Silk Chaser

by Peter Klein

  She’d told me on the phone that she was at the Waiter’s Bar at the top end of Latrobe Street. Probably there with Rodney Ellis, and she didn’t deny it when I put it to her. I told her she was kidding if she thought I’d be coming in to have a drink with her. I wanted to keep this short and to the point, so I suggested we meet outside in my van. When I got there, all the spots were taken and I had to double park outside. I called her on my mobile. She said she’d come out straightaway, and within a couple of minutes I saw her walking out the door. She stood for a moment, looking for me, and I flashed my lights a couple of times at her.

  She came to the driver’s side and I wound the window halfway down. I kept my eyes dead straight, looking away from her, held up the keys and jangled them in front of her.

  ‘Yours,’ I said. ‘Don’t think I’ll be needing them again.’

  Bit childish, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for her. She took them in her hand, looking at me and trying to read what state I was in.

  ‘Are you going to invite me in, so we can talk?’ she said.

  ‘There’s nothing to talk about really, is there?’

  She was silent a moment, then, ‘I just wanted to explain. I never meant to . . . hurt you.’

  Someone gave me an angry toot and flashed their lights at me for blocking the lane. ‘You can’t stay here,’ she said. ‘Drive us around the corner, somewhere you can find a park.’

  I reached across and opened the passenger side door. She walked around and climbed up, sat down, pulled the door shut and fastened her seat belt. Hands tightly clasping her keys, she stared ahead at the dashboard.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she said.

  ‘Jesus, Maxine, is that the best you can come up with? Did I come over tonight to hear that?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I . . . it just happened.’

  ‘It just happened, huh? For Christ sake, you fucking lied to me. All that bullshit about work and business trips away.’

  I heard her sniff and saw her pluck a tissue from her sleeve. Hello, here come the waterworks, all part of the act.

  ‘No! That was all legit. The work and travel just sort of brought Rod and me closer together while you and I were apart.’

  ‘Apart?’ I said brutally. ‘You go up to the Yarra Valley for what, one weekend, and you can’t keep your hands off some jumped-up QC who makes a pass at you? Thought you told me you had a golden rule of never sleeping with your clients?’

  Her tears flowed and I’d lost my temper; I guess it was going to be one of those shout-’em-down partings I’d been determined to avoid.

  ‘It just happened,’ she said again, sobbing into her tissue. ‘It was just one of those things.’

  I shook my head. ‘That’s rich.’

  She stopped her crying and dabbed at her eyes. ‘I’d like to think we can, like, still be friends.’

  ‘Friends?’ I said incredulously. ‘What, escort you on an endless round of opening nights, or as a fill-in when Rodney’s not around? You’re nothing but trouble, Maxine, always have been, always will be. Now get out of my van and get out of my life.’

  I reached across to open the door for her and suddenly saw her head pull back sharply, unnaturally, as a hand snaked across her mouth. Then I caught the glint of a steel blade held under her chin. Heard a chilling voice we both recognised from the back of the van.

  ‘Come on, Punter, we can all be friends, can’t we?’

  It was him. The bloody predator had been hiding in the back all the while I’d been driving over to see Maxine. He leant over from behind Maxine’s seat, the knife pressed tightly against her throat, and she let out a choked gasp, her eyes wide with terror. I spun around in my seat to try and face him.

  ‘Where did –’

  ‘Shut up!’

  I realised I’d stumbled upstairs in a daze after reading about Maxine and Ellis and left the van unlocked all afternoon. That was how he’d got inside.

  ‘What the bloody hell do you want with us?’

  ‘I said shut the fuck up! Not a word from the pair of you. And Punter, you just try one fucking thing and I’ll start slicing Maxine’s face to ribbons before you can even turn around. You hear me? You know I will.’

  ‘Are you crazy, what do you want, for god’s sake?’ It struck me how stupid my question was. Crazy? This psycho had written the book on it.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ He’d only uttered a few words but already a note of hysteria had crept into his voice.

  ‘All right, I hear you.’

  ‘Keep both your hands on the steering wheel where I can see them. And look straight ahead.’

  I did as he asked, my brain scrambling to think of what I could do.

  In the silence that followed, I could hear Maxine’s stilted breathing and swallowing. And I felt Matt’s eyes on me, burning like a laser right through the side of my head.

  ‘Well now,’ he said after a moment. ‘This is all very nice; such a friendly little party, isn’t it?’

  I said nothing. Sneaked a look into the rear-vision mirror and saw a maniacal set of eyes staring back at me. Thought of Billco’s sketch; the resemblance was uncanny. I wished to hell the eyes were still in his drawing and not in the back of my kombi van.

  He laughed, a taunting, told-you-so snigger. ‘Friends, eh? You weren’t much of a friend to Punter, were you?’ he said to Maxine. ‘Playing around like the filthy little silk chaser that you are.’

  I could see Maxine’s hands quivering with fright out of the corner of my eye.

  ‘I picked it from the moment I saw you in the strapper’s competition. And, well, it’s quite ironic, isn’t it?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I said.

  ‘Don’t you see?’ He let out an obsessive-sounding laugh, seemingly eager to make sure that I understood. ‘The dirty trollop got exactly what she was after. She dressed for a jockey and scored a silk. But it was a different type of silk, Punter; A Queen’s Counsel. Not a bad catch as far as silks go. You do see the –’

  ‘Jesus, Matt. Give it up. There’s nothing you can do, the police know who you are.’

  ‘Yes, they do. They know who I am and they know where I live. And I can’t ever go back there again . . .’ He trailed off for a bit. ‘And it’s all thanks to you, Punter. All your sly prying ways. Always too clever by half, weren’t you? You’ve cost me my house, my flat, all my income, even my car. You’ve taken away my life.’

  ‘I haven’t taken anything from you.’

  ‘Don’t try and spin your way out. It’s all your fault.’

  He leant forward again, readjusting his grip on Maxine. His knife had never left her throat, but this time he let his left hand slip from her mouth and grab a clutch of her hair in his fingers. He knew what he was doing, pulling her head back just enough to make it hurt, the knife blade an ever-present threat if she moved suddenly. He was on her left, so I couldn’t make a grab for the knife or swing a punch at him even if I wanted to. I thought wildly if there was anything I might use against him. It certainly wouldn’t be a belt this time, not in the confines of the van. There was a tyre lever in the back, along with some screwdrivers I keep for my wave ski repairs. But I couldn’t reach them. Fat lot of good they’d be to me. I had no weapons and no hope.

  ‘Drive,’ he said.

  I turned the key in the ignition, started the van up and switched the lights on. Perhaps if I left them on high beam, or even better, put my flashing warning lights on, it might attract the attention of a passing police car.

  ‘Don’t think about using any of your smart-arse tricks, Punter. Any bullshit and I’ll cut her. I’ll cut her good and fuckin’ proper.’

  ‘Please . . .’ said Maxine. ‘We’ll do what you want, just promise you won’t hurt me.’

  Matt thought that was funny; actually chuckled, the bastard. Something amusing in her plea. I wondered if he’d laughed like that at all the others before he’d killed them.

  ‘The only promise I’ll make to you, s
weetheart, is that if Punter doesn’t do exactly as I say, I’m going to give you a face like a noughts and crosses puzzle.’

  I shook my head. ‘I’ll do what you say. Where to?’

  ‘Caulfield racecourse. You know where that is, Punter, or do you need directions?’

  Matt let go of Maxine’s hair but kept the knife at her throat, and I heard him zip open a bag or a pack and rustle around as if he was looking for something. I glanced in the rear-vision mirror. He pulled out some venetian cord; situation not looking good. He fastened Maxine’s hands, tied them securely in front of her.

  ‘Keep you eyes on the road,’ he growled threateningly at me.

  I knew that if I drove into the racecourse at this hour, there’d be no one about to see or hear us. It would all be deserted. The parking area in the middle of the course, the stripping sheds, the grandstand, hell, he could take his pick, it would all be empty. No one would hear us scream for mercy as he took his time killing us. He’d probably do Maxine first, make me watch, like the sadist he was. I could see how he’d work it once we got there. Pass me a loop of cord and tie me to the steering wheel. If I didn’t, he’d use the knife on Maxine. Whatever scenario I ran through my mind, I couldn’t work out how to rush him without him getting to Maxine first.

  I did a U-turn on Latrobe and headed back towards King Street. A typical Friday night in the city; full of people. Swarms of them, heading out to clubs or bars. I had to slow down at a set of lights to let one group of young men swagger by. I had right of way with the green light, but they straggled across the road like they owned it. Strength in numbers; it was like watching a David Attenborough animal documentary about pack behaviour. That’s what they were, a marauding mob looking to conquer another’s territory. One of them stopped and glared at me, his hands clutched around a stubby of beer. I thought he might do something, actually hoped he would, because it might give us some chance of escaping. But he just stood there holding us up against the lights as if challenging us to do something about it.

  ‘Go. You’ve got a green light.’

  ‘I can’t, the guy’s standing in front of us.’

  ‘Then run the little runt down. Move it!’

  I gave the guy a toot and swerved a little to the side so I wouldn’t hit him. Heard the crash of a bottle as he heaved it against the side of the van and the cheering of his mates as they gave us the finger.

  ‘Drunken scum,’ said Matt. ‘Should be locked away.’

  I snuck a quick look at Maxine, but she had her eyes glued to the floor. I drove on, traffic starting to pick up a bit now as we headed towards King Street and the nightclub precinct. Thought about running a red as I approached Russell Street. Maybe a cop would see me and give chase. Where were they when you needed them? Matt, as if reading my mind, gave me another warning. ‘You drive nice and steady and make a proper job of it. You understand?’

  I shrugged. ‘Sure.’

  We drove on in silence for a moment. I felt helpless, racking my brains for anything to distract him. All I had was the vague knowledge of his background. So I started to talk to him.

  ‘What was it like working for old Chas Bannon all those years ago?’

  No answer. Continued on anyway.

  ‘Because Chas told me about you when I went to see him about the colours.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘I just thought you’d want to know how I pieced it together, that it was you.’

  ‘My working for Chas wouldn’t lead you anywhere. You just got lucky.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said nonchalantly, ‘but seeing Chas at his stables reminded me of something about you.’

  ‘That silly old fool. He’s nothing, a nobody.’

  ‘Why? Because he sacked you?’ Niggling him, for what it was worth.

  ‘He didn’t sack me. I left on my own terms. Anyway . . . he couldn’t train a pig to be dirty. Now shut up and drive.’

  Ignore. ‘I think he knows his trade. I’ve put money on for him before and he’s always done a proper job.’

  Stole another glance at the mirror and immediately caught the recognition in Matt’s eyes. Narrowed, angry slits.

  ‘You used his expression,’ I said. ‘Must have had it ingrained in you as a kid while you were working there. Whether Chas is describing a jockey’s ride or cleaning a saddle, it’s always a proper job. He uses it every second sentence and it rubbed off on you.’

  ‘You’re full of shit, Punter.’

  I continued on; at least it was buying some time. ‘I couldn’t quite work out the connection until I traced the colours back to Chas and your stepfather. Then when Chas said he’d put on Lillian’s troubled child . . . I started to figure it out.’

  ‘I wasn’t troubled!’ He’d raised his voice now. Very intense. ‘I said I wasn’t a troubled child.’ He’d moved across from Maxine’s far side and was propped in the middle between us. He’d let the knife drop from Maxine’s throat and out of the corner of my eye I could see him, twitching, holding it only a blade-length away from my neck.

  ‘Did you hear what I said!’ he shouted. He pointed the tip of the knife into the side of my head, forcing me to turn it sideways to avoid the pain. I felt it break the skin; not very pleasant.

  ‘Yeah, I heard you. Why don’t you put that fuckin’ thing away before you cause me to crash, because if I do we’ll all be in the shit.’

  He kept the pressure up for a few more seconds then roughly grabbed hold of the back of my hair like he’d done with Maxine.

  ‘You think you’re so fucking smart, don’t you. Always got an answer to everything. Watch out! You’ll get caught in the slow lane. Turn here, turn left.’

  I’d dawdled into the stop-start centre lane, but he knew as well as I did that I’d have to swing a left to head out to Caulfield. The King Street clubs were in full swing, punters lining up outside waiting to get in. There seemed to be packs of drugged-up or intoxicated idiots streaming across the road, walking the footpaths, all looking for action. Reminded me of the night out with Maxine when we’d got caught up in the fight. I slowed for a red light; had no choice as the car in front of me had stopped. Matt immediately resumed his hold on Maxine, making sure I wouldn’t try anything. As if. A group of three guys walked past a gleaming new Range Rover in front of us. One of them did a drum roll on the bonnet with his fists, then gave a quick finger to the driver. Wisely, he didn’t get out. Stayed locked in, head down, too frightened to say anything. Is that what this part of the city had degenerated into? A cesspit, a fight club where you couldn’t even drive safely down the main street.

  I thought of Tiny, who worked this strip. I didn’t fancy his job, trying to keep this mob under control. He’d be on duty tonight, manning the door at the Tavern. That was only a few blocks down. What I’d give to have him with me in the van right now. But even if he was, there was still the insurmountable problem of Matt holding the knife against Maxine. Any attempt to rush him, he’d kill her. Even if it meant going down himself, because he had nothing to lose. We drove on past an obviously drunken group punching on in a laneway. Par for the course in clubland.

  ‘Mates of yours, Matt?’

  ‘They’re sick. Animals,’ he said, watching the spectacle.

  I was glad I’d got a response, something that caught his attention even if it only served as a minor distraction. Because it had given me the ghost of an idea.

  ‘Yeah, but let’s face it, Matt, sick as they are, they’re never gonna be as troubled as you are.’

  ‘I’m not troubled!’ he shouted.

  I’d drilled right into the nerve like a sloppy dentist doing root canal treatment. A flash of anger that was set to explode. I wanted it to, needed it to, but only just at the right time. Matt began talking in a manically fast dialogue, almost as though he was trying to rationalise his actions, his very being, in front of us both.

  ‘I’m not like them,’ he said, waving his knife dismissively at the hordes we drove past. ‘Can’t you see, they’re the ones wi
th all the problems!’

  I drove on, a bit like a cabbie who’s heard it all. ‘Sure, Matt, whatever.’

  He didn’t like my attitude; let me know big time.

  ‘Are you fucking listening to me?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’

  ‘You flippant little prick.’

  He let go of Maxine again and squatted behind me. Could almost feel the cold of the blade as he held it at the back of my head. Maxine gave me a frightened glance which I pretended not to notice. I focused on the road ahead and the neon sign I was looking for.

  ‘I mean, the difference is, they’re just pissheads, out for a night’s fun. But you can’t really compare them with yourself, can you? I mean, they haven’t got your sort of problem, your sort of troubles, have they?’

  Goading him. Risky, very bloody risky, but I needed to take his attention off my driving. I’d gone past the Lonsdale intersection and just needed another block to try and do my thing. If it didn’t come off, we were both as good as dead anyway, because the crazy bastard was starting to slice his knife blade into the back of my seat, only centimetres away from my shoulder. Short, stabbing thrusts, each time piercing the vinyl and burying the blade to the hilt in the foam underneath.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve heard about that sort of thing,’ I went on, ‘where a person can’t see they’ve got issues. It’s called denial.’

  His eyes were wild, flittering this way and that across the mirror at me. The punishment to the seat continued unabated; stab, thrust, rip, tear. Start over again. Could just about feel him ready to ignite.

  I’d crossed Bourke Street and claimed the inside lane and could see the yellow flashing neon sign of the Tavern ahead on my left. I kept glancing at the mirror every few seconds now, important to keep check of when he would strike, because surely it was only a matter of when. The throng of people on the footpath had intensified noticeably down this end of town, where half a dozen clubs stood almost side by side. Lines of clubbers waited to get in, tangled with those wandering about outside on the footpath.