Shelter

by Rhyll Biest

  ‘Come on, sweetie.’ Kat ushered her back inside the apartment, but could understand the dog’s eagerness to escape. For starters, it stank, the patchy carpet a repository for canine whizz. Though if the owner was lax about letting them outside—and he seemed a late riser—the dogs probably had little option. Then there were the dead pot plants. Ultra depressing.

  She followed Evert and the man to the laundry, where another dog lay on a blanket. The second Labrador, older than the blonde, had a dark coat—or what was left of one. From the waist down the animal was naked, not a hair on the bottom half of its body. The dog looked at them with such shame in its eyes it was almost human.

  Evert crouched by the dog. She raised her head and her naked tail tapped a greeting, but the movement was lethargic.

  ‘How long has she been like this?’

  Kat almost blinked at the cold anger seething beneath Evert’s seemingly casual question. Oblivious, the owner scratched his hairless chest.

  Kat had to wonder if he had mange too.

  ‘I dunno. A while, I guess.’

  A while. That could be a month or a year.

  Despite the fact that even his scars look strained, Evert quietly asked the owner’s name. ‘Lyndsey.’

  Wasn’t Lyndsey a woman’s name? She stared at his bare feet. Lyndsey had hair on his toes but none on his chest. Weird.

  Evert glanced at the other dog. ‘She’s not showing any signs of mange, how long have you had her?’

  ‘About a week.’

  That explained it. Given another month the blonde Labrador could be as bald as the one on the blanket. A depressing thought.

  Evert ran his hand over the black Labrador’s head, avoiding the crusty and inflamed spots. She bunted her head against him, seeking more touch while still managing to look shamefaced. ‘She needs to see a vet.’

  ‘What will that cost?’ Lyndsey’s tone grew surly, his expression more awake.

  ‘I’m not sure, but the treatment can be paid in instalments from your Centrelink benefits.’

  ‘Can I take a closer look?’ Kat’s tone was mild. She wasn’t a vet but it looked like an obscenely advanced case of mange to her and anything she could learn might be useful to her later.

  ‘No.’ Lyndsey’s jaw set.

  He was far less welcoming of her than Evert. Could be that he didn’t like women, or it could be that he just didn’t like her. ‘Okay.’ She gave him a stiff smile that fooled nobody.

  Evert stood. ‘Do you agree to take the dog to a vet?’

  Silence.

  The guy wrestled with the question like he was on Mastermind. What was his problem? She rested a hand on the dog’s head.

  ‘Don’t fucking touch my dog.’

  Evert frowned.

  Kat wanted to smack Lyndsey’s stupid face and stomp on his hairy toes. Mange was eating his dog and yet she was the bad guy?

  Getting her back up was in no way related to a good idea and yet there it was. Perhaps she was the one with low frustration tolerance.

  Evert intervened. ‘You do need to do something about the dog’s condition, you can’t just ignore it. Can I give you the address and number of a local vet?’ Evert pulled out a notepad.

  Lyndsey shook his head. ‘No, I won’t pay, I got the dog for free so why should I pay? I’ll just get it put down.’

  Jesus. Kat exchanged looks with Evert. ‘You don’t need to get it put down, you can surrender it so you don’t have to bear the cost of treatment.’

  ‘I’d rather shoot it.’

  The unreasonable anger of a drug addict? Or was the guy just a fucking jerk?

  Expecting Evert to argue with the man she blinked when he instead wrote something down and handed it to the man. ‘This is a formal written notice that says you’re not to move the dog from these premises and that you’ll take it to a vet by the end of next week.’ He looked at Kat. ‘Let’s go.’

  Still spoiling for confrontation, she backed away from Lyndsey with a final glance at the dogs. They were leaving them behind, abandoning them. It wasn’t right.

  Outside she followed Evert to the car, frustration bubbling in her guts. ‘That went well.’

  ‘I’ll call him later, when he’s not in fight mode. He might be easier to deal with when you’re not around. You seem to piss him off.’

  ‘The feeling is entirely mutual,’ she muttered. Had it been something about the way she’d spoken to him? Or just what she’d said. About to ask Evert’s opinion the question dried up in her mouth as she spotted Belovuk.

  What was he doing here?

  Lyndsey’s drug addled face flashed before her eyes. Stupid question.

  Belovuk stood at least two stories tall beside the multi-story building and spoke with a woman who looked to be a resident of the complex.

  Substance-abuse thin, she wore a faded cotton boob tube, denim shorts and thongs that revealed bleeding, cracked heels. A light breeze stirred her baby-fine bleach-blonde hair as she swayed on her feet, vigorously waving her hands to make some point. All elbows and split lip, she resembled a downtrodden, peroxided Mick Jagger. Her left eye sported a shiner any boxer would be proud of.

  An exhumed memory winked at Kat, the week of school she’d missed because of her mother’s split lip—no one allowed to see it.

  Kat had wanted to believe that she had nothing in common with the residents of this piss-smelling fortress of poverty, but no, she was just like them, was all too familiar with the brown and blue smudges on the woman’s face and body, the aggression hanging in the air like haze, the ill-will blowing through the discarded rubbish like wind.

  Galenka stirred. You belong here, in ugliness and violence. It’s only because of me that you escaped.

  It was true, she would never have left that shit behind without Galenka’s fighting spirit. Despair was homey, familiar, a loving couch that trapped one between soft cushions that whispered ‘this is how things are meant to be’.

  The thought soured her mood as thoroughly as a suitcase full of dead wildlife.

  Kat turned her attention to the other figure standing by Belovuk, a man. The stringy woman was directing her arm waving at him and though he was only the woman’s height his build was nuggety, musclebound. Kat pegged him as the type to smuggle steroids. The colour of his buzz cut hair matched the open beer bottle in his hand, and the aggressive thrust of his chin along with the veins cording his chunky biceps suggested he liked to scrap.

  ‘You’re a lying bitch, I never hit you.’ The whites of the man’s eyes bloomed.

  Right, your girlfriend split her own lip. Tension swelled in Kat, twisted her insides until they ached like a belly-flop on concrete.

  ‘I didn’t say you hit me, I said you shoved me, and if you say you didn’t then you’re a fuckin’ liar.’ The woman raised her chin, threw a sideways glance at Belovuk to check he’d noticed she’d scored a point.

  He simply nodded, big arms folded over his chest, and said nothing as the man and the woman continued to scream at one another from either side of him.

  Kat would have been rattled as fuck just by the sheer volume of their argument, let alone the wild eyes and stabbing hand gestures of the couple, especially the beer bottle in the guy’s hand. She didn’t even want to walk too close by them but they stood between her and the next job.

  As Evert and she approached, Belovuk raised his chin in silent greeting, face impassive. How could he remain so unmoved by the domestic dispute waged inches from him? He stood like a stark fortress of restraint.

  For a second her eyes met his before he switched his focus one hundred percent back on the couple.

  As she passed, fall-out sounded in her wake.

  ‘What the fuck are you lookin’ at her for?’

  Goosebumps raised on Kat’s nape as she identified herself as the ‘her’ being referred to.

  ‘I wasn’t lookin’ at her, what the fuck are you talkin’ about?’

  She glanced at Evert. ‘Should we stay and help?’


  He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Better not, I think your presence might make things worse.’

  But things had already got worse.

  ‘I saw you fuckin’ lookin’, you fuckin’ liar.’ A whispery scuff of rubber on cement, a grunt of surprise. Kat swung around, unable to turn her back despite Evert’s advice. The woman lunged at her partner, fingers bent into claws.

  Belovuk thrust out a palm to keep the woman at arm’s length as she screamed insults. He appeared unfazed by her gutter mouth, while Kat sucked her breath in at some of the uglier things the woman hurled at her partner.

  The man’s face flushed red before he ducked behind Luka’s back to get at the woman, landing an open-palmed slap across the side of her head that made her reel.

  ‘Fuck you, fuck face,’ she screamed.

  ‘Shut up, bitch.’ He swung a fist.

  The woman stumbled back but need not have bothered as Luka caught the arm being swung and twisted it behind the man’s back.

  ‘Aaaahh,’ the man yelled from his bent over position, a long rope of spittle hanging from his lower lip. The beer bottle dropped from his hand to shatter on the concrete, spraying beer and glass in every direction.

  ‘Faaarrrk.’ The man heaved, struggled, in violent mourning for his beer. ‘Faaarrrk.’

  He sounded like a human crow to Kat.

  Belovuk held him, his grip firm but not rough. ‘Don’t move.’

  Kat only caught the low murmur of instruction because she’d moved closer, despite Evert’s advice.

  ‘My fucking arm,’ the man whined, neck and cheeks flushing a deeper red either from the way Luka had him bent over with his head down or shame at being physically restrained.

  Kat’s own cheeks flushed. Because it was so very, very wrong of her to be struck by the way Belovuk so effortlessly controlled the other man’s body, owned him. If he could do that to another man, imagine what he could do to a woman. The thought left her insides curled tighter than gift ribbon.

  Her eyes met Luka’s over the solid back of the man he held down, and for a second she feared he could read her appalling train of thought, along with her equally strict self-recrimination.

  A banshee-like wail tore her from her bubble of shame. The woman flapped her hands, bony elbows bobbing. ‘Don’t hurt him, he didn’t do anything.’

  Kat winced as the screeching—a decent nails on blackboard imitation—built to a crescendo.

  Belovuk waited for a lull to make his next move. ‘On the count of three I’m going to let you go,’ he told the man. ‘And you’re going to walk away in that direction.’ He jerked his chin towards a rusting swing set. ‘And you,’ he eyeballed the woman, ‘are going to walk in the other direction.’

  ‘Or what?’ She levelled a sullen stare on him.

  ‘Or I’ll arrest you both so you can sober up.’

  At the word ‘sober’ the woman looked away. Kat didn’t blame her. If she lived in one of these apartments she wouldn’t want to spend a single second sober either.

  ‘One.’ Belovuk kept his eyes on the woman. ‘Two.’

  Kat couldn’t tell whether the woman was pouting or it was just her split lip, but she backed away.

  ‘Three.’ He released the man who stumbled away, rubbing his arm. After a long, belligerent stare at the departing back of his girlfriend, he headed in the other direction.

  By the swing set the man paused, glared at Belovuk and raised his middle finger. ‘Fuckin’ cops.’

  ***

  ‘Yeah, that’s tellin’ me.’ Luka wandered towards the new girl and Nick.

  ‘That was a bit full-on.’ Nick scratched his chin.

  Luka shrugged. ‘Street theatre.’ His gaze flicked up to the dozens of shadowy faces and figures silently watching from balconies and windows before resting on the new girl. ‘And what brings you two out to the Paris end of Walgarra on this fine day, ladies?’

  Nick gave a snort. ‘A dog with no hair. And I wanted to introduce Kat to Stacey’s dating pool so she didn’t accidentally encroach.’

  Kat shook her head. ‘You’re so mean.’

  ‘I’m just looking out for you, love.’

  Their banter both amused and pissed Luka off. If anyone was going to make the new girl laugh he wanted it to be him. He almost winced at his own macho bullish instincts. They weren’t so easy to shake off after years in the force. ‘Well, take care, it was welfare payment day yesterday which means half the complex is just waking up to the fact that they’ve already drank, snorted or shot up their money.’

  Nick pulled his job sheet from his shirt pocket. ‘That’s what I like about you, Luka, you’re such a cheery effing ray of sunshine.’

  ‘Plus, I keep you from getting your head stomped on more often.’ He glanced at Kat, tried to read her expression, failed. ‘De-escalation training looking any more appealing to you since touring the housing estate?’

  Her gaze flickered. ‘I’ll let you know. I’m not quite ready to give up my weekends yet.’

  Hmmm. He didn’t want to push too hard. ‘Furniture arrive yet?’

  ‘Not yet, this afternoon maybe.’

  ‘Say what?’ Nick’s brows shot up and Luka enjoyed a moment of satisfaction that the new girl had chosen to share something with him instead of Nick.

  As he listened to her explain the situation, he scoped her out. Ponytail a wild, red mass bobbing around like a flag. A flag he wanted to run his fingers through and tug just to see her fine jawline tilt. The thought of tracing his lips over that jawline lit him up.

  Had he imagined her fleeting look of heated interest when he’d applied an arm lock to Mr Domestic Abuse? Plenty would call that fucked up, but that didn’t stop his blood from turning thick as oil and twice as flammable.

  And it was good to see her again, to be reminded that they both hung out at all the same crappy places, at work and after hours. The joy of a country town.

  Would it be an abuse of power to ask her out?

  Nick, wily fucker that he was, beat him to it.

  ‘Mate, before we run away to our next fucked-up job, Stace asked me to invite you to the next wine tasting. You, too, Kat. It’s on the Sunday after next.’

  Luka loved the way the new girl’s eyes widened into green pools of astonishment, like she couldn’t believe something as cultured as wine was allowed in Walgarra.

  He scribbled the date in his notebook. ‘I’m in. Don’t want to miss Walgarra’s cultural event of the year.’ That and he found himself physically unable to say the word ‘no’ to Stacey. She took advantage of it, too, calling on him to help Nick extract sheep mired in mud, along with other animal emergencies. Luka glanced at Kat. ‘You planning on attending?’

  ‘I don’t know much about wine.’ She looked reluctant to commit.

  ‘No need to worry about that, Stace has enough knowledge for all of us. And Nick bought a book on wine talk just to piss her off. Last time I swear he actually described a Grenache as ‘like chasing a naked gypsy through a field of lavender’.’

  The new girl gave a snort of laughter, the unwary sound applying pressure to Luka’s chest. He’d made her laugh. Him. For a second the beauty of that erased the butt-ugly government housing they stood by.

  ‘Sounds like an event not to be missed. Let me check my diary and get back to you.’ She pulled her ponytail tighter.

  He loved it when she did that—well, he loved the way it made her shirt tighten across her breasts, at least.

  ‘Sure.’ Nick beamed.

  Luka narrowed his eyes at Nick, who looked pleased as a pup with two peckers at having delivered the invitation for Stacey. What was going on there?

  Luka eyed the new girl. ‘Where are you off to now?’

  While he’d asked the question casually enough, she used her right to remain silent and gave him a dark look to boot.

  Nick answered. ‘Just the other side of the building. Our vacation at Walgarra Heights is not yet over.’

  ‘Well, Nick, you treat yourself to a nic
e mani and a pedi once you get home to make up for the stress of the day.’

  ‘Fuck off, Belovuk.’

  And what did you know, that put a grin on the new girl’s face too. Seemed she was a fan of his rough humour. Just think what else might she become a fan of if he got an opportunity to share it with her. That was almost enough to make him smile.

  ‘See you both later.’ He headed towards his car, glanced back over his shoulder and caught the new girl scoping him out. Surprise, surprise. But he couldn’t shake the feeling she was too classy for him. He was, after all, a guy many in town referred to as either ’the commie cop’ or ‘Brick’. Plus, she had a smart, schooled look about her whereas the height of his academic achievement remained graduating from the police academy, and whatever intellectual muscle he’d earned during that time had surely atrophied over the years he’d spent encouraging people not to steal shit or beat the crap out of one another.

  Not that it mattered.

  She was engaged and therefore out of reach, that hadn’t changed.

  He leant against his car and watched the two climb Walgarra’s very own Mount Doom, the new girl looking as out of place as riot police at a ballroom dance.

  A look at his watch told him he had time on his side.

  He’d hang around until they were done.

  Just in case.

  Because while he’d persuaded Nick to sneakily pass on some of the theory of de-escalation during induction, the new girl needed practice assessing and responding to potentially violent situations. And until she got that training, he was keeping watch over her, whether she liked it or not.

  Chapter 8

  Hell. He’d showered, changed, washed his hair, but the sensation of copper-scented stickiness on his skin lingered. Along with a hint of musty dirt in his nostrils, mixed with tractor oil.

  A sour taste flooded his mouth as he stared at the floor.

  Attending a Code 201—in this case a double fatality—was never fun, but the slick swathe of blood puddling beneath one crumpled car had stolen his breath, jacked his heart into overdrive.

  Hence the taste of rust lingering in his mouth.