Stealth

by John Hollenkamp

  Next stage. He was moving his plan along.

  “Want to share a joint?” he suggested.

  “Cool, yeah, let’s have some now. Got any here?” She questioned him with glassy eyes and full of eager anticipation.

  ”Isn’t this the best day!”

  Yes, it is a very good day, indeed. Martin was very pleased with himself.

  “Sure is, never thought I’d be sitting here with you and drinking beers. You’re nice.” Martin complimented. He disappeared inside to find his back-pack. Rosie lit another fag. Pulling the bag away from the lounge suite he unzipped a pocket and slid his hand down deep to find his meagre stash. It would be a really good smoke. Right let’s get to it. His plan was coming together.

  An hour later, he had coaxed her to the bedroom. She was off her face, giggling and mumbling nonsense. Martin sat next to her on the single bed. She did nothing to stop his advances, as he kissed her neck and ran his tongue around her ear. But Rosie kept chatting, and Martin became impatient.

  “I want to fuck you. Would you like that?” In a tone without romance.

  Rosie stopped her chittering and replied, “Okay then.”

  His right hand lifted her t-shirt and his fingers slid up to find her small bra. It took little effort to get his fingers under and before long he rubbed her nipple between his fingers, under his fingers, then his hand cupped around her slight breast completely. He moved his hand across under her loose bra, and touched her other breast a bit harder and squeezed a bit.

  She liked being fondled. Most boys she had been with went straight to her pussy. That sometimes made her very uncomfortable; most boys were rough and young. But Mick was older, more experienced, a man, not a boy. He was gentle.

  Under his jeans the zipper was about to burst. He could not contain himself any longer. He let go of her and jumped off the bed. Gripping his t-shirt first he ripped it over his head and threw it down. Rosie was staring at him with glowing eyes, unsure about what she should do next. Then he unbuttoned the top of his jeans and unzipped causing the loose pants to drop to his ankles. His briefs were oddly shaped, because his cock had turned his undies into a tent. Looking down, he continued to undress with haste.

  By now, Rosie had taken her t-shirt off and loosened her bra; it fell on her lap. Her little breasts were quivering with excitement. Martin moved towards the bed and leaned over and straddled her. All Rosie could see in front of her was his hard penis. He moved forwards until he was crouched over the top of her head inching his hard cock towards her mouth. Rosie had never done this before. He grabbed his penis and carefully caressed her lips with the end of it. It was moist. At first she parted her lips slightly, tasting his salty body-fluid on the inside of her lower lip. He pushed a bit further, leaving her no choice, she opened her mouth wider and took him inside. Nearly choking, she coughed.

  “Haven’t you ever sucked a bloke?” Indignant and impatient, Martin demanded.

  She couldn’t respond, but did her best to learn. He picked up her left hand and moved it on his cock and testicles educating her to rub and touch his balls. After a few minutes, Martin was bored and withdrew his penis from her mouth. While still kneeling, he straightened his upper body and fixed his eyes on hers. He needn’t have said anything. It was in his expression. She knew what was next. She looked at his dark, wild eyes. His hair locks were not long, but thin, light brown, and tussled like a wild man. Unsure about his expression and what was next from him, she did not hesitate to unbutton and unzip her tight pants.

  He moved further down the bed and did not wait for her to pull down her pants. With both hands, he dragged the garment off her hips, down past her knees. She moved her legs and helped him kick off the remaining. His fingers rounded the elastic top of her knickers. Slow now. Like opening up a present. He eased the undies down until her pubic hair, a darker shade of ginger with fine, soft curly hairs, revealed.

  She pulled her undies down and kicked them off. She spread her legs. Martin eased his face towards the softness of her pubic hair. He smelled her, as he dropped his nose further down. He took a few deep breaths, relishing the scent, raising his head, closing his eyes and going down again, for another breath, more scent.

  He was like a dog sniffing a bitch. He had never been this hard before. His penis felt like it was bursting. Rosie lay there quietly, letting him move her and letting his fingers and his tongue explore her. Although he wasn’t rough, she felt his animal urges. She was getting wetter and wetter. Martin’s face was covered in her juices. He licked his lips as he surfaced. Then he would go down again.

  Repositioning himself, he slipped his hands under her legs and lifted them and pushed them up towards her torso. This had never been so good. He could do whatever with her. She just followed. No talking, no noise.

  He could smell her anus. It sent him to further heights. He rolled out his tongue and started at the very bottom of her divide and held his tongue out licking and pausing on her puckered rectum until finding his way further to her muff. Without any warning, he raised up and slid his cock into her vagina. It was only four or five strokes and his vinegar flowed sending him into a fit of euphoria.

  He collapsed on top of her. Heavily breathing. Sweating. She was prostrate. The weight of him was warm. She felt good. His penis wasn’t hard anymore. But she did not want him to leave. They lay there for a few minutes. “I’ve never done this before.” Rosie whispered. Silence.

  Then, as if awakened, “What. Are you a virgin?”

  “No, not really, but no one has been, you know, so, ummm…I dunno, experienced, maybe.”

  “Your sister, she’s not coming back is she?”

  “Doubt it, why?”

  “Is she pretty like you?”

  “She’s a lot older, and she’s sort of fat. Why?”

  “Oh, nothing, if she is coming back I’d better get dressed.”

  “Can’t we be naked a bit longer?” Rosie begged and tried to pull him back onto her.

  “No, I have things to do. Maybe we can fuck again later.” Martin got up.

  Daylight was fading and Martin was getting edgy. He wanted to go, hanging around would only complicate his plan. But he could still fuck her one more time and leave on a morning train. He wondered if Rosie had any more money. She had fallen asleep: from the intense sex and because she was intoxicated.

  It was pleasant sitting on the back deck. Thinking. He was accustomed to letting time slip by and used the opportunity to think about his plans. Tired. The lack of sleep was catching up. The guns could not be sold straight away, but if he got rid of one of them to get some quick cash, that would solve a few problems. In Wollongong, maybe. He wandered back into the house; all was quiet and dark. He searched for a light-switch, while his eyes adjusted. The kitchen. A fluoro. In the flickering light he found the lounge and flopped down on it. Another kip.

  Martin woke up before dawn. Disoriented and feeling the cold morning air he had slept on the lounge all night. The kitchen light was still on. 6.13 am. He got up and searched for his sloppy joe.

  Rosie had not stirred. After relieving himself from the back porch he returned inside and started looking for something to eat but then changed his mind. He drank some water from the tap. Right, I need to make a move. Got to find out about the train and money. I’m going to need money.

  The handguns were individually wrapped in heavy-duty woollen socks, size XXL. Martin was proud of himself having thought up that idea. The fit wasn’t perfect, but one pair would cover, and protect each weapon from damage. And also, cut any noise, from them rubbing, whilst in the back-pack getting carted around. He could not resist the urge to inspect them. Slowly, he unzipped the back-pack. With care, he removed his treasure from the bag.

  Four of them were displayed on the rug in front of the lounge. They were the smaller pistols, two of them were Berettas and the other two were Ruger .22 calibre pistols. In his hand the Ruger fit like a glove. He pointed it and admired it while his outstretched arm searched the room
for an imaginary target.

  “What’s that?” Rosie shattered the silence of the morning like a bombshell.

  Martin turned around to face her, in shock, as if he was looking at a ghost.

  “It’s a gun. Can’t you see that?” Is all he could think of to reply. I didn’t need this. Stupid. What the fuck did she get up for? Fucking idiot, bitch.

  “Oh, okay.” She wandered into the kitchen and ignored him, grabbed the electric kettle from the benchtop and turned on the tap to fill it. After shoving the plug into the socket and flicking the switch on the appliance she leant against the formica benchtop and crossed her arms. Then she yawned, taking little interest in Martin’s reaction and his frantic packing up of the guns.

  “My mum’s boyfriend has a gun too. He’s a copper and he’s a real arsehole, I hate him.”

  Martin’s head reeled. Get fucked, a copper. Does this get any better? Maybe she’ll keep her mouth shut. I better be leaving today.

  The kettle rumbled on the benchtop rattling a few plates and the cutlery in the dish-rack. Click. The plates and cutlery fell silent.

  “Want a cuppa?” she swung a tea-bag from the tip of her fingers.

  “Don’t drink tea.”

  “Okay, I can make you some toast and vegemite.” She poured boiling water into a mug. “Or would you like some milk to drink?”She dropped the tea-bag into the cup.

  By this time Martin’s anxiety had subsided and he figured that some food and milk would be just fine. “Yeah, that sounds alright”.

  The conversation was limited to, “Did you sleep alright…, and how off her face she was last night.”

  They quickly demolished the toast.

  After breakfast, Rosie suggested, “Let’s have a shower together, I wash you and you can wash me.” Without offering her any resistance Martin was led into the bathroom, she took off her t-shirt and boxer-shorts. He was already hard.

  Daybreak had come and gone. The sun was out and there was a brisk breeze; it would not be long before the early morning cool air would be driven off by this north-westerly. A warm wind.

  “Let’s go for a bush-walk, maybe we can smoke some more of your stash.” The early morning shower had pumped some energy into her.

  “Do you have any money?” Martin enquired.

  “Yep, I got paid last Friday. I have about two hundred and ninety dollars,” She paused, “Why don’t we get another six-pack, or we could even get a cask of Riesling.”

  Martin resisted her excitement for another piss-up for a moment.

  “Yeah, maybe.” Martin’s brain started calculating the day’s schedule. How good is that? She has money. We can get drunk, well, she can get drunk, and we’ll have a smoke, maybe another root, she’ll pass out. And I’ll fuck off with the money. Just got to find out where she’s stashed it.

  “There’s some really cool bush-tracks over there. Wanna see?” And she snatched her hippie shoulder bag from the bench-top and took his hand. She led him to the back door and drew him off the back veranda, towards the bush.

  “Why don’t you bring some dope and we can have a smoke. We can go see the ravine.”

  “In my pocket, already,” he answered.

  Holding hands like a couple on honeymoon they moseyed into the scrub. After an hour of adventuring over narrow walking tracks, undulating and winding, up and down rocky steps, they came to the edge of a steep and cavernous gorge. Both sat near the precipice taking in the eerie stillness.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  Even Martin was impressed by the beauty of the landscape. The gorge, the vegetation growing out of the rocky walls. How some small trees were clinging to the rocky crevasses, perilously hanging on by mere threads of tree root was a miracle.

  “Let’s have a smoke, eh?”

  Rosie nodded her head fervently and took the already lit marijuana joint from Martin. She drew heavily and passed it back to him.

  Both of them were pleasantly high. The north-westerly wind had steadily picked up and injected some heat into the cool start of the day. Now they were getting thirsty.

  “The bottle-oh will be open soon.” Rosie remarked. ”A nice cold beer would be great, don’t you think?”

  The walk back was more laborious, because of the incline. Being stoned and thirsty didn’t make the walk any quicker. Rosie was chattering away about her friends at Macca’s in Sylvania. She enjoyed working and although only a casual employee, the boss had rung her a few times to do extra shifts. Her schooldays were over. She was available. It suited everyone.

  “So your sister didn’t come back?” Martin asked the obvious, desperately trying to get her to shut up about Macca’s, and her stupid little mates.

  “Nah, probably won’t see her until next week.”

  “How’s that?” Martin was curious.

  “Today’s Thursday, she always stays with Trent, and tomorrow’s Friday and she always stays with him all weekend. Might see her Sunday night.”

  Martin acknowledged her explanation, “Uh-huh”.

  “And I work on Sunday night, from six till midnight,” she was out of breath, as they were getting over the last undulation of the track.

  Finally, they arrived at the crumbled wire fencing at the back of the cottage. Here the ground changed from shrubbery and dirt to overgrown grass and weeds.

  “Some water?”

  “Yeah, fuck yeah,” he replied.

  He spied from the kitchen watching her enter the bedroom where they had sex yesterday. She went to the bedside cabinet and opened the top drawer; she retrieved a twenty-dollar note. She closed the drawer. Martin turned away, pretending to be busy drinking more water. Right. That’s where the money is. There must be more.

  “Got some money, let’s go get some ales!” Triumphantly hopping around in the lounge. They set off on the same path as yesterday.

  The views were not as spectacular now as they were a few hours earlier. The sun was much higher and didn’t cast any dramatic shading. The colours had less contrast. It was warmer. Each carried six VB throw-downs. By the time they got back to their haunt on the edge of a crevasse the little bottles had already warmed. Rosie was puffing heavily on a Winfield Red. Martin rolled another joint.

  Within an hour they were close to being through the beer stash. It didn’t matter, because the last throw-downs were warm. Rosie was not as rowdy as yesterday. She was subdued; very stoned and combined with the warm throw-downs she felt quite numb. Her talking had slowed and trickled to a few words, “Iz nice here, iz’n it?” Slurring her words, she stared into the distance glassy-eyed and weaving a little.

  The split in the earth directly in front of them was not very deep, although rough, jagged and narrow. But deep enough to get hurt if you fell or slipped. You might even die from a broken neck. It was hard to see the bottom clearly, because it was heavily overshadowed and even in daylight barely visible.

  Martin slid his hand under his right back pocket and felt for the shape of it. It would be nice to fuck her one more time. Out here. I still could. It’s now or never. I need to get a move on, get on that train.

  Ever since he left Brookvale, he wondered if it would be the same as doing it to a human. That feeling he got as the life drained out of the dog. A rush. He decided.

  He inched back until he was behind her. With a rapid twist, he swung his right arm around the front of her head and pulled her towards him. Twisting her head and exposing her neck. The switch-blade was in his left hand and he brought it towards her upper back. Rosie struggled, she had no strength. His sudden grip had winded her. Surprised. Overwhelmed. And terrorised.

  The stiletto pierced the nape of her neck and he pushed it up violently, as far as it would go.

  It was only a whimper. She felt stinging and an instant pain. It went dark. And then there was nothing.

  He held her, until he felt her limpness. Then with all the power he could muster he rolled her in front of him and shoved her with his arms and legs; he pushed the petite red-heade
d girl off the edge. Her body tumbled and bounced on the jagged rocks below. He couldn’t see her anymore, but he did hear the bump. Then nothing.

  His heart was thumping. The adrenaline in his veins had completely consumed the intoxication from the alcohol and the weed. He was breathing heavily. Relieved. Like he had just come. A rush.

  A slight rustle of a small leaves and a bit of stirring breeze was all you could hear. Even the birds were silent. He could hear himself breathing. Heavy, at first. After a few minutes his heavy breathing started tapering off to a slow, controlled rhythm, and he regained his faculties. Got to clean up. Get rid of the beer bottles. The fucking ciggie butts! What else. Look around! Footprints. Scuffle marks. Get some tree branches with leaves, like they do in a movie. Wipe the ground, brush away the foot marks! In a panic, he turned and he cast his eyes behind him. Did anyone see him?

  He gathered the empty beer bottles and put them in her hippie bag. He scanned the ground for cigarette butts and picked them up one by one. The roaches. Two of them. When he was satisfied that all the evidence was gone he broke a small branch with leaves and wiped the dirt to eradicate any visible footprints. As long as he could keep her undiscovered for a few days or even more, it would buy him time to get away. On the walk, back to the cottage he started to relax a bit.

  As he went through the back door, a thought occurred to him. I should strip the bed and wash the sheets, just stick them in the washing machine.

  In the time it took to rid the cottage of his presence in the last two days, the washing machine cycle had finished. A small stretch of clothes line on the back veranda allowed him to hang out the sheets and pillow cases. He had also washed her clothes still on the floor from the night before; and the towels they used after the shower this morning. Hurry, but don’t rush. Think. He was done.