Simone Kirsch 02 - Rubdown

by Leigh Redhead

  A friend of mine named Reg who had served in Korea once told me that in a combat situation you had to seize any advantage you could. What advantage? Jurgen had the knife, Billy had the gun and I couldn’t move to reach a metal flower pail or a burning log from the fire.

  Fire. It was roaring now, flames reflected off Jurgen’s glittering eyes. He moved towards Lulu.

  ‘Hey,’ I called, ‘you’re not seriously going to do him first when you’ve got me right here?’

  ‘Want a bit, do you?’ He ambled over and looked me up and down. I struggled against the ropes and he rubbed his crotch.

  ‘Why don’t you untie my hands so I can feel your cock?’

  ‘Think I’m fucking stupid?’ The bed sagged as he straddled my legs and ran the knife lightly around my throat, just scratching the skin. He feathered it between my breasts, cut my bra open and dragged the blade down my belly, slitting the sides of my bikini pants. The knife hovered over my pussy like he was about to do something you only read about in serial killer books. I held my breath, almost fainting with fear, and he grinned and put the knife back in the holster. I blew out air, sucked it in. Jurgen leaned down and licked my boobs with his raspy tongue. The saliva trail was white and bubbly and smelled like bad breath. His tongue wriggled around my nipples like a giant pink maggot and my skin contracted with revulsion.

  I looked over his shoulder at Lulu, staring at us, tears still running down her face. I flicked my eyes toward the fire, then back to her. She looked blank. I did it again, and again. Eyes to fire, then her. I wriggled my left hand, grabbed at the tape. She suddenly got it but shook her head, no. I nodded, yes you can. Yes you fucking well can. Inside my head I was screaming at her. It worked.

  She inched the chair back, towards the fireplace. I yelled to cover the scraping noise.

  ‘No, stop! Somebody help!’

  The screams made Jurgen smile wider. He moved up, sat on my chest and I could hardly breathe. When he unzipped his fly I saw a hard, shrunken penis atop withered pink balls. His tight foreskin smelled like rotting cheese.

  ‘Wrap your laughing gear round this,’ he said.

  I clamped my mouth shut and flung my head to the side. Lulu had reached the fire and stuck her tape-bound hands into the flames. She was trying not to scream, screwing up her face, biting her bottom lip, shaking. I was sure I could smell burning hair and skin, but Jurgen didn’t seem to notice. He was forcing my head back around and prying my jaw apart with his fingers.

  I stopped struggling and opened my mouth. Then I chomped down hard on his hand. He laughed and punched me in the face and pain broke over my cheek and jaw, sharp, crystalline, and I tasted blood on my tongue. He reached around for the knife in the holster and frowned. He slapped his hand around his thigh.

  Just as he was turning to see where it had gone, Lulu reared up behind him and plunged it between his shoulder blades.

  Chapter Forty

  Jurgen said, ‘Ungh,’ keeled sideways off the bed and slapped the floor. Lulu stood shaking, the knife covered in blood.

  ‘Quick, cut the tape,’ I said.

  She sliced through the wrist restraints and was working on the second ankle when Jurgen rose from beside the bed, roaring, and crash-tackled her. They flew across the room. Lulu’s head smacked into the wood wall and she slumped to the floor, unconscious. I struggled to rip the tape from my ankle. Jurgen picked up the knife and staggered towards me. It was stuck tight, I couldn’t unpick it. He shoved me back down, fell on top and rested the blade against my throat.

  His breathing was laboured and his eyes were glazed. ‘I was going to fuck you, then kill you, but I’ve run out of time. How ’bout I do both at once?’

  He pushed the knife against my neck and I slapped my palms on his ropy wrist and strained to no effect. The knife kept coming forward. I was so panicked I couldn’t tell if the cold steel was actually slicing me or whether the moisture was sweat or blood.

  He stuffed one hand between his legs and jerked it around.

  Jesus. He was pulling himself, trying to get hard. Must have worked, because he stopped and put the hand on my thigh, wrenching my legs apart. At the same time he pushed the knife and hot pain seared my throat.

  In that split second I knew without a doubt that I was going to be raped and murdered. I knew I was dead. And then I thought, fuck it, I’m not going down without a fight.

  I stretched my arm back towards the bedside table and closed my fingers around the glass neck of the kerosene lamp. The knife cut deeper. Jurgen’s dick inched up my thigh. I swung my arm in an arc and smashed the lamp into the side of his head.

  Fire and glass exploded in my face. The knife slipped from my throat and the blade scraped my collarbone. He shrieked and scrambled back, his head and torso ablaze. Flames danced across my bare skin and my hair was on fire. I rolled myself tight in the patchwork quilt and forced myself to stay inside until I couldn’t breathe. I came out gasping but no longer burning, and saw him consumed by flames, wheeling around the cottage, howling. His hair was gone. Clothes melted. Skin peeling off. As he tried desperately to reach the sink he set fire to the couch, the curtains.

  The whole cottage was going up.

  I snatched the knife off the quilt and sawed through my leg tape, leapt naked off the bed and shook Lulu. Out cold. Holding her under the arms I dragged her out the back door, down three concrete steps into a flower garden. I laid her as far away from the building as I could get, by a white picket fence. Outside was dark and cold, gum trees hulking against the night sky. I ran back inside to get my clothes and the knife, but the whole cottage was on fire and the heat stopped me entering. Through the flames and smoke I saw Jurgen on his knees in the middle of a burning rug, arms out-stretched, screaming silently through melted lips. The thick stench of charred flesh made me gag. I closed the door. I had to find Billy.

  I crept around the side of the cottage, hardly feeling the freezing air hit my bare skin. The blood streaming from my neck wound was a different story, hot and sticky, running down my torso and legs.

  When I got to the front verandah I crouched behind a wood pile.

  Billy was in the passenger seat of a late model white Tarago van, next to a brick incinerator filled with flaming logs. The van was facing away from the house, and I could hear Veronica hit the high notes through the rolled-up windows.

  It was only going to be a matter of time before Billy realised the orange glow reflected in his windscreen wasn’t coming from the incinerator. A window in the cottage burst from the heat and I grabbed a chunk of wood from the pile, scurried to the front gate and crawled to the van. Small rocks pierced my palms, and dirt and gravel stuck to my blood streaked skin. I lay on my belly behind the front tyre on the passenger side. After a minute I heard a muffled ‘Fuck,’ the music shut off and the door opened.

  Soon as Billy’s boots hit the ground I grabbed his ankles and yanked hard. He toppled forward and I slithered under the van door and leapt on his back like some deranged jungle beast, lifted the log and smashed it into his skull. Then again for good measure.

  I found the gun in his jacket and knelt over him, holding it to my chest with two hands. I’d started to shiver and go dizzy. Big brown dots floated in front of my eyes. I shook my head, leaned it against the side of the van. I had to keep it together. So much to do. Take off Billy’s clothes so I could wear them. Tie him up in case he came to. Drag Lulu away from the fire. Find a phone and call triple 0.

  I felt in Billy’s pockets, couldn’t find a mobile. Maybe in the van. I dragged myself up, clutching the passenger door, but as soon as I stood the world started swirling around and I fell, smashing my head against the door handle on the way down.

  I lay on my back in the gravel, still holding the gun and feeling very sleepy. Above me the night sky was full of stars, icy white, painfully bright, and the smudged path of the Milky Way. I hadn’t seen so many stars for years. Not since I was a teenager and all us hippy kids used to lie on one of the smooth broad
rocks by the river, still warm from the sun, smoke a joint and look up at the heavens, feeling small and weird.

  I heard a car coming up the gravel drive. Shit. A neighbour?

  Emery Wade?

  The car stopped and footsteps crunched, got closer. I couldn’t give up now, I was so close. I held the gun out in front of me, pointing straight up, finger on the trigger. As the footsteps rounded the van I squeezed.

  ‘Motherfuckingjesusgod!’

  The coarse accent. A flash of platinum hair in the dark. Chloe.

  I dropped the gun. More footsteps, running, and Curtis came into view. I remember hoping he wouldn’t take this opportunity to finally get the nude shot I owed him—and then nothing.

  Chapter Forty-one

  When I opened my eyes the next afternoon I found myself in a private room at St Vincent’s, Sean asleep in a grey vinyl armchair next to my bed. His elbow rested on the arm of the chair and his palm supported his face, pushing out his cheeks and lips like a cherub.

  My whole body ached, something I was getting used to and I couldn’t get rid of the image of Jurgen, sheets of skin crisping and curling off his body, or the smell of seared flesh.

  I reached for the water jug next to the bed. The movement made my bandaged collarbone burn and I let out an involuntary mewling sound.

  Sean blinked and rubbed his eyes. ‘Simone.’ He grabbed the jug off me, filled a frosted tumbler and held it to my lips. I gulped the whole thing in seconds and flopped my head back on the starched pillow. An IV line was taped to the back of one hand. He held the other and gazed at my face with the same expression you might give a mortally injured kitten.

  ‘I look that bad?’ I croaked. The inside of my cheek stung and my lips felt puffed and rubbery.

  ‘You look beautiful.’

  ‘And you lie like a pig in mud. What’s the damage?’

  ‘Twelve stitches, cuts and bruises, dehydration and shock.’

  ‘You should have seen the other guy.’

  ‘I did.’ He grimaced. ‘What was left of him.’ He squeezed my hand. ‘I’m so fucking sorry about what happened. I never should have—’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. How’s Lulu?’

  ‘Second degree burns, possible concussion, but otherwise okay. She’s down the hall.’ He lifted my hand to his lips, kissed the palm and gave me the poor kitten look again. ‘I’ve read her statement and I know what Van Annen tried to do to you. Look, it’s not the sort of thing to deal with on your own so I’ve arranged an appointment with a counsellor tomorrow.’

  I groaned. ‘I don’t need a shrink, I need a hairdresser.’ I took my hand from his and held a lock of hair between two fingers.

  ‘Look at these singed ends!’

  He shook his head. ‘There’s no shame in asking for help.

  Things I’ve seen on the job would have sent me mad if I hadn’t had counselling.’

  I changed the subject. ‘What happened to Billy and Wade and the rest?’

  ‘Billy’s been charged with kidnapping and attempted murder.

  Blaine and Veronica were questioned and released. Claimed they had no knowledge of the plot to kill Tamara or you, and Homicide believe them. Blaine was shocked to see the photos, Veronica even more so. She threw her engagement ring at him in the lobby at the Police Complex. Celebrity relationships, they never last.’

  ‘What about Wade?’

  Sean looked toward the window. Syrupy orange sun glinted off the metal frame, lighting up his eyelashes and illuminating the rim of his mouth. ‘At this present time there’s not enough evidence to charge him with anything.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s nothing to connect him with the kidnapping and Billy’s not talking. In fact he retained Wade as his lawyer.’

  ‘Jesus. What about my licence hearing?’

  ‘Wade bailed me up in the corridor at St Kilda Road. Told me to remind you about the tribunal next Monday. I could have decked him.’

  ‘Fucker!’

  There was a knock on the door and he answered. ‘Detectives from Homicide. You up for an interview?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You want me to stay?’

  I noticed he was fingering his cigarette packet.

  ‘No, I’ll be fine.’

  A man and woman in cheap suits took my statement and said I’d need to come in for another interview at the Police Complex when I was out of hospital. I was careful to tell them everything I could remember about what had taken place in Wade’s office, and what Billy had told me at the farmhouse. I asked if I’d given them enough to arrest Emery Wade and the man muttered something noncommittal about continuing inquiries on his way out the door.

  Sean poked his head in. ‘Want some visitors?’

  ‘Sure.’

  He opened the door wide and Chloe entered, pushing Lulu in a wheelchair. Lulu’s hands were bandaged like a boxer’s. Curtis followed, then Tony, carrying a bunch of carnations and baby’s breath. He patted my shoulder and seemed relieved when Sean took the bouquet from him and arranged the flowers in a plastic vase.

  Chloe hit the brakes on the chair, tiptoed over on high heeled boots and hugged me gently, enveloping me in her particular scent of cigarettes, hairspray and Paris perfume. Some people had house parties or went out to dinner. I liked to catch up with all my friends in hospital.

  ‘How the hell did you find me?’ I asked.

  ‘Scrapbook.’ She flicked her long hair over her shoulder.

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Nuh. Sean told me you’d gone missing and the cops were searching the city. I remembered an article I’d read in “Women’s Day” about Veronica and Blaine riding horses on his dad’s property up near Daylesford.’

  ‘Turned out I knew the journo from Australian Consolidated Press,’ Curtis said, ‘so I gave her a call and found out where the property was at. It was a long shot, but we couldn’t just sit around on our arses, knowing you were in danger.’

  I began feeling all warm and fuzzy towards him, until he pulled a folded copy of the Herald Sun from under his left arm and flashed me the front page.

  BLAINE AND VERONICA SCANDAL

  One dead as PI and trannie foil kill plot By Curtis Malone

  ‘That’s not all,’ he said. ‘My special investigation in The Age starts tomorrow. I totally scooped this thing.’

  I frowned. Tony was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, shaking his head.

  ‘You don’t mind?’ Curtis asked. ‘Only we did have a deal, and if it wasn’t me that bloody Andrew Rule would have jumped on this like a fat Texan at an all you can eat buffet.’

  I did mind, but he looked so pleased with himself. And Chloe actually had her arm around his waist, staring up at him like he was Brad Pitt. Weird. She usually looked at men with barely disguised contempt, unless they wore a blue uniform and carried handcuffs, in which case her gaze was one of naked lust.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I sighed, turning to Lulu. ‘How you doing?’

  ‘Not too bad.’ Her voice was even huskier than usual. ‘Thanks for saving my life.’

  I shrugged and the stitches stung. ‘I just dragged you down some stairs. You saved both of us when you stuck your hands in the fire. I wanted to ask, how did you and Blaine meet?’

  ‘At a parlour I used to work at in South Yarra. I started seeing him privately and then his dad found out and that was the end of that. When I met Tammy at the GT Club I told her and she came up with the plan. I called him, begged him to see me one last time and he did. I felt really bad about it, but Tammy said Emery would pay up and Blaine would never find out.’

  Sean’s mobile rang, possibly causing another patient’s heart monitor to short. He spoke briefly, then held it to his chest. ‘Speak of the devil. Blaine Wade wants to know if it’s okay to come up in an hour.’

  ‘What the hell for?’ I asked. ‘I just ruined his career, reputation, relationship.’

  Sean grinned. ‘Not for you, sweetheart. He wants to see
Lulu.’

  Curtis whipped out a notebook and pen from his back pocket.

  Lulu raised her bandaged fists to her beard. ‘Oh god, not like this.’

  Chloe crouched in front of the wheelchair, hands on the armrests. ‘It’s okay, honey. I have my makeup kit in the car. Razors, tweezers. I even have a wig. We can do this.’ She rolled the chair out of the room so fast it was up on its back wheels.

  Curtis was muttering to himself, scribbling in his notebook.

  ‘Footy player tells, my love for balls? AFL star tackles the love that dare not speak its name? Blaine Wade scores own goal?’

  ‘Jesus, Curtis,’ I said. ‘Have you no shame?’

  ‘Not last time I checked. Gotta get my camera. See ya.’

  Tony pushed off from the wall and approached the bed. He put a white business card on the table. ‘My solicitor, give him a call.’

  ‘Sure. Thanks, Tone.’

  He nodded and left. It was just me and Sean.

  ‘Come here.’ I patted the blanket.

  He opened his eyes wide. ‘You can’t possibly want sex now.’

  ‘Just lie next to me.’ I scooted over to make space and he squeezed onto the narrow bed, sharing the pillow, arm around my waist.

  I ran my fingers through his soft hair and the smell of his faded aftershave was both erotic and comforting at the same time. ‘You never did tell me why you joined the cops.’

  ‘And you never let on why you broke up with your fiancé.’

  ‘You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.’

  He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. ‘Alright. When we first moved to Melbourne from Scotland we lived in a house in Richmond. Our next door neighbours were migrants as well, they’d been refugees from Vietnam. Their son Thieu was fourteen, same age as me and we were both the new kids, nerdy types, playing in the school band.

  ‘I’d always had a flair for languages, learned French, German and Italian by the time I was twelve and he taught me Vietnamese and I taught him English. His dad was an engineer and after a couple of years in Australia was doing pretty well for himself. Not rich by any standards, but enough to make him a target for extortionists.