by JR Carroll
He got out of the Magna, slamming the door carelessly, then stepped up to the back door and knocked hard on it. Movement came from inside, then the kitchen light went on.
‘Who is it?’ Pipic croaked. He’d been asleep—good.
‘It’s the police, Mr Pipic. We need to speak to you. Open the door, please.’ The authoritative inflection of a cop’s voice came easily to him.
‘What’s wrong?’ Pipic said.
‘Open the door, Mr Pipic. Come on, now. We can’t talk to you out here.’
Pipic flicked on the outside light and opened up. He still had his hand on the door knob when for the second time that night Dennis forced his way into someone’s home. Pipic said, ‘Hey!’ and Dennis pushed him backwards with one stiff finger to the chest. Now they both stood in the middle of the kitchen. A woman, presumably Mrs Pipic, appeared, looking alarmed and tying her dressing-gown cord. Pipic himself wore striped pyjamas that sagged at the front, exposing white belly and pubic hair.
‘You not police!’ Pipic said. He squinted, rubbing his stubbled face, trying to place the intruder.
‘That’s right, I’m not.’
‘What d’you want, mister? Get out. Get out or I call police.’
‘I don’t think you’ll do that, Pipic. Do you remember me?’
‘Yes—yes.’
‘Then you know why I’m here, don’t you?’ He pushed Pipic in the chest, trying to goad him. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Pipic. I’m not going to hurt you. Your husband knows what this is about. Don’t you?’ He pushed Pipic again, advancing further into the room. Pipic did not seem inclined to stand up for himself. He looked a bit shaky. ‘Tell her! Tell her what you did!’ Pipic looked at his wife, her hand at her mouth, then back at Dennis.
‘You get out,’ Pipic said.
‘Not yet.’ He pushed Pipic again, harder; Pipic ineffectually tried to deflect the push with open hands. Dennis made a fist and showed it to Pipic. ‘I’m gonna bust your fuckin’ face, Pipic.’
But Pipic would not respond. Dennis fixed him with a violent stare, then glanced at the wife, distraught and rattled. He had no wish to prolong this, but didn’t know if he could hit a man who refused to fight and who looked ridiculous in pyjamas that needed holding up. He got close to Pipic, smelled him and saw the flecks of grey in his stubble. Pipic had his palms stretched out in front of him, a placating gesture. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘No trouble. My wife—’
Dennis breathed out, turned as if to go, then swung back swiftly and ploughed his fist into Pipic’s unguarded jaw. The blow was so hard that Pipic’s face seemed to re-shape itself around the fist, and a loud crack accompanied it—the jaw had shattered. Dennis had felt the bones collapse. Pipic fell back against a sideboard stacked with china, bringing it down on top of him. Mrs Pipic screamed. Dennis stepped over the rubble, dragging the sideboard free to get at Pipic. When he did he pulled Pipic by the hair, lifting him from the mess, and saw that Pipic was finished. The broken jaw swung slackly and blood ran so freely from his mouth that he must have cut his tongue practically in half. Dennis held him half-up by the hair and said, ‘You or your fuckin’ brother come anywhere near me again, Pipic, and I’ll do more than bust your jaw—a lot more. Do you understand?’ Pipic tried to nod. ‘Do you believe me? Pipic?’ He shook the head. Pain contorted Pipic’s face as he tried to nod. Dennis flung him back among the smashed china and kicked some of it at Pipic. Looking around he saw that Mrs Pipic was no longer in the room. He went into the next room and she was standing in a corner, shaking, crying, looking fearfully at Dennis, as if believing that her turn had come.
Breathing heavily, heaving, he said, ‘I’m sorry this had to happen, Mrs Pipic. I’m going now. Ask your husband about it tomorrow—if he can talk.’ He turned to go, then added, last thing, ‘He got off light, believe me.’ Then he left the house quickly, hearing Pipic struggle to get up but not looking at him.
On the Sunraysia Highway he stopped at the place, parking on the grass verge. He got out, leaving the car running, and walked towards the split tree. He squatted down next to it, and stayed there for a few minutes. Occasional cars passed, slowing to see what was happening. Dennis smoked a cigarette, gazing around him at the blackened bush, hearing a breeze rustle through trees. Eventually he mumbled something, a goodbye, touched the trunk, and got up.
A few kilometres down the road he reached for a cassette, wanting a presence in the car other than his own. The tape his hand fell on was Eric Clapton’s Unplugged. He slid it in. He had followed Clapton’s life and times since the early days when Clapton was just a kid who didn’t know what he was doing, through the highs and rocky lows, which he had somehow survived, repeatedly performing reincarnations of himself. Now he had done it again, following the death of his young son, who had fallen from a New York high-rise. Listening to the words of ‘Tears in Heaven’ it was easy for Dennis to make the switch from Clapton’s child to Karen, for whom the song might equally have been written. In his mind he made love to her, that elusive face appearing perfectly before him. There would be times ahead when, half-asleep in a soft chair, he would open his eyes and realise that he had been in bed or on a carpet of cool grass with Karen, feeling her rapture, her fingers on his body, hearing her words of love whispered against his face. Then he would smile and close his eyes again, confident that he could indeed recapture the past.
Avoca loomed, bringing to mind more practical considerations. In the morning he would phone to check on Brett. Monday, early, he’d go to Ballarat and arrange to put the hotel on the market immediately. There was no reason to wait, even if it wasn’t sold for two or three months. Then, probably, he would call Steve Donohue. Sydney and ChainLink were looking better by the minute, especially as he had more than one reason to go there now. But he would think about that again in the cold light of day.
ABOUT JR CARROLL
JR Carroll lives in Melbourne, where he was born and raised. A graduate of Melbourne University, he worked as a teacher for a number of years before turning to full-time fiction writing. His first book, about the Vietnam War, was Token Soldiers. This was followed by a series of crime thrillers, including Catspaw, No Way Back, Out of the Blue, The Clan, Cheaters, and Blindside. His latest crime novel, 8 Hours to Die, will be released by Momentum in January 2014.
ALSO BY JR CARROLL
No Way Back
The Clan
Cheaters
Hard Yards
First published by Pan Macmillan Australia in 1993
This edition published in 2014 by Momentum
Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd
1 Market Street, Sydney 2000
Copyright © JR Carroll 1993
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
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Out of the Blue
EPUB format: 9781760080266
Mobi format: 9780330274166
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Proofread by Hayley Crandell
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