a drink together, that’s about it.’

‘But at the funeral you seemed so upset about it …’

‘I know, stupid, eh? I had thought that something might happen between us – I’d just met him and it was weird how much it all affected me. Still …’

There was a loud knock at the door. It repeated. It grew increasingly impatient and then it sounded like someone was kicking the door.

‘Wow, someone really wants to get in here. Do you mind?’ he said, pointing at the bat.

‘No, course not.’ Raefon handed him the bat with a shaky hand.

He was ready for this – he didn’t care who was coming through that door because he was ready. He was ready to take out all his frustrations on them. This woman couldn’t do anything for him. He could tell she had just briefly entered the orbit of this force of chaos that was Grisfleur. Grisfleur had done neither of them any flavours.

He saw the gun in the hand of the woman who came through the busted door and he swung the bat. The gun discharged and everything went black.

He didn’t know how long he was out for but when he came round he was lying on the floor in front of the couch. Sat on the couch was Raefon and her father, who looked like he had sobered up very fucking quickly. He felt woozy and it took him a second to realise that the sticky wetness underneath him was his own blood. Just how much had he lost? To say that he didn’t feel well didn’t touch it. He looked at the woman standing there with a gun and he had to wonder what the fuck this was about.