Chapter 3 - in the bear's den

Really?!!!

Not white tigers but white bears.

That gangster wannabe's tattoo was the answer all along.

It was literally right in front of me.

The website redirected to another site with a white and  gold layout.

I scrolled down to find any information but there was nothing, just an endless loop of white and gold marble layout.

Whoever created this whole thing loved to play games and they'd met their match.

I kept on scrolling for minutes, almost about to give up when a bold write-up emerged.

If you owe white Bear, you don’t go to them. They find you.

Unless you’re stupid.

Or brave.

Then you try the bar.

No address. Just a description.

South side.

No sign.

Engines louder than the music.

I copied it down.

My eyes scanned the cafe. Unaware.

I closed the laptop slowly.

My reflection stared back at me in the dark screen. Tired but determined. I'd made progress.

I had a lead.

-

Who was stupid enough to go looking for the bear's den?

Me. Matilda Monroe who was much more scared of losing her house than having a faceoff with some gangster wannabes.

This was easy. I'd go in there, speak to their boss, convince him how financially dumb it was to give a drunk gambler ten thousand dollars. Make him understand that we had no knowledge of this debt and that the house was the only thing the man left for us.

He'd see reason and cancel the debt. Easy peasy.

But I as I turned into the block housing the said bar, a sense of fear gripped me.

Even from a mile away, the place reeked of unanswered pleas.

The bar sat in the shadows like it had something to hide.

No neon sign, no sign of a human being, just a squad of motorcycles littered around like loyal guard dogs. All kinds of motorcycles, I'd never seen that much variations of a bike.

I almost turned around.

This was a mistake.

But I parked anyway.

My sense of responsibility overrode my fear.

My red Chevy parked beside the two tyred monsters was the first sign that I didn't belong hete, but I killed the engine and stepped out before my courage could evaporate.

The air smelled like oil and cigarettes.

I hugged my sweater tighter around myself and walked in cursing my choice of outfit.

I didn't have the time or gas to go home and change after school.

I looked like a fish out of water in my button down shirt underneath my knitted sweater and knee length skirt.

There was no time to dwell on that.

I took two deep breaths before creaking the door open.

I was hit by the different sounds and smell all at once.

They definitely put a lot of money into the sound insulation boards, because the blast of sound inside here is definitely not heard from outside.

Laughter accompanied the clink of bottles.

This place was filled with men. Men who had nothing to prove and everything to take.

One head turned to the door. To me.

Then another. Before I knew it, everyone was staring holes into my head.

Well, fuck.

These guys knew nothing of subtlety.

I guess this wasn't the kind of place someone dressed like me wandered into anytime.

Chin up Matilda. don't cower because of men. Men are simply overgrown children and you deal with children all day.

I scanned the room for a familiar face, any of the men that'd brought the bad news to my doorstep.

There was a pool table to my left, a bar straight ahead, booths lining the wall to my right. And men. Men everywhere, leather jackets hugging their torsos, tattoos and scars peaking out. I could see white bears peaking out of their sleeves and collars.

I could count the only women I could see on one hand.

A tattooed, mean looking bartender who looked like she was in her mid forties, a Raven lookalike wearing the skimpiest dress I'd ever seen and shocker, a ginger wearing the most rainbow themed outfit. I'm talking, red, green, and yellow splash hoodie on a bright pink joggers.

What was that ball of sunshine doing in this dark scary place?

I walked up to the bar and lifted myself up to the bar stool.

The men beside me looked familiar, or not.

I couldn't differentiate them with their gangster cosplay costumes.

"What will it be?" The bartender asked, eyes filled with suspicion.

"Beer" I said. My voice didn't betray my nerves. That was good.

She slid it over without a smile. Zero for customer service.

I took a sip to distract myself.

The room buzzed around me, conversation resuming but quieter now. I could feel eyes on my back, probably wondering what I was doing here. Me too my dears, me too.

I needed to make my move, and soon.

"You lost?" The man beside me asked.

"No" I answered. "I'm right where I'm supposed to be"

The man on my right snorted into his drink. "This ain't a place for daycare field trips"

I turned to him and smiled sweetly. "And yet, here you are"

Amused laughter rippled around us. Even the bartender's lips twitched.

"Good one" some man hollered.

“I’m looking for someone,” I said instead, loud enough to carry.

That did it.

Spines straightened instantly.

"And you are?" The bartender asked.

"Matilda Monroe" I said. "Does that ring a bell?"

"Should it?" She responded in a mocking tone.

What was I expecting? That'd they know me? Who was I? The President?

I tried to hide my reddening cheeks in my bottle.

“You’re either brave or stupid.” a deep voice called from behind me.

I turned on my stool to the sound and was met with my forehead tattoo guy.

He was the only familiar face here and his presence ironically gave me warmth.

“Depends on who you ask.”

His mouth curved in a smirk. “Fair. Why are you here

Matilda Monroe?"

He said my name like he'd never heard of it.

Like he wasn't in my house two days ago.

“I’m here about a debt,” I said. Two can play the game.

The bar went quiet this time.

For fuck sake, what was all this drama about.

His eyes sharpened. “Say that again.”

“My father,” I continued. “Caleb Monroe. You took his house.”

Recognition flickered in his eyes briefly.

“You walked in here alone.”

“Yes.”

“No backup.”

“No.” Why did he ask? Was he planning on killing me?

He leaned closer, voice dropping. “You got guts, Monroe."

“So pass along a message.”

His eyebrow lifted. “To who?”

“You know who.” being here and surrounded by all these men who could kill me in a second, I wouldn't dare mention their boss' name.

He watched me for a long second. Then he laughed. Loud mocking laughter.

“You don’t get audiences with kings just because you ask.”

“I’m not asking,” I said calmly. “I’m negotiating.”

When did I grow these balls?

He straightened, eyes hard now. Like he was done entertaining me. “Gideon Vale doesn’t negotiate with debtors.”

The air grew thicker immediately his name was mentioned.

Like everyone held their breaths.

Gideon Vale. Sounded oddly familiar.

“Tell him,” I said, leaning in just enough to make my point land, “that the girl whose house he took is very hard to ignore.”

Silence.

"You know what? I'll humour you." He said. "I'll let him know. But don't confuse curiosity with mercy"

I slid off the stool. Heart racing now, but my face steady.

“Well, you're in luck, I don’t need mercy,” I replied. “I need him to listen.”

As I turned to leave, I felt it.

Eyes on my back. Heavy. Assessing.

Somewhere, far above this bar and this noise, a man named Gideon Vale was about to hear my name.

And I knew, deep in my bones, that once he did,

Nothing would be quiet again.