And run.
Chapter Forty–One
Rand waited in the water until the son had loped up the stone staircase and disappeared over the top. As soon as he was out of sight Rand turned back to Venus and said “Wait here. One minute.” He was desperate to get his phone and take a photo of her before she left. Not so he could show it to anyone. Just to keep. “Please!” he begged, and she frowned but nodded so he ran back to the cave tunnel and shuffled through it in the dark, but when he got to the cavern and looked around the handcuffs were empty.
“Fuck.” Rand stood staring at them in shock for precious seconds before a jolt of fear for Venus grabbed at his guts and he ran back to the tunnel and shuffled down it at double–speed, scraping his arms against the walls in his rush. When he reached the open air again he saw splashing in the breakers and he ran towards it. A knife flashed in the air and Rand felt shock run down his body. His pulse thundered inside his skull as he pounded across the wet sand and into the frothing waves, but when he drew closer the splashing stopped. He dove into the water and swam towards it until he was past the breakers and into the gently undulating water, moonlit and serene.
“Venus!” he yelled, then spluttered when his erratic arm movements dipped him below the waterline. He circled around, treading water, calling her name. Then he saw her head rise out of the water and glide towards him. He kept treading water, gasping in relief, wanting to hug her and never let her go, but when she drew closer she lifted the old man in her arms so his head rose out of the water and Rand felt cold shock sweep over him again. Theodore Tiberius Wilson was dead. His eyes were open and sightless and his mouth gaped slightly. His mad hair was plastered to his head.
“He tried to kill me,” she said, her voice sounding watery, as though it was coming from the bottom of her lungs.
Rand nodded, relieved. “It’s for the best,” he said, because the old prick would have turned the situation around to his own benefit. The cops would have locked Rand up, no matter what Baz intended.
She nodded, and reached out a slippery hand to caress Rand’s cheek.
He grabbed at it. “I’ll miss you,” he told her, struggling to cope with the fact that she meant so much to him, so fast, and she was going.
“I will come back. Here,” she replied, and she let his hand go. Then she drifted away. “Twenty of your years.”
Rand wanted to pull her back and kiss her, but Baz had gone for the police. The clock was ticking. “I’ll be here,” he promised. “In twenty years. I’ll be on this beach.” Then his throat squeezed and his eyes stung and he couldn’t say any more.
She waved and turned around, swimming off towards the moon that was hanging over the ocean, leaving its silvery trail for her to follow out into the deep ocean. But before Rand could think of anything stupid, like swimming out after her, a man’s deep voice shouted from behind him, on the cliff–top.
“Look! There’s someone swimming out there!”
Rand instinctively dove underwater and headed on a diagonal south, only coming up for air when he reached the breakers, hoping their foaming action would disguise his passage. When he was far enough away he ran to shore then edged back up the beach, keeping to the cliff face. At the cave entrance he peered up and saw a big blond cop and a woman in jeans at the lookout above. Baz walked up beside them as the woman raised a pair of binoculars.
“Oh God,” Baz moaned softly, his voice carrying down to Rand. “That’s dad.”
“What’s he doing swimming?” The cop sounded unimpressed, and Rand hoped like hell they weren’t coming down onto the beach.
“He’s with a girl,” the woman said. “She’s… half fish.”
“She’s what?”
“She just came out of the water, with a fish tail. She’s a mutant. Or a mermaid.”
“That’s Dalrymple,” the cop said. “What’s going on, Wilson?”
“She’s got dad.” Baz sounded frantic. Rand hoped he wouldn’t do something stupid.
“What do you mean got?”
“I think she’s… drowned him. He’s underwater.”
The blond cop stepped away from the cliff top, and then Rand heard footsteps on the stairs. He ducked into the cave entrance.
The cop shouted in his deep voice, “I’m going after them. Call the Bundaberg Police. Get Waikeri. Tell him to get a launch out here.”
The woman’s reply was soft. “But … she’s a mermaid.”
“Traci, make the call!” the cop shouted, then Rand heard splashing and after that it was quiet.
Which was good. That probably meant the beach was clear. Rand could creep up the stairs, skirt the house, sneak back to his car and get the hell home, back to Poss.
Fuck.
Poss!
Rand shuffled back into the cavern, snatched his jacket off the ground and took out the mobile phone. He turned it back on and found fifteen missed calls. His fingers shook as he dialed Poss, then pressed the phone to his ear so tightly it hurt.
“Randy? Is that you?” Poss sounded weird.
Rand swallowed back fear and said, “Ya. What’d ya ring for? I told you not to ring me when I’m workin’ –”
“I don’t care about the job. Come home,” Poss whined. Rand had never heard him sounding so needy.
“I’m coming,” Rand whispered. “Just gotta sew up some details.” No point worrying the kid unnecessarily.
“Lillbit’s stoned,” Poss whispered back. “She’s scarin’ me, man.”
Lillbit? Scary? Rand edged further away from the tunnel. “Give her a dex and put her to bed if she’s tripping.”
“It’s not that. She’s rung someone. They’re comin’ over. I don’t like it.”
Neither did Rand.
“Come back. I … need you, man. I’m hurt.”
Rand was suddenly sure that the squeezing sensation he felt inside his chest was his heart contracting. He tried to ignore it, to concentrate. “You gotta leave,” he told Poss. “Do you remember Diamond Jack’s place? Where we went that time to drop a tab.”
“Nooo …” Full–on whining now. “Just come and get me.”
“I can’t.” Rand tried to sound reasonable. “I can’t come tonight. You’ll have to take care of yourself. You can do that. You’ve been alone before —”
“But you tol’ me when I moved in with you that I wasn’t alone!” Raising his voice.
Rand cupped his other hand over the ear–piece to muffle the sound as he edged further into the cavern. “Poss, shut your stupid fuckin’ mouth and listen,” he hissed. “You do what I tell you, or when I get back I’ll kick you over worse than the Naziboys did.”
A sob at the other end, and Rand felt his heart lurch again.
“You listenin’ to me?” he demanded.
“Yeah.” Sulking now. That was better.
“You get Lillbit’s pink address book. It’s a tiny thing. She hides it inside a black sequined ankle boot under her bed. Look up Diamond Jack, write the address down so you can’t forget it, and go there. You got that.”
Nothing.
“If you turn lame–arse on me I’ll toss you out,” Rand threatened.
“Pink book. Black boot under bed. Diamond Jack’s digs.”
Rand wanted to breathe a sigh of relief but instead he demanded, “Where’s Lillbit?”
“Shower.”
“Then get the book now. Don’t wait for her to come out. Don’t leave a note. Just write down Jack’s address, put the book back in the shoe and blow through.”
“What if Jack isn’t home?”
“He’ll be there,” Rand said. “He’s too fuckin’ fat to go visiting. Jabba the Hutt has a thinner neck than Diamond Jack.”
Poss sniggered at that and Rand felt the ache in his chest lessening.
“Tell him I’m calling in a favor, to protect my property — that’s you pretty–boy — until I get back. And keep your smart mouth shut,” he warned. “Jack won’t take crap from a worm like you. You don’t wanna get beat
again.”
“Sick of being beat.” Poss was back to whining. More softly now. “I don’t mind it from you, cause then I deserve it. But the Naziboys…”
The ache came back, but Rand was very much aware of time ticking over, both at Poss’ end, and his own. “I’ve told you they’re robots. Machines with no emotions. Forget them. Hating will only twist you up inside.”
Silence.
“Poss… ?”
More silence.
“Don’t go plotting revenge like some dumb arse. That’ll just get you dead.”
“Who’d care anyway?”
“I’d care,” Rand whispered straight back. “You think I wanna lose my best source of entertainment? Possum Davies and his amazing plastic sheep!”
Poss snorted at that, then worked his way up to a snigger, a wet sh–sh–sh–sh sound, as if his nose was running and he hadn’t bothered to wipe it. “You crack me up, man,” he said at last. Finally sounding like himself.
“Just get the address and go,” Rand told him and hung up, taking a second to turn the phone into silent mode before putting it back in his pocket.
He wasn’t hiding any more. He’d given Baz plenty of time to get back to the house. It was time for Rand’s quick getaway. Carwash on the way home, collect Poss and get back to their digs. No fortune in the boot. But no jail time either.
Couldn’t complain about that.
Chapter Forty–Two
Master Balthazar?” Carlos’s disembodied voice echoed around the galvanized iron boat shed.
“Here.” Baz stood at the open door, trying to discern shapes in the shadows. Was Carlos in the boat? Behind it? Where the hell was Wynne! Why had there been no–one in the house?
“Did he… ?” Carlos choked on what sounded like a sob. “Did he hurt her?”
“Venus is fine,” Baz said, surprised that he could even speak after what he’d just seen. His father was dead, and Baz wasn’t sure who was to blame. The handcuff keys were still in his pocket, so Rand hadn’t released him. The old man must have had another set. He must have gone after Venus and she… He shook his head. That didn’t matter now. All that mattered was Wynne. Had the young street kid grabbed her? “Where’s Miss Malone?” he demanded.
“I’m here, Baz,” she said from deep in the shadows, but before he could breathe a sigh of relief he realised her voice had sounded odd. Stiff. Scared?
Carlos’s voice came from the same direction, “That housekeeper made Mr Wilson crazy,” he moaned. “She made him remember the past.”
Baz ignored him. “Wynne honey,” he said softly as he felt his way blindly forward in the dark, along the side of the launch his father never used. “Are you okay?”
“I could have rescued Mrs Wilson,” Carlos whispered, self–recrimination heavy in his voice. “But Mr Wilson wouldn’t let me go. He said she’d come back, and I believed him.”
“What are you talking about?” Wynne said softly.
Baz reached the back of the launch where moonlight drifted down through dusty windows to fall on the back wall. Carlos sat against it with his head in his hands and tiny Wynne was crouched beside him, her arm scarcely reaching across his shoulders. She smiled up sadly at Baz but he was too wound up to smile back. He pulled her up into his arms and just held her there, listening to her murmurs of reassurance while he breathed in her loud perfume. Loving it. Loving her. “You’re safe,” he whispered into her hair, feeling as if he’d just jumped over a chasm and landed on solid ground. His father was dead but Wynne was safe. Somehow it was okay to feel good about that.
When he’d finished reassuring himself that Wynne was unharmed he kissed her hard, then he tucked her against his side, unwilling to let her go. He looked down at Carlos and said, “I need to launch the boat. Can you help me?”
“Why?” Wynne asked. “Are they in the water? Is Venus all right?”
“Venus is fine. She’s… an excellent swimmer. Dad’s not,” Baz said, and Carlos raised his head to stare at Baz with haunted eyes. “Dad’s dead,” Baz said and swallowed hard. Saying it aloud made it real. He wasn’t ready for that yet. But practicality demanded that he act. “I need to recover the body,” he said.
Carlos shook his head. “He’d want it this way,” the gardener said softly, his voice eerily calm. “To be in the water, with her.”
“With Venus?” Wynne demanded, and she pulled against Baz’s grip but he held her against himself, scared she’d run away, that somehow she’d die too.
“No,” Baz said, still staring at Carlos as he answered Wynne. “With my mother. She drowned. Carlos thinks it’s fitting that my father drowned too.”
“Oh god,” Wynne whispered, then she pressed her cheek against his chest, but Baz was still staring at Carlos who shoved himself slowly up the wall. His face was wet with tears.
“I saw him,” Carlos said, “when you were not here. Every night at the lookout, for twenty years, gazing across the water at sunset, wanting her back. He loved her.” Baz shook his head, but Carlos was relentless. “He was the one who missed her the most. Not you. Not I.”
“The launch,” Baz said, not wanting to deal with the past. It was too painful. Too confusing.
Carlos stared at him a moment longer, then he nodded and said, “I’ll attach the boat trailer to the four wheel drive. You get the keys from that room.” He pointed.
Baz made for the storage room with Wynne at his side. He still wasn’t letting her go. And he wasn’t letting himself think about anything beyond keeping her safe and retrieving his father’s body. But once they were inside the room with the light switched on, surrounded by paint cans and drop cloths, Carlos was behind them at the doorway filling it up. “I’ve broken the spark plugs on the boat,” he said.
“You what? “ Baz turned to face him.
“I can’t let you go, Mr Balthazar. I need to make amends.”
Baz was beyond confused, but Wynne was trying to push past him to get to Carlos.
“No,” she said urgently. “You don’t have to do this, Carlos. Please!”
Instinctively Baz held her back, frightened that Carlos might hurt her, but the big gardener merely shut the door in their faces and locked it from the outside.
His voice came muffled and disembodied through the thick timber door. “I have nothing here any more,” he said softly. “My duty is done. I must leave.”
“Carlos!” Wynne shoved past Baz and slammed a small hand on the timber door. “Stop. Listen to me.”
But the only answer from the other side was retreating footsteps before the garage grew quiet. Wynne turned to Baz, her face stricken, her mascara smeared down her cheeks. “He’s going to kill himself.”
Baz shook his head. “Why would he —”
“Just open the god damned door!” she shouted in his face.
Baz slammed a shoulder into it with no effect, then he turned to look for a screwdriver.
Chapter Forty–Three
Betty crept away from the house, struggling with her heavy backpack. The silver cutlery had probably been overkill, but she’d been through a lot today. She deserved a reward, and this bag of booty would see her happily shoe–shopping in Melbourne for a month.
While Moore was off swimming, she intended to get as far away as possible. And with that purpose in mind, she crunched gravel underfoot, heading down the shadowed side of the house towards the back of the garage where the young spunk had hidden his shiny blue BMW convertible. Randolph Budjenski certainly wasn’t going anywhere in it, but Betty was, and as it came into view, sparkling like a pretty Christmas present in the moonlight, she felt like dancing in excitement. Only the backpack was too heavy, so she stopped beside the open–topped car and shrugged out of it, slipping it carefully onto the floor in the back.
She wriggled her shoulders to get the circulation back into them, then she reached into her handbag to retrieve the most important item she’d stolen today.
The convertible’s rotor.
But before she could
gloat, a shadow came out of the cover of the trees beside her and the rotor disappeared from her hand. “I’ll have that,” he said.
She spun around and found herself facing the gun Ted had taken off her that afternoon. “Shit.”
“Good work, Miss Thief,” the young spunk said, his clothes sopping wet. “I was just starting to think I’d need to hitch a ride, and here you return my stolen car part —”
“Your car?”
“… plus a generous gift to recompense me for my wasted trip.” He nodded at her backpack.
“Like hell.” Betty hated being tricked. But deep inside a traitorous part of her admired his nerve. “What are you? Twenty?” she asked.
“Eighteen,” he replied and that surprised her, although a suit always did make a man look older. He went on, “You didn’t notice that the top was down and the car was dry inside? It rained an hour ago.”
She gave him a death stare but he only raised an eyebrow.
“And how were you going to start it without the keys?” he inquired. “Are you a car thief as well as a pick pocket?”
“Takes one,” she replied, undaunted. She’d never hot–wired a BMW, but give her ten minutes. She would have worked it out.
“Looks like you’ll be waiting for a ride with the police,” he said, gloating, and was opening his mouth to add to that when they both heard crunching on the gravel, headed their way.
Betty’s eyes flew wide. No point running. If it was Moore and he found the knapsack, he’d lock her up for sure. Her only saving grace would be the young spunk getting locked up with her. When he nodded at the car, Betty didn’t hesitate. Without a word they both dove in, Betty with the knapsack into the backseat and the elegant car thief into the front. Betty scrunched herself around the knapsack on the floor and tried to think invisible but her heart was pounding. She hated getaways, especially when they went wrong.
Marriage & the Mermaid (Hapless Heroes) Page 27
