Click.
Nothing.
‘Shit,’ said Devlin. ‘Something’s wrong. These Lee-Enfields should have 12 cartridges in the magazine.’
‘I don’t even know what the magazine is. Last one I had in my hands was an old Playboy. Oh God, he’s crawling towards me. The fucker’s indestructible. Time to run.’
The devil’s breath blew hot in Gary’s ear. ‘No. You must have more ammunition. The magazine’s probably jammed. Check it. The square thing underneath holds the cartridges. Press the—’
‘Oh my god, he’s got me!’ Ed, slick with blood, had crawled over to Gary and grabbed his ankle. The Arsehole pulled hard with his good arm. So much lost blood, but so much reserve strength. Gary teetered, nearly lost his balance. He kicked the hand away and staggered backwards. Safe, for the moment.
‘No time to muck around,’ Devlin screamed. ‘Hold the barrel firmly. Two hands. Whack him over the head with the rifle butt.’
Gary raised the gun like he was about to take a swing at a fairground hammer. Ed looked up, rage and terror expanding his bloodshot eyes. The man’s mouth formed a hideous smile. He tried to speak, only squeaks came out.
Gary lifted the rifle over his head. He was ready to bring the rifle down when a thought occurred. Something important.
‘Where’s the fucken money?’
‘Smart thinking,’ Devlin whispered. ‘I underestimated you.’
Ed blinked hard.
‘Tell me where the money is, and I’ll call an ambulance. If not, you bleed to death.’
‘Fuck you,’ Ed croaked.
Gary swung the rifle hard. It smacked into Ed’s mangled shoulder with a wet thud. Ed screamed, rolled onto his side.
‘Last chance before I bash your brains out.’
‘Bedroom, wardrobe, behind some boxes. Please—’
‘Finish him.’ Devlin leapt from Gary’s shoulder, landed beside Ed’s body. He clapped his front paws together and cackled like a witch. ‘Do it!’
Gary drove the weapon like a golf ball off the first tee. Whack. The crunch of wood against skull bone turned his stomach. He didn’t stop. Again and again, he drove the rifle down until Ed’s head was an unrecognisable pulp, the body as still as the forest itself. Exhausted and drenched in sweat, he dropped the rifle, fell to his knees. He wept inconsolably.
‘I fail to see why you’re crying,’ said Devlin. ‘You’ve won and he’s lost. He got exactly what he deserved.’
‘Whatever you reckon,’ Gary said through racking sobs. ‘What the hell do I do with Ed now?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What?’
‘Get yourself out of here. Call Jordie. He’ll have pulled himself together by now. Just lost his bottle at the critical moment. He adores you and will do as you ask. Get him to meet you at the roadside ASAP.’ Devlin gave a high-pitched whistle, an improbable feat for a Tasmanian devil. But then again, the telepathic beast was capable of speech.
From the edge of the clearing, a dozen or so other devils appeared. All sizes, some with babies clinging to their backs. Their angry mewling and growling set Gary’s teeth on edge. ‘My fellow scavengers and I will polish off the carcass,’ said Devlin. ‘In a few hours, there’ll be no traces of him, I guarantee.’
‘What about the bones?’
‘Once we’ve devoured the soft bits, we’ll dispose of the bones and his clothes far into the forest. Believe me, he’ll never be found.’
Not for the first time, Gary wondered why Devlin hadn’t simply intervened on Gary’s behalf. He could have attacked Ed. Mauled him, bit him in the jugular. Anything. The little bastard with his supernatural strength could have saved Gary the grief.
‘Killing Ed was something only you could have done,’ said the mind-reading animal. ‘I exist, but only for you. Do you understand?’
Gary nodded.
He understood exactly nothing.
As he reached for his mobile to call Jordie, Devlin tugged Gary’s bloody trouser leg.
‘What now, for fuck’s sake?’
‘Grab his keys. No need to break into his house. Just open the door, walk in and get your money.’
Gary nodded.
‘And don’t forget his wallet and mobile. You need to get rid of them.’
The vision of the puce abstract painting that used to be Ed’s face brought a lump of sick into Gary’s throat. A runny soup the colour of mangoes burst from his mouth. It splattered over Ed’s body and the ground. He wiped his lips with a shirtsleeve. He fumbled in Ed’s pockets for the keys and fished the mobile from the mud a few metres away.
‘Shit.’ Gary coughed. ‘There’ll be DNA in that spew.’
‘Don’t worry, one of my friends’ll eat it. Can’t stand the filthy habit, myself.’
Gary shuddered. ‘Anything else I should worry about?’
‘Worrying is the last thing you should do. As for the scene here, all will be taken care of. Last riding instructions for you: Once you’ve recovered your money, put Ed’s mobile and car keys in a weighted bag. Big potato sack would be best. Chuck in your clothes, boots and the ribbon Jordie tied to the tree. Oh, and the rifle, of course. To make sure it sinks to the bottom, put some heavy rocks or bricks in there, too. Get Jordie’s mate Shifty to drop the bag into the Derwent. Not from the Tasman Bridge. Too many cameras. Do it from the middle of the Bowen Bridge.’
‘When?’
‘Today! Don’t waste time. Selina and Beverley will be getting anxious the longer they hear nothing from Ed. The sooner all physical evidence is removed, the better.’
‘This is a total cluster fuck.’ Two dead bodies in his Sydney hotel room was nothing compared to the PTSD this scene would bring on. Probably never get over it. He could hardly breathe.
‘Do what I told you, and you’ll be in the clear.’
‘But what about Ed’s car? Someone will report it to the cops.’
‘And? He’s gone for a walk in the bush, fallen off a cliff, abducted by aliens. Countless scenarios. Nothing to link it to you.’
‘Okay. I guess.’
‘Call Jordie. Time to get out of here.’
As he staggered back to the road to wait for his ride, Gary’s ears were assaulted by a hideous sound. The pack of devils had descended upon Ed’s fresh corpse in a raucous feast.
Chapter 31
‘Sorry I done a runner.’ Jordie blubbered ‘I was shit scared. Honest, I…’ He ran his eyes over Gary’s body. ‘Holy hell. Your pants are covered in blood. Hands, too. And your face. Are ya hurt?’
‘No.’ Jordie wasn’t going to get much conversation out of him on the ride back to Wattle Hill.
‘Did you…?’
A slow nod, eyes closed.
‘Christ. How? Where’s the rifle?’
Gary reached behind his back, thrust the gun towards Jordie who stared at it like he’d never seen it in his life. Gary shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. He managed to stop his hands shaking by sheer willpower. The rest of his body grew stiff, approached a state of paralysis.
‘Okay, tell me later. But you can’t get in the car like that. Lemme get a towel from the boot.’
‘Sure.’
Waves of cool air poured through the open window and revived Gary from his pre-catatonic state. He felt a warmth radiate in his cheeks. He began to take even, regular breaths. A switch flicked in his brain and panic and fear evaporated. A calmness descended. He now knew Devlin really would take care of everything. The creature had saved his life. Indirectly, by spurring him on, yes. Without that coaching, Gary would surely be dead. And he finally understood who Devlin was: Lucifer. He’d simply adopted the shape of a Tasmanian devil to get the message across.
Head half out the window, Gary sucked in lungfuls of the fresh Tasmanian air he’d grown to love. Nothing beat its purity.
‘Got a smoke, Jordie? I seem to be out.’
‘Here.’ Jordie proffered a packet.
The two sucked hard on cigarettes. No more words were spoken
until Jordie ripped on the handbrake. He killed the throbbing engine, touched Gary lightly on the forearm.
‘Let’s get you inside and tidied up.’
‘You what?’ said Tracey, piling spaghetti into a colander. She dished two tongs worth onto each plate. Jordie sprinkled on prefab Parmesan from a jar, attacked the food with saliva dribbling from his mouth. Gary pushed the meal aside.
‘I did what had to be done. What someone, despite their promises,’ he muttered with a sideways glance at Jordie, ‘couldn’t do.’
Jordie’s fork stopped a centimetre from his mouth, a look of guilt twisted his face.
‘So, the body?’ Tracey sat bolt upright in her chair. She wore the wide-eyed, open-mouthed expression of a child listening to a ghost story.
‘I left it there. Although I did bring some items we need to dispose of later tonight. But before we do that, Jordie and I are going to Ed’s house to get our money back.’
‘What?’ said Jordie. ‘We haven’t organised it wiv Shifty yet.’
‘Bugger Shifty. Not required for this.’
‘How come?’
Gary dropped a bulky set of keys onto the table.
‘Wait, wait, wait,’ said Tracey. ‘Back it up a bit. You left the body there? Is that smart? What if it’s found? It’ll get us all into a lot of trouble.’
‘Wrong. The body will never be found.’ He waved away an imaginary fly. ‘I’ve got some…people… onto it.’
Tracey and Jordie exchanged shocked looks. ‘What people?’ said Tracey. ‘You can’t go involving other people and not tell us about it first.’
‘Well, not people exactly.’ He coughed into a balled fist. ‘Let’s call it a higher power.’
Tracey twisted a tea towel into a knot. ‘God’s going to come along and clean everything up, is he?’
‘No. It’s not God.’ Gary announced in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘It’s his Son.’
‘Jesus?’ said Jordie, looking hopeful.
‘Not him. The other one. The one who gets shit done when scaredy cats run and hide.’
‘Oh, you mean Satan, do you?’ Tracey oozed sarcasm. ‘Awesome. Only I hate to be a stickler for detail, but he’s not the Son of God. He’s the wayward angel who became the Prince of Darkness.’
‘Whatever. I’m not getting into a theological argument about technicalities.’ Gary stood, pushed back his chair. ‘Believe me when I say everything’s in hand.’ At the bathroom door he turned and said in a voice booming with confidence. ‘I’m taking a shower. Five minutes and we’re out of here. Jordie, be ready.’
‘You think he’s okay, Trace?’
‘He’s off his rocker.’
‘What should we do then?’
‘Whatever he says.’ Tracey said through pursed lips.
‘Huh? You said he was nuts.’
She frowned. ‘We’ve got no alternative. Anyway, the fact he’s got his hands on Ed’s keys tells me something’s gone right.’
‘Geez, I dunno. I admit I ain’t the smartest feller in town, but that talk about the devil ‘n that. That ain’t normal. His brain’s buggered from all the drinking.’
‘Tell me about it.’
‘I just did.’
‘No, I…’ Like Gary, she sometimes forgot Jordie took many things literally. ‘Anyway, priority number one is to get the money back, right?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘And then you get your share and everyone’s happy, right?’
Jordie furrowed his brow. ‘Not sure ‘bout that.’
‘Meaning?’
‘I didn’t do the job. Dylan’s right. I piked out. He won’t pay me the thousand bucks now.’
‘One thousand? Is that how much he offered you?’
‘Yeah. I know it’s a lot.’
Tracey wanted to say, no, it’s not a lot. That Gary…sorry, Dylan… was a scumbag of the highest order. But she held her tongue. She’d see to it poor Jordie got more than a measly grand, even if he hadn’t fulfilled his end of the bargain.
‘But you agreed to do it. I could see how eager you were to help out.’
‘Yeah.’ Jordie rubbed his jaw as if he had a toothache. ‘But sayin’ it and doin’ are totally different things.’
Before Tracey could comment on that pearl of wisdom, Gary strode back into the kitchen, scrubbed clean of blood and ready for action. Dark clothes, black beanie, gloves and a giant green garbage bag.
‘C’mon, Jordie. Show me the way to Shifty’s place. We don’t need him to do any break-ins, but I want him to get rid of this for me.’ He raised the bag in the air. ‘After that, we’re going to Ed’s to take back our property.’
Chapter 32
The Focus, lights off, crept around a hairpin corner shielded by a three-metre red brick wall. Gary snuffed the engine, pocketed the car key. To his astonishment, Shifty had readily agreed to drop the bag in the river for the bargain sum of $50. Didn’t people in Tasmania know the value of their labour? Must be remnants of the old desperate convict mentality. Whatever, that vital job could be ticked off the to-do list. Now for the final part of today’s program.
He snapped open the glove box, reefed out a bottle of cheap Scotch. Two big gulps and a prolonged belch. ‘Let’s go. Repo time.’
‘Is that Ed’s house?’ Jordie pointed to an elegant two-storey Edwardian building.
‘No, it’s further up the hill, round the corner. I’m stopping here as a precaution.’
‘Gotcha. Want me to wait here?’ Jordie’s voice conveyed the need to please.
‘No, you dolt. You’re coming with me to act as lookout.’
Jordie’s look of hurt barely registered with Gary.
‘How am I gonna do that?’
‘Stop asking so many questions. I’ll tell you what you need to know, when you need to know it. Understand?’
‘No need to be so rude.’
Gary fought an urge to slap Jordie in the face. ‘I’m sick of your whining. You let me down when I needed you most. Lucky I don’t cut you loose.’ The little bloke had to learn his place in the food chain. On the bottom, like the oysters they collected.
The pained confusion in Jordie’s eyes told Gary he’d overstepped the mark. He grabbed his accomplice’s shoulder. ‘Sorry, champ. But you gotta do as I say or the operation will go to shit. Okay?’
A rapid head nod made Jordie’s jowls flap up and down. Good. The bloke was starting to see sense.
They slogged their way up the steep, serpentine inclines of inner-suburban Hobart. Jordie found the going arduous. ‘Geez, Dylan,’ he huffed. ‘Maybe we shoulda parked at the top and walked down.’
‘But then we’d be faced with the tough section on the way back. I’m not keen on slogging uphill with a heavy bag of money over my shoulder. Better to get the hard bit out of the way first, don’t you reckon?’
‘Oh, yeah. Didn’t think of that.’
‘That’s why I’m running the show, not you.’
They marched in silence for a few more minutes, only spooked once by a leaping, yappy poodle behind a picket fence. Thankfully, the mutt shut up the minute they’d passed its yard.
‘Right.’ Gary held up his hand. ‘You stop right here. See that big joint across the road? Looks like an old warehouse?’
‘Yep.’
‘Keep your eyes peeled. If anyone pulls into the driveway, or slows down for a sticky beak, ring me straight away.’
‘The place looks deserted.’
‘Yeah.’ Gary checked the time on his phone. 5:30pm. Be getting dark soon, but there was still enough daylight to see his way inside the house without turning on any lights. ‘His girlfriend and her mates come and go freely. They could rock up at any time and ruin everything. Full concentration required.’
‘You got a plan B if someone comes?’
‘Out the back door, over the neighbour’s fence and bolt back to the car. But that won’t happen, ‘cos I’m gonna be in and out with the cash in less than five minutes. You’re not the only ninja aro
und here.’
The first key wedged fast in the lock. Whichever way he twisted, it remained vertical, showed no inclination either to rotate or to come out. Come on, damn you. It had only been 30 seconds, but it seemed like forever. He planted his feet shoulder-width apart, tugged as hard as he could. He lost his grip on the key. His hand flew backwards and knuckle-punched his eye. He swore under his breath, waited for his vision to clear. There were four other keys on the ring. One he excluded; it was clearly for the abandoned Megane.
Okay. Breathe, relax.
He took a step back, examined the lock like a golfer faced with a tricky putt. A firm but gentle turn to the left and the key slid out. The second key wedged halfway in. Too big. The last glided in easily. A flick of the wrist to the right and with a pop the locking mechanism disengaged. He let out a deep sigh.
He smiled as memories of his last visit to this house flooded back, cavorting with Fern and Selina. Then he shuddered as he recalled Ed’s outrageous offer, the bullying, the threats. There’s no silver lining without a cloud, Braswell. No time to dwell on that, though. He had to find the money.
The bedrooms must be upstairs. Only the hangar-sized auditorium, garage and spa-room with giant play-bed were on the ground floor. He sprinted up a set of metal stairs onto a rectangular walkway that skirted the open space below. Felt like he was on a ship. Two highly polished steel doors flanked the walkway. One must lead to the Arsehole’s bedroom.
The first room contained a queen-size bed decorated with masses of multicoloured pillows. A vase with plastic roses, a couple of inoffensive landscape paintings on the walls. All neat and tidy with no evidence of having been used recently.
Room two. Bingo. He caught his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. This is where the narcissistic prick sleeps – slept. The bedroom screamed machismo. Didn’t save you, though, did it, being all tough ‘n shit. Curiosity made him take a peek in the en suite. More huge mirrors, multi-jet shower, claw-foot bath. He nodded in begrudging appreciation.
Back to the wardrobe. He pulled a sliding door; mirrored, of course and reefed open drawers, one by one. Stuffed full of undies, socks, T-shirts. Must be the other side. Two cardboard packing boxes stood beneath a row of business shirts. Ed said the money was in the wardrobe. Gary peered behind the boxes. Too dark. He reached over, felt around with both hands. Nothing but air. What the hell? Sweat gathered in his armpits. No time to waste, the girls could rock up any time. He dragged one of the boxes out of the way to get a better look. Only carpet. No bag, no money.
Sold to the Devil Page 18
