3
Anita
Direford is a little village. Part of it is picturesque and old. The other part of it is new and industrial. This place is industrial adjacent. Constructed right around the time everybody decided that making buildings look appealing was a waste of fucking time and instead put all their effort into making them as bland and square and depressing as possible. At least this place has an attic. I like being up high, being able to look down on others, see them coming for me. I’m like a cat that way.
I peek out the window, parting the black shade cloth I have been using for curtains. There’s nothing on the street. Nothing bar the usual, anyway. A couple of homeless people that the council insists aren’t actually homeless. Like they’re just experimental artists working on various ways to shelter under tarps.
Anyway, they’re there. Nobody else is. It’s a quiet time of day. Later on, there will be some stragglers coming back from work. Sometimes I hang about on the street and see if they drop something. I don’t think I will today. Today I just want to look at this treasure, enjoy it for as long as I can.
THUDDDDABANG!
A clap of thunder heralds the day turning dark. I guess a storm is rolling in. Little weird for this time of year, but the weather has been weird for a while now. Everybody has noticed it. It’s a whole thing.
The tin roofing that’s been used to patch what should be tiles over my head starts to rattle with hail. If you were paranoid, you might think it was the attempt of some massive entity to get in. Maybe to get the hammer back. If I’m not mistaken, the hammer is kind of vibrating with the weather. Probably some kind of old resonance in the hollow shaft.
Stealing expensive and important things is a workout for the nervous system. Can’t give into panic. Can’t let my conscience, whatever’s left of it, get the better of me. If I do that, then I’ve really got nothing to trade on at all.
Stephanie nabs me as I’m going down the stairs. She’s too good for this flat, and too good for this town. She was made for bigger, better things. But her boyfriend, Tom, is a bricklayer here and he doesn’t want to move to London, so here she is, waiting for him to put a ring on it. It’s not going to happen, but I’m not going to be the messenger who takes that bullet.
“Have you got your portion of the rent?”
“No. But I will soon. I’ll have enough for all of us.”
“You’re always saying things like that. I need the rent by tomorrow, or you need to move out.”
“How much do you need?”
“Sixty pounds.”
“I’ll get it. Don’t worry.”
“Sixty pounds is for this week. Six hundred and sixty pounds for the last eleven weeks you haven’t paid.”
I feign surprise. “Wow, has it been that long?”
“It has. I should evict you.”
Her threat is somewhat hollow. See, I’m not really technically even a tenant, and yet I am living here, so by the way the laws are set up, I’m kind of entitled to stay. Sort of. Anyway, the one thing I am sure about is that Stephanie would be in all kinds of trouble for subletting to me. This place is way over occupancy.
Like I said, Stephanie was made for bigger, better things. She was made to fuck poor people over in London or maybe Manchester. Or hell, internationally. Berlin. Manila. New York. There’s no end of places she could screw her fellow human out of a dollar. But we’re lucky to have her here because she always finds the best deals. And that’s why I live in an uninsulated attic as the resident fire risk. Because it’s a good deal.
I was going to let the big guy sweat it out for a week or two, but I guess I have a call to make now. Their number is online. They’re easy to find. Unlike me.
“Hello? Is that Direview Abbey? Yes. Hi. I’d like to speak to Thor, please.”
There’s a soft-spoken man on the other end of the line who says that he will get Thor for me. He seems nice. I don't remember him from the open house, but then again, I’m not entirely certain I remember anybody besides…
“Thor.”
I feel a great thrill at hearing his voice. It’s deep and gravelly, and accented.
“Hi, Thor. You might remember me from earlier?”
“Girl," he growls. Fuck. I could come right now. “Bring me back my hammer.”
“I’d love to. I’d really love to. I just need a hundred thousand pounds.”
“You stole my hammer, and now you wish to ransom it back to me? Girl, you do not know who you are crossing, and you know even less what you have in your possession. Bring it back to me at once, and I will spare you the worst of the consequences. If you make me find you, I will thrash you to within an inch of your life. I will make you feel pain unlike any you’ve ever felt. I…”