It was brightly lit and there were plenty of locals at the bar to provide cover. They locked the car and walked in to have a beer while they waited for the two motorcyclists.
It didn’t take long. The first one nearly over shot, but turned around when they saw the car.
They parked separately and left their helmets and jacket on their bikes. They didn’t want to be recognized as the two bikies.
Matt and Cynthia were separated at the bar, each drinking a pot of beer while making small talk with local farmers. It wasn’t hard to get conversations going, they were always curious to speak to strangers.
Cynthia observed the bikie that was closest to her. He was a tall man with a short beard and salt and pepper hair. He ordered lemonade and leaned on the bar to stare at it.
He was watching her.
She left Matt to take care of himself. The bikie watching him was a woman with short hair, a nose ring and a sour expression.
Cynthia took her time with her drink. She didn’t want their followers to know that they were aware of them.
Her drink took ten minutes.
The bikie close to her had barely touched his lemonade.
Time to move.
A trip to the toilet was the best way to do it. She gestured to the bar tender that she was done and she wandered slowly around the back to the toilet.
She assumed that the man would follow a little after, which was a mistake.
She had only just opened the door when a foot kicked the back of her knee, forcing her to the ground.
Her senses reeled from shock.
“Move to the cubicle and don’t say a word,” the man rasped in her ear as he lifted her from the ground. Cynthia was not a helpless woman; she knew how to take care of herself.
She faked a sob which lowered the man’s guard just enough. Then she kicked backwards up into his crotch and spun to elbow him in the ear. The man hissed and dropped to his knees.
Cynthia dragged him by the collar of his dark shirt till he was near the toilets. Then she stepped back into the pub to collect ball from the nearby pool table.
When she got back she found the man standing and ready for a fight.
She was faster than he was.
One low kick to the shin and a sharp, hard punch to the face sent the man stumbling back.
“Who sent you? I’m only asking twice so you better not waste your chance.”
“Piss off…” The man scowled.
“Who sent you?”
He smiled at her defiantly. Showing the blood on his teeth.
“I can assume you aren’t going to tell me then.” She smiled back and showed him the pool ball.
Shiny and blue.
“You know what’s worse than being hit by surprise?” The man held her gaze but said nothing. “Waiting to be hit when you know it’s coming. That’s what I think anyway.” Cynthia twisted the ball around in her fingers. “Tell me something useful and I will make this quick.”
The man stood tall and braced himself ready to retaliate.
“You are aggravating me.” She sighed. “I don’t think I will just hit you with this.”
The man made his move swinging wildly with his right fist.
Cynthia ducked only just fast enough to find herself in the path of his kick.
She was thrown to the side, but not before delivering a blow to the knee with the pool ball.
The man’s face went white and he stifled a scream. She had probably just cracked his kneecap.
He collapsed to the floor, seething.
“I told you, arse hole.” She got up off the floor and glared at him. “You know what? I don’t even care who sent you.” She shook her head. “And I won’t feel clean for hours now, after you made me lay on these filthy tiles.”
She began to peel the black silk glove from her right hand.
The she grabbed the man’s left hand with her bare fingers.
The man’s mouth hung open in terror as he felt all feeling leach out of his hand. Cynthia could have been holding a dead person’s hand; it was limp and cold.
“What…?” the man stammered.
Then she hit him with the pool ball again in the side of the head. Not hard enough to kill, but he would be in a lot of pain when he woke up.
Cynthia marched out of the bathroom and back to the bar, tossing the ball back on the table on the way past.
Matt was nowhere to be seen, nor was the shorthaired woman who had been shadowing him.
Leaving the pub, she stood in the car park near their car.
She couldn’t see Matt there either.
Then she heard a motorcycle engine.
Matt rolled over on one of the two motorbikes. He looked very serious.
“Doyle. At least that is what she said.”
Doyle was the name of one of the older crime bosses in Melbourne. He kept very low key, and stayed out of any business that might draw the attention of the media. He was smart. That made him dangerous.
Cynthia nodded and looked at the bike.
“They thought ahead.” He gestured to the tyres of their Honda that had been punctured. “We’re taking the bikes. I’ve taken everything out of the car. I was careful.”
Cynthia didn’t like riding motorbikes, but she didn’t have a choice.
She marched back inside to retrieve the keys for the second motorbike and tied her hair up.
By the time she got back, Matt had his helmet on and was handing her the second leather jacket and helmet. She slipped the jacket on and found that it was a good fit. Then she climbed on the bike and put the helmet on.
In moments they were both roaring down the road and into the night.
Chapter 4
The Melbourne penthouse had massive windows to frame the glittering vista of the city lights below.
No matter how many times she had been in her boss’ apartment she never got tired of the view. In daylight the view was amazing, but night was simply magic.
The ride to the city had been long and tiring.
Riding a motorcycle through country Victoria at night was dangerous with so many kangaroos that cross the roads after dark. The stress of being wary of them had taken its toll.
Thankfully, Cynthia would be able to head back to her apartment after they checked in with the boss.
Matt was standing against the wall playing with his phone. His eyes were pink with fatigue and his usual good humour was absent.
Cynthia was sure that she probably looked the same.
Their boss’ name Bronson Carlyle. He was generally a nice guy, but he was given to losing his temper quickly.
The doorman said that Mr Carlyle was currently having a shower and that they would have to wait to see him.
He always made people wait.
Cynthia was leaning her head against the windowpane now, her eyes fluttering with the effort to stay awake.
“Deadfall,” came a husky man’s voice. “You took your sweet ass time. How’s Mr Blume?”
Cynthia turned to face her boss. “He’s currently ‘laying low’.” She joked. Mr Carlyle appreciated good humour.
He was an overweight man of about sixty. He was totally bald, but had a well kept goatee. He stood at the island bench of his kitchenette making a sandwich, dressed only in a green dressing gown.
“You kids look like shit.” He said, as he spread some mustard.
“We feel it,” Matt had put the phone away and approached the old man. “We ran into trouble.”
The old man laid a slice of ham on his bread and then glanced up at Matt and Cynthia. “Trouble? You were in the fucking desert.”
“We think someone was tipped off. We had two shadows riding on bikes. They were waiting at the first town on the southern route. I think they would have had at least another eight watching the other four roads.”
Carlyle’s face had reddened with anger, but he kept his cool and made his snack. After a moment he wandered over and sat on one of the big leather lounges. “Tipped off, you recon?”
/> Matt shrugged and Cynthia crossed her arms.
He took a bite and looked thoughtful. “That means someone was expecting me to make a move on Sam Blume.” He chewed. “Some bastard’s watching me.”
“We thought you oughta know.” Cynthia came to stand beside Matt.
“Yeah. You lose your tail? What happened to the droogs that were following you? You didn’t go an’ give them the ‘Midas touch’ did you Deadfall?”
Cynthia shook her head. “We knocked them around a bit and took their bikes. They’d sabotaged the Honda, so we didn’t have any choice.”
Carlyle took another bite of his sandwich and stared out at the city lights. “I’ll get someone to take care of the bikes. You two get rested up.”
***
Cynthia’s apartment was a train ride from the centre of the city and Carlyle’s penthouse. She lived in a tidy studio apartment in the trendy end of Brighton in the city’s south. This was her little creative world.
She turned the key and pushed the door open.
Tonight she found her world turned upside down.
Her apartment was sacked.
She stood in the doorway, eyes wide.
Nothing was left unturned.
All her paintings and spare canvases were tipped over and her tubes of oil paint had been spread all over the floor and stood on. The room stank of her oil based paints, thinners and linseed oil as they were broken or tipped out.
She crossed the threshold and closed the door behind her. Her bead was cut to pieces and her clothes had been thrown all over the room. Someone was looking for something.
She knelt down and picked up a tube of cerulean blue. It was the only tube she could see that wasn’t burst.
There were footprints in paint all over the room. She had assumed it was one intruder, but she noticed there were at least four different shoe treads.
She carefully made her way over to the window without stepping in too much paint and found that her home invaders had exited this way. The door was locked, so they must have entered that way as well.
She sat on the tattered edge of her disemboweled mattress and stared at the destruction.
Everything she had was ruined.
She tried to steady her breathing and remain calm. She couldn’t understand why someone would choose to do this to her. Her home was secure and private and she had nothing of obvious value to anyone except herself.
She felt the tears burning her eyes.
This was her safe place, now someone had violated it. Everything from her past was stained and broken. And all because some scum bag thought she had something that she didn’t have.
She sat with her head in her hands.
Where would she go?
Who could she talk to?
Cynthia Abell had kept her private life a secret. She didn’t want anyone to know where she had come from so they couldn’t hurt the one’s she loved. Though there weren’t too many of them left. Only her mother and her partner, Matt.
She lay on her side and cried silently as she looked at what was once her tidy apartment.
Then she saw something.
Cynthia had seen a tiny item that was not hers. On a pile of soiled clothes and spilled paint there was a playing card.
The ace of clubs.
She got up and went over to inspect it. It was new and was sitting in an obvious place on top of her things. Her invaders had laid it there for her to find.
She flipped it around in her fingers while she stared out the open window.
What did this mean?
Chapter 5
The alley looked like a horror movie cliché. It was dark, lined with rubbish and the asphalt was slick with moisture.
Mirage had no fear of wandering down dark alleys alone. She had no fear of going anywhere alone.
As she padded up the asphalt in her little black soft soled shoes anyone that was looking would have only seen a homeless person dressed in tattered flannelette shirts and ragged jeans.
The smell down here made her want to gag, but she covered her nose with her black shirt.
A figure up ahead in a doorway almost made her jump. It was the man who’d hired her.
He was dressed in his black leather jacket and his hair was untidy, but he was incredible handsome and very wealthy.
As she grew close he looked up from his phone and saw an incredibly beautiful woman in a figure hugging dress approaching.
He smiled showing his perfect teeth and shook his head.
“You don’t need to do that for me, I prefer my beautiful Courtney.”
Courtney let the illusion of the woman fade from his mind. Instead he saw the ordinary looking eighteen-year-old girl in her black shirt and jeans.
“I thought I said no more gorgeous illusions?” He mocked with a serious face, which made Courtney blush.
“I got what you asked for, Ace. Plus I had a little fun while I was there. Sorry.”
The man named Ace smiled at her again and reached out to push some of her long brown hair behind her ear.
“I’m glad you are okay. Thank you for doing this for me. I know it was very dangerous for you, but I didn’t know who I could count on.”
Courtney looked up at him with sparkling brown eyes. “I told you I could do it Ace, I can’t believe you didn’t think I could do it.” She pouted.
Ace raised his hands defensively. “Hey! It wasn’t doubt, Courtney, it was concern for you. I don’t want you getting yourself hurt for my sake.”
“Stop pretending you care…” She lowered her eyes.
Ace grabbed her and pulled her body close so it was pressed against his. His warm breath caressed her face, and then his soft lips were pressed against her forehead.
“Stop pretending I don’t,” he whispered in her ear as he held her close.
Courtney buried he face in his warm chest.
Ace was the only man who had actually wanted to see her for who she really was. He didn’t want to see all the different guises she could project into his mind. He just wanted to see her ordinary face with her ordinary freckles and her plain brown hair. No one had cared about who she truly was since she was a little girl.
The warm hug felt like home to her.
“So, cutie, did you have any luck with his highness?” Ace asked as he led her slowly by the hand back to the hotel he had chosen for the night.
Ace was like her, he never stayed in one place and he always kept busy, but he always made time to spend with her.
“Mr Fischer wasn’t a problem.” She patted her handbag where the folders resided.
Ace looked at the handbag at her side and nodded and smiled. “You are amazing. Have I ever told you that?”
She scoffed and screwed up her nose. “I’m really not.”
“You so are.” He grinned.
Courtney shook her head and nudged Ace in the ribs.
The hotel was similar to the last one that Ace had taken her to. It was simple, but clean. There was a bathroom and a mini bar, but other wise it was the bare essentials.
Ace sat on the bed and let Courtney crawl into his arms. The two of them sat holding each other for a while before Ace broke the silence.
“I suppose I’d better check out those folders you got for me.”
Courtney sat up. “Right now? You are supposed to wait for your gifts,” she teased.
“Hey,” he smiled, “the gift is being with you. This is getting work out of the way.”
She raised and eyebrow and he shrugged and smiled. “Fine.” She delved into her bag and pulled out a plastic shopping bag containing the files. “Then, we get to play.”
“Deal.”
Ace took the files out of the bag and laid them out on the bed. There were four.
He opened the first. Tony Carlyle, was the name at the top. He fingered through it before nodding.
“Okay…” He closed it and picked up the second. Courtney Kennedy was the label on the second. He opened it then closed it. There wasn’t a
lot inside, but it needed to be in his possession. The firm couldn’t trace Mirage if they didn’t have any background. Her date of birth, her parent’s names, where she went to school and her first adolescent convictions, they were his now.
Courtney sat silently watching Ace skim through the sheets of paper. He didn’t even look up when he found her history.
The third file belonged to a girl named Kara Zang.
Courtney leaned forward, frowning as she tried to read the page of details, but Ace closed the file and nodded again.
Lastly there was a file with the name Cynthia Abell on the label. He held up the folder to look more closely at the text.
A half smile crossed his face.
“What are you smiling at?” Courtney said leaning forward to see the papers.
“Nothing,” he grinned, “You did really well. I’m really proud of you.”
“Whatever, shut up sexy man.” She stepped off the bed and began unbuttoning her shirt. “Are you coming?”
Ace smiled as Courtney dropped the shirt on the floor and stepped into the bathroom. She partially closed the door, only enough that his view was partially obscured and began to get undressed.
Ace glanced at the little stack of folders on the bed.
They could wait.
He jumped up and took off his leather jacket and began to unbutton his jeans.
“There is another favour I was going to ask.” He said peeling off his black t-shirt and throwing it on top of the folders.
“Yeah.” Courtney said demurely from the threshold of the shower.
“Somebody I want removed.”
Courtney sighed. “Who is that then?”
“His name is John Parks. I’ve got the photo and stuff for you.” He took off the last of his clothes and slid the bathroom door open and stood in the doorway. “He’s going to be at the 160 Club tonight.”
Courtney looked up at Ace and ran a hand down his chest. He was such an impressive brute of a man compared to her tiny fragile body.
“Later then. I want to spend some time with you first.” She smiled and stepped back to turn on the water.
Ace grinned at the petite young woman in front of him.
Courtney felt so happy that a man like Ace cared so much about her.
Deadfall: A Post-Humans Story Page 3
