The First Cut

by Sisters in Crime Australia

  'One,' he read. 'You want three birds, that's $75. It's at least $300 for a basic chook shed set-up. Five dollars per month per bird for wheat, that's $180 per annum. That's $555. We spend $5 per week on eggs, that's $260 per annum.'

  'Stop right there,' said Mum.

  'This took me all day, Sarah,' he protested. 'At least have the decency to listen.'

  'I don't give a shit about your list, Trevor. We're building a hen house this weekend.'

  'You don't have the skills,' Trevor scoffed.

  'Rebecca's not staring at a computer screen! We're having chooks. End of story.'

  Mum called Gordon, the chicken contact, as soon as she took off her coat and set up a time to go a pick up three Rhode Island Reds. The breed is reputed to be one of the best layers and are fairly docile.

  Trevor didn't speak for the rest of that night.

  Before Trevor, I used to love Friday nights. Mum and I would get a takeaway and discuss our plans for the weekend. When I got home from school that week it was just like old times. Mum and I pored over our list and agreed to get an early night in anticipation of the work ahead.

  Building the chook shed goes down as my most divine learning curve. Alan from Mum's work was unbelievably good-looking, plus he had great tools. Mum hung out with Caitlin nearby, encouraging us.

  Trevor emerged midway through Saturday afternoon. You could see he was amazed by how much we'd done.

  But all he said was to Mum about Alan, 'He's not gay. They can't build things like that.'

  'He's far too good-looking to be straight,' Mum fired back.

  Next day, just before noon, we put the finishing touches to 'The Chook Palace', as Mum called it. We put shell grit in bowls, newspaper and straw in the nesting boxes, sawdust on the floor, and water and wheat in special new containers.

  That evening we settled our three, fluffy red hens. They're so busy. Much more fun than I'd thought they'd be. Caitlin learned the hard way how to give a chicken a cuddle and when she refused to leave at dinner time we ate in the chook pen!

  Trevor prowled outside, scowling.

  'They're just chickens.'

  'Why not let us enjoy our simple pleasures, Trevor?' I'd never heard Mum be cold to him before.

  Trevor stalked into the house. Then paced up and down looking out of the bedroom window with his arms crossed.

  The next Wednesday I came home from school early because of my intermittent monthly problem. All I wanted was to take a tablet and lie down in the dark. But the little red engine was there in the driveway and the grunting was in full swing.

  'Yes, yes, YES!' That was Trevor.

  'Oh God! Oh God! OH GOD!'

  The female's voice, I assumed it was still Maria, reached an ear-splitting volume. Caitlin started to cry. I struggled out of bed and barrelled into Trevor outside Caitlin's room just as Caitlin stopped crying.

  Trevor pushed me up against the wall. Luckily Maria appeared, pulling on her skirt. 'I came to see the little red rooster, not listen to some kid screaming.'

  I dashed into my room, bolted the door and leant against it, panting. A few seconds later there was a tap.

  'R-r-r-rebecca. You say anything and you're t-t-t-t-toast.'

  I don't know how, but I went out like a light. I awoke to aromatic cooking smells and laughter. It was a few seconds before I registered the afternoon's events.

  In the family room, Mum was bouncing Caitlin on her knee. She looked radiant. Trevor was wearing an apron, cooking and sipping red wine.

  'What's the occasion, Trev?' Mum asked.

  Infidelity, I thought.

  'Reb, Trevor says you had to come home from school early?'

  'Is that all he said?' I asked.

  'No. He apologised.'

  'What for?' I looked at Trevor.

  'For being a total pain about our chooks.'

  Eyeing me, Trevor slipped down close to Mum and stroked her stockinged knee.

  'Now. What about this surprise?' giggled Mum.

  'Follow me.'

  Trevor was at our chook shed, arms wide as if he owned it. 'There,' said Trevor. Strutting, cock-sure, shiny, was the hugest rooster. Then, right in front of us, he pinned down a hen despite her frantic resistance, did his job, plumped his plumage, strutted and crowed.

  Outside the pen, Trevor echoed his movements.

  'Go, Rodney!' he screamed. Caitlin started to cry.

  I marched into the hen house and picked up the victim. What happened next was a flurry of feathers, squawking, screaming as Rodney flew at me, talons first. I was scratched deeply on my arm. I'd dropped the hen and put my hands up to protect my face. Otherwise I'm sure he would have got me in the eye.

  'Reb' Mum rushed to my side. 'Are you hurt?'

  I felt warm, wet blood on my sleeve, but held my arm close to my body. I didn't want her to see.

  'I'm f-f-fine,' I said.

  I walked back to the house.

  'Trev's making lamb korma,' called Mum. 'He even rang me at work to find out what your favourite dinner is.'

  I stared as hatefully as I could at Trevor. He narrowed his eyes, warning me.

  'I'm a v-v-v-v-vegetarian.'

  'As of when?' asked Mum.

  'I c-c-c-couldn't kill a ch-ch-chicken' I said. 'It's h-h-h-hypocritical to eat m-m-meat if you can't.'

  'Fair enough,' agreed Trevor.

  'But,' said Mum. 'Start tomorrow, Reb. Come on.'

  'Mum,' I so wanted to tell her everything. 'I'm going back to bed.'

  'Sweetie! You're still feeling poorly?' said Mum. 'I'll bring you a hottie.'

  'I'll take it' said Trevor. 'You relax.' He patted Mum's bottom then did another mock cockerel strut.

  Of course, I locked my door and didn't answer. 'R-r-r-rebecca,' he whispered, 'Z-z-zip your l-l-lip. Or else.'

  That night there was a session of 'Yes! YES, JESUS!' from next door. Nothing to match the decibels of that afternoon. But when I heard Mum sobbing, it was clear they'd made up. I'd asked her about the sobbing. It was ecstasy, apparently. She even said she hoped I'd feel like that one day!

  After it had gone quiet, I still couldn't sleep. The gash on my arm throbbed like crazy. At about 2 a.m. I decided to get a pain killer. Half-way down the stairs I was stopped by Trevor's voice. He was pacing, speaking into the phone.

  'Maria, she means nothing. Nothing. I'll see you tomorrow.'

  I fled back to my room. I had to put a stop to this situation. Eventually I came up with my plan. If all went well, the lies and deceit would be over by the end of the weekend.

  Early next morning, Mum was in full corporate gear, feeding Caitlin, with Trevor drinking tea and reading the paper.

  'Are you still going to Auntie Ch-Ch-Ch,' I start.

  'Charlene's!' says Trevor, exasperated.

  'On S-s-s-aturday?'

  'Yes,' says Mum.

  'Do you mind if I don't c-c-come? I have this idea to make you two a m-m-multimedia feast of the senses. I w-w-wanna do something for you and Trev. Show I accept Trev's part of our l-l-lives.'

  'Rebecca! That is so sweet!' Mum was amazed.

  Trevor was less convinced.

  'S-s-seriously, T-T-Trev. I wanna show you I care.'

  It seems unbelievable, but he bought it! He actually crowed. 'Cock-a-doodle-doooooo!'

  Mum laughed, overjoyed at what she thought was us getting on at last.

  I almost came unstuck that night. He was lying in wait for me on the landing and pushed me into my bedroom. My heart thumped right up in my throat.

  'Leave your room unlocked tonight, okay? You can show me how much you care.'

  He was starting to do gross things with my neck, pushing me towards the bed. I had to think really quickly.

  'I've got my m-m-monthly! Sorry, Trev. Rain check?'

  He strutted then, like Rodney, mouthing a silent cock-a-doodle-doo. I made out I was laughing.

  After he left, it took me ages to stop shaking.

  Next day I dashed home from school, set
everything up and hid, heart thumping, waiting for the little red car to arrive.

  It all went to plan. There was the usual chorus of 'Yes! Oh God!' and the headboard thumping.

  That night Mum knocked on my door to tell me not to stay up all night but to get everything ready, I'd need that time and more.

  The next morning Mum, Trevor and Caitlin were in the car, ready to go.

  'P-p-promise you'll be gone for the whole day?' I asked.

  Reassured, I set to. Later, I had only just finished setting up the TV screen in front of the table where we'd be eating, when they arrived home.

  Mum, carrying the sleeping Caitlin, admired the white cloth, flowers, candles.

  'Darling! This is beautiful,' said Mum.

  'C-c-c-cool,' agreed Trevor.

  They got changed and I served the first course; chicken noodle soup.

  'So much for v-v-vegetarianism,' slurped Trevor.

  'Trev!'

  'He can t-t-t-tease.' I smiled.

  'Me and R-R-Reb. have got an understanding, haven't we?' he said, winking.

  For the next course I brought out a massive silver, oval dish. A humongous roast bird with all the trimmings, steamed. I pressed 'play' on the video as Mum and Trevor admired the meal.

  'Look! Our chookies!' says Mum about the video.

  The video is of the chook pen, the three hens and Rodney. I'm there, waving at the camera.

  'And Rodney! Cock-a-doodle-do!' crows Trevor.

  'How did you do that?' asks Mum.

  'The c-c-c-camera's on a tripod.' I shrugged. 'I just pressed the record button.'

  Trevor ripped into a leg, juices dripping down his beard and chin.

  'Excellent. So fresh!'

  On the video, Rodney pinned down a hen.

  'That's my Rod! Doing his bit for blokes.'

  'I fiddled the speed up, sort of Marx Brothers ma-ma-manic screwball music,' I told them.

  'What's that?' Mum asked, peering.

  A grainy, fleshy picture gradually sharpened into focus.

  But the mysterious image was short-lived. We were back with Rodney, flapping on top of a hen.

  In the candle light, confusion flickered over Mum's face. Trevor was too intent on his second massive leg to register much.

  On the video, I'm waving to the camera and running into the chook pen.

  I checked they were watching the video and ducked under the table. I made out I'd dropped something, while actually I was chaining Trevor's legs to the table.

  I popped up in time to see more Rodney and his mating antics on the video screen, then another, more obvious this time, fleshy picture. A clear, split-second of buttocks bouncing.

  'Rebecca?' queries Mum. 'What…?'

  But before I can answer, we've cut back to me chasing Rodney the rooster using kick-boxing and karate moves.

  Trevor and Mum are quiet now as they watch me catch Rodney, hang him by his feet upside down and pull his neck until it breaks. The sound of crunching bones, a.k.a. 'Kung Fu' movies, accompanies. It's brilliantly ghoulish.

  'It's way harder than the manual said,' I say.

  Mum lowers her forkful of chicken, Trevor his leg.

  The human grunting from the video is loud. We're in Mum's bedroom and a male bottom is going up and down like the clappers. A woman's legs, the feet encased in red, high-heeled shoes, are gripped hard around the man's back.

  'I've doubled the length here... It was over so quickly...' I say.

  From three angles (I had cameras hidden on each bedside table and one behind on the dressing table) the video cuts between close ups of Trevor's and Maria's faces, plus, (of course), the bottom.

  'Drawing it out adds impact.'

  'Rebecca!' Mum is stricken.

  'Turn the fuck'n thing off! Off!' Trevor screamed. He got up, but then fell, tripped by his chains. 'You bitch!'

  On screen I'm slowly lowering Rodney into a vat of bubbling water.

  'That softens the f-f-feathers for easier plucking. Again, way more d-d-difficult in reality.' I comment.

  The music, from the movie Misery, runs over the top here. The final image is me, smiling into the camera, as if butter wouldn't melt in my mouth.

  As I said, not a cool story for vegetarians.

  THE BODYGUARD

  Sarah Evans

  I squinted down at my plate and sternly told myself that there were no maggots in the rice. I dug in the fork, played around a bit with the fluffy grains just to make sure there were definitely no squiggly, squirming things, and then shovelled in an unladylike mouthful.

  As I chewed, I tried not to gag. Although my eyes told me one thing, my mind was spinning me a completely different story. It was the fallout from being a forensic investigator.

  The cop shrink had said it would take some time to get back to normal. But what was normal? I as hell didn't know.

  'So, Morgan, what d'ya reckon? Like the job?' asked my one time partner Danny Pickles. 'The pay's good, the hours aren't bad and it's better than moping around all day.'

  I swallowed my rice-maggots with difficulty and avoided eye contact. I did that a lot these days. It was easier than looking into someone's soul and seeing the desolation there, imagined or otherwise.

  'I don't know, Danny. I don't think I'm ready to return to the front line.'

  He wanted me to join his security agency. He ran it with another ex-cop and they had this position as bodyguard for a little girl. The kid's parents were wealthy and, because of some suss letters, feared that their princess was in danger of being abducted.

  'Sweetie, it's not trench warfare. It'll be a snitch. How hard can it be looking after a kid? You'll get to catch up on that dysfunctional childhood of yours and finally play with pink dollies in frilly frocks.'

  'My childhood wasn't dysfunctional!' Okay, so maybe having a gun-toting bank-robber for a mother and a missionary dad wasn't normal, but hey, we had some good times.

  My folks had met on the streets. Mum was one of the head honchos and Dad was there to bring the love of Jesus to the underworld. It was a mismatch that had sort of worked. And I was the by-product. I'd grown up playing in the gutter with sinners and saints, depending on which parent I was with.

  I'd joined the police force fresh out of university and had done a brief training stint in forensics. My first case was a badly decomposed body that had been floating in a fishing net. The crabs and other scavengers of the sea had enjoyed their meal, which was more than I can say about the chicken and rice I was now trying to force down my throat.

  Then there was a child buried alive while playing in the sand-dunes, a woman hacked to death by her lover, a man and his kids gassed in a car midsummer and found too many days later. The list went on and by the time I'd reached 28 I was a head case and contemplating joining them in Hell. The only thing that stopped me was my colleagues would've had to mop up the pieces.

  And count those damn maggots.

  I'd been put on extended leave to sort myself out, but a round of therapy had left me exhausted and it hadn't stopped me seeing, smelling and feeling the kiss of death everywhere. Or from being plagued with anxiety attacks. So I quit. And now Danny was knocking on my door and offering me this job.

  I'd only agreed to see him because I was bored to the backs of my eyeballs. I would've agreed to see an undertaker and organise my own funeral to relieve the monotony. The only highlight was the panic attacks.

  'It's no big deal,' Danny insisted. 'These people just want to feel secure.'

  'You excel at that so why don't you play bodyguard?'

  'Because this time you'd do it better. It's a girl thing.'

  'That's not very PC.'

  'But it's true. You can comfortably stay close to the kid, even when she goes to the bathroom. It's much more appropriate than having a hulking brute watching over her.'

  As Danny was only as big as a garden gnome, he was hardly hulking material. But I let it go. I could see his point.

  'Of course,' carried on Danny.
'I'll be with you too, doing the chauffeuring and general duties. You won't be flying solo.' He hesitated. 'And you won't have to deal with Ashe.'

  I ignored the Ashe comment. I wouldn't deal with Ashe, period.

  'These people must be worried to employ two bodyguards.'

  'We've more than that on the job. We've got the house and grounds teeming. But personally I don't think there's a real threat.'

  'So who are we actually talking about here? And why are they so scared?' I asked, pushing my barely touched plate to one side.

  'I can only tell you that if you're in. You have to sign a confidentiality clause and all that. Agency rules.'

  'Okay.' Though I didn't intend to. I just wanted the goss.

  Danny saw through me. He plonked a sheaf of papers on the table. 'I don't want you changing your mind, kid. No gain without pain.'

  He had me. He'd pricked my interest. He knew how inquisitive I was, which was why I'd made a good investigator, sifting through the clues, tracking down the cause of death, helping nail the culprits. I'd have to sign his stupid contract if I wanted information. So I signed and then he told me.

  'Russo and Francesca Camberlini.'

  I whistled. 'Mega money. Don't they own half of Perth's entertainment franchises including the spanking new casino and concert hall?' Danny nodded. 'No wonder they're worried. Kidnapping their kid would be seen by some as easy money.'

  The next day I arrived early at the agency and Danny kitted me out with a vest, gun and radio. I was stowing my knife as an extra precaution when he said apologetically: 'I can't play chauffeur today. Camberlini wants to see me.'

  'But you said…' I could feel a panic attack coming on, swift and sure.

  'Breathe, Morgan, breathe,' he said patting my back. 'Don't worry about it, kid. You won't be alone. Ashe'll be your chauffeur.'

  Ashe!

  Ex-Detective Inspector Carlton Ashe was a legend in his own lifetime. But not mine.

  He was the tall dark silent type. I'd like to say handsome, but a face that's been beaten and scarred is more like a piece of naff modern art than a thing of beauty. He had a jagged scar from eye to jaw, courtesy of a street brawl, and a beaky nose that begged to be broken. I'd obliged on one memorable occasion.