Blood Feud (Little Town)

by JD Nixon

  I paid him no heed as I chased them down the initial straight stretch of Mountain Road before it started its torturous winding ascent up to Mount Big and Lake Big. And that was when we hit a huge dip in the road.

  We launched into the air at over one-fifty kilometres an hour. Well, that’s what the speedometer was showing right before we left the road and as air speed indicators weren’t yet a standard feature in a patrol car, I was only guessing. I clutched the steering wheel with a death grip, pretty sure it wasn’t going to make a lick of difference if none of the car’s tyres was actually touching the ground at that moment. The Bycrafts’ car also became airborne, both Chad and I driving way too fast to safely negotiate the large dip.

  “Holy shit!” shouted Kevin, suddenly articulate, one hand clamped around the arm rest, the other pressed on the dashboard, fingers splayed, his long legs braced against the car’s leg well. His pale blue eyes bulged with an equal mixture of horror and fear, every tint of colour abruptly fleeing his face, leaving his freckles standing out in bold contrast.

  Chad hit the road again badly, nearly losing control of the Commodore, the unrestrained occupants thrown around inside. The car’s suspension crunched noisily and the vehicle bounced twice before swerving off the side of the road, the back left tyre dangling for a moment over the steep incline leading down to the surrounding bush. The car fishtailed, repeatedly overshooting the bitumen road on to the gravel verge as Chad struggled desperately to correct his steering.

  I lost track of what he was doing then because we made our own hard and unforgiving landing, the patrol car’s tyres compressing as it slammed down on to the road, before rebounding. Kevin and I were flung violently upwards then downwards with a painful thump, both of us thankfully held in place by our seatbelts. I fought for control for a long uncertain minute as the car bounced over the road. My brain screamed at me not to oversteer, but my hands wrenched the steering wheel back and forth like a first-time learner driver. Somehow, eventually, we came to a shuddering halt.

  Kevin opened his mouth, but nothing came out except a stifled and rather inadequate, “Oh.”

  I planted my foot and we sped off again in pursuit of the teenagers up the winding mountainous road.

  But that small delay cost us dearly. When we reached the end of the road and screeched to a stop in the public carpark adjacent to Lake Big, the red Commodore was sitting forlornly alone and deserted, all four doors wide open, its engine idling, stereo still blasting.

  I jumped out of my seat, ignoring the abandoned car and ran to where the thick bushland of the lower mountain pressed against the gravel of the carpark.

  “Chad Bycraft!” I shouted. “You better show yourself right now. You’re in a mess of trouble. Don’t make it worse for yourself by running away.”

  “Fuck you, piglet!” yelled his disembodied voice from inside the tangle of trees. Sniggers echoed around the bush, all the other young Bycrafts now recovered from their bone-jolting ride and enjoying his wonderful display of wit and bravado. For some reason today, his use of the Bycrafts’ longtime nickname for me really made me boil.

  “Yeah, fuck you, piglet!” repeated one of the young Bycraft girls from a different direction. It was probably Jade from the sound of her voice, giggling with impudent confidence. And why wouldn’t she be confident? The Bycrafts had terrorised and ruled this town for well over a century.

  Soft murmurings and rustlings indicated the teens’ withdrawal further into the bush, but it was impossible to pinpoint from where any of the voices came. Bycrafts had retreated from the law into these mountains since the first settlement in town. They had any number of family bolt holes and secret paths to safety, passed down through the generations as any normal family would pass down favourite recipes. Combine that expert local knowledge with a feral animal’s instinctive survival mechanism, and you had one cunning and slippery bunch of customers on your hands.

  I lost my final shreds of patience, Toni’s sweet face and cute ringlets flashing into my mind again.

  “Get out here now, Chad Bycraft! I’m arresting you for reckless driving. You could have killed someone, you stupid little shit!” I shouted into the wilderness with frustrated futility. All I received in response were howls of mocking laughter and a few crude suggestions as to what I could do with my baton and handcuffs.

  “Senior Constable?” Kevin asked hesitantly, standing next to the Commodore. He’d taken the initiative to turn off its engine, instantly amplifying the relentless sounds of nature that had been drowned by the stereo. The bush was never truly silent and various birdcalls mingled with crickets buzzing loudly in the unseasonably warm spring weather. His eyebrows pressed together and his front teeth chewed on his bottom lip, probably concerned by the unprofessional and deeply personal anger I was displaying on a job.

  I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Reluctantly, I tore my eyes from scanning the bushland and turned to him. He received a radiant burst of my most insincere and sweetest smile, sending his facial redness quotient sky high.

  “Kevin, could you please drive the Commodore back to the station for me? And ask the Sarge to track down its owner? They’ll be worried sick about the disappearance of their car.”

  “What about . . . you know. . . forensics?” he asked. “Fingerprints?”

  We both flung glances back towards the bush at a crashing sound. The Bycrafts were on the move, consolidating. My feet itched to chase after them.

  I shrugged. “What’s the point? The forensics team might turn up after three days and we might receive some results after three weeks. Just to confirm what we already know – Chad Bycraft wiped his prints from the steering wheel,” I reasoned, my leg jiggling with the need to pursue the Bycrafts to hell and back. “At least we recovered the car and it’s not too badly damaged. And ultimately, that’s all the owner will care about.”

  “We’re both . . .? Back to the station?” And he waited by the car, shooting me a look loaded with sharp and careful wariness. It reminded me of the Sarge’s own expression when he fronted another example of my tendency to go a little overboard when it came to the Bycrafts. I wondered exactly what the Sarge had divulged to Kevin about my relationship with them.

  Cursing to myself, I threw one last glance over my shoulder at the bushland, but I really had no choice. Besides barging through the thick scrub, achieving little but scratching myself and looking like a fool, there was nothing more I could do here. The teens had already made their escape, thumbing their noses at the law once again. My only consolation was that it was a long walk back from here to town, but even then I knew that the Bycraft juniors soon would be on their stolen phones, ringing members of their vast clan to pick them up. They’d learnt nothing today except a reinforcement of their well-understood maxim that a small, under-resourced and isolated police team was no match for them.

  “Let’s go,” I sighed heavily, casting my eyes around the trees and bushes one last time. They remained still, the only movement the quiet rustle of small animals in the undergrowth. The Bycrafts had gone.

  Kevin and I drove the two cars back to the station.

  *****

  One glance at the Sarge’s face and I knew I was in trouble. His dark blue eyes, normally so deep and expressive, were frosty and flat and he controlled his features into an unreadable mask. With great restraint he waited until Kevin had settled down to the task of completing some assessment he was required to do during his field placement. I busied myself in the kitchenette, making a cup of tea, avoiding all eye contact with him. But the moment Kevin was occupied and I’d no sooner dumped the teabag into the mug, he gripped my upper arm and dragged me outside to the small verandah at the back of the station, gently closing the door behind him.

  He used his extra inches of height to tower over me. I looked up at his stern face steadily, my own expression neutral but my heart thumping a wild beat.

  “What the hell did you think you were doing, Tess?” he demanded in a quiet but angry voice. �
��I ran to the window when I heard the siren, only to witness you chasing a car through town at a dangerous and reckless speed. And then I received no response from you when I told you to cease pursuit.”

  “It was Chad and the other Bycraft kids, Sarge. They stole a car from Big Town and –”

  “What instructions did you receive from Big Town when you called it in?”

  “They were driving way over the speed –”

  “What instructions did you receive from Big Town when you called it in?”

  “He wasn’t going to stop for me, so I –”

  His jaw clenched as he spoke. “What instructions did you receive from Big Town when you called it in?”

  My eyes shifted to the ground and I mumbled a response.

  “What did you say? I didn’t hear you.”

  “I didn’t call it in to Big Town.”

  “You didn’t call it in to Big Town?”

  “No, Sarge.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and swept his eyes over the expanse of well-maintained lush grass encompassing the station and his own house. “What instructions did you receive from me when you radioed it in?”

  “I didn’t radio it in to you,” I unwillingly admitted, although he obviously already knew that answer, not having received a call from me.

  “What response did you give me when I radioed you?”

  I didn’t reply, so he repeated the question, his voice increasingly strident.

  “Did you turn your radio down?” He waited a minute for me to respond. “Tess, did you turn down your radio when I was trying to contact you?”

  “Yes,” I said, barely audible.

  He growled in frustration. “So who exactly made the decision to conduct a dangerous high-speed car chase through town pursuing an underaged driver and a car full of underaged passengers?”

  My eyes remained firmly on my boots. “I did.”

  “And are you a senior officer empowered to make such decisions?”

  I stayed silent.

  “Are you a senior –”

  I whipped my head upwards. “No! You know I’m not. Stop asking me all these pointless questions.”

  “What were you thinking, Tess? You had Kevin in the car with you. What do you think he’s learnt today about proper procedures? What kind of impression have you given him of small town policing? That it’s the wild west out here? That things are out of control in this town? That we have no authority over the Bycrafts?”

  “Things are out of control in this town! We don’t have any authority over the Bycrafts. And you know that as well as I do,” I retorted, fired up.

  Our eyes clashed. Although I honestly acknowledged he had every right to be angry with me, to him I probably appeared unrepentant and defiant. I knew he had my back at all times, just as I had his, but I couldn’t help worrying that this time I’d pushed his loyalty a little too far. I didn’t want him to start believing I was beyond redemption, because then he might decide to abandon me as a hopeless cause and return to the city. That was unthinkable.

  I tore my eyes away from his and slumped against the timber verandah railing, crossing my arms over my chest. “I had that dream about Nana Fuller again this morning. I’ve been having it a lot since Tommy sent me his letter. The thought of Chad hitting a little kid, maybe even Toni, made me see red, I guess.” I dared a quick glance at him. “I’m sorry, Sarge. I genuinely am.”

  I didn’t make the mistake of compounding my error by promising not to do it again. He wouldn’t credit that for a second. Not when it came to the Bycrafts.

  He sighed and ran a hand through his curling black hair, messing it up and making him look younger. “Tessie . . .”

  “I’m sorry.” We exchanged a long look.

  “Tell me what happened from the beginning,” he requested and so I did, not sparing myself.

  “Tessie,” he sighed again, his anger rapidly dissolving. He found it impossible to stay angry with me, no matter how much I tested his tolerance. I liked that about him. “I don’t think we can make this one disappear. Not with Mrs Villiers involved.”

  I reached up to pat his shoulder, pitying him once again for being landed with such an unruly partner as me in a town like this. He’d never done anything to deserve that. “Never mind, Sarge. I’ll deal with it as it comes.”

  “Aren’t you worried about what the Super will say when she finds out?”

  “Of course I’m worried. She’ll give me an absolute bollocking, no doubt about it. But,” and I shrugged, “no point worrying about that now when there’s plenty of time to worry about it then. And anyway, I have no intentions of telling her.”

  “In that case, I suppose my lips are zipped too,” he promised. I beamed at him, forcing a reluctant smile from him in return. “You are a huge pain in the arse, Fuller. Do you know that?”

  “Yeah, I know that. How about that cup of tea?” I suggested. “I’m parched.”

  As we headed back towards the door, Kevin opened it and poked his head around, his face bright red. His eyes landed on me.

  “There’s . . . At the counter . . .” he tried to articulate.

  “Is someone at the counter, Kevin?” enquired the Sarge patiently.

  Gratefully, Kevin shifted his eyes to him and his tongue loosened its knots in response. “Yes, Sergeant Maguire. Someone’s asking after Senior Constable Fuller. A Mrs Villiers.”

  I met the Sarge’s eyes and he raised his brows quizzically before giving me a gentle shove on the shoulder.

  “Off you go to have a lovely chat with Mrs Villiers.”

  “Oh dear,” I said under my breath as I headed for the door. “And so the retribution begins.”

  Chapter 3

  Before I could even reach the counter, the bell rang again, quickly followed by a rapping of knuckles on the old battered hardwood.

  “Someone’s impatient,” the Sarge commented in a low voice, attending to the tea-making. I unwillingly dawdled out to the counter to confront the Councillor.

  Her blonde hair was held in its usual immaculate style, hairsprayed into an immobile helmet in which I reckon she could safely race motorbikes. She was dressed in a pale green knitted twinset and matching skirt, a double strand of large cultured pearls around her chunky neck, an emerald butterfly-shaped brooch pinned to her enormous bust. She’d wedged her broad feet into sensible dark green court shoes. Her face was fully made up, her scarlet lipstick a bright slash on her thin, compressed lips. Her over-plucked eyebrows nearly met in the middle of her face with sanctimonious censure. She clearly wasn’t happy.

  “Mrs Villiers,” I greeted her politely. “How can I help you today?”

  “Senior Constable Fuller,” she responded frigidly. “Did you or did you not drive through Mount Big Town this morning at a highly dangerous speed causing me to crash my Volvo?”

  I picked carefully through my next words. “I did drive through town in pursuit of a stolen car driven by an unlicensed youth, Councillor.” And that was all I was prepared to confess at this point.

  “At a highly dangerous speed causing me to crash my Volvo?” she repeated loudly.

  I didn’t say anything, my gaze unwavering.

  She exhaled noisily, pushing her lips into a cat’s-bum moue of annoyance. “I thought I’d do the decent thing and first give you the opportunity to explain yourself, apologise to me, and offer to pay for my repairs before I made a fuss. But I can see that’s not going to happen.”

  It certainly wasn’t. I remained silent, blinking at her. The Sarge hovered in the background, keeping a watchful eye on us, while Kevin hovered over his shoulder, all ears.

  “I’m going to ring Superintendent Midden about this,” she threatened.

  “Of course, Mrs Villiers,” I said immediately and moved to open the hatch in the counter for her. “Come through to the back. You can ring from here right now.”

  My willingness to assist threw her for a moment.

  “I am serious, Senior Constable. I’m going to
ring the Superintendent to complain about your irresponsible behaviour and Sergeant Maguire’s complete inability to control you.”

  I resolutely kept my eyes to the front, not wishing to see whether or not the Sarge was nodding in enthusiastic agreement at that observation.

  “Come right through, Mrs Villiers,” I insisted. She moved towards the hatch. “However . . .”

  She stopped. “What?”

  I gave her my most innocent face. “I was just wondering if you wanted to settle the matter of your traffic infringements before or after you ring the Super?” And I reached under the counter to pull out an infringement notice pad.

  Her face grew guarded. “What do you mean?”

  I made a show of opening the pad to a fresh page and searching for a pen. “Failure to come to a complete stop at a stop sign. Talking on a mobile phone while driving. Failure to drive in a safe manner. Failure to give way to an emergency vehicle clearly showing its lights and siren.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” she blustered. “It was your fault I crashed, not mine.”

  I shrugged regretfully and picked out a pen from under the counter. “Pulling out in front of me without looking made me swerve dangerously, risking our lives, your life and that of the driver of an oncoming utility vehicle.”

  She stared at me in fury, her nostrils flaring.

  “Brett Cusack,” I added helpfully.

  Her livid glance flicked from me to the infringement pad to the Sarge and back to me. She knew she’d been outplayed. Council elections were coming up next month and for the first time she had a serious competitor for the well-remunerated and reasonably cushy councillor job she’d held for over twenty years. She couldn’t risk the bad publicity of being booked with multiple traffic offences so close to polling day.

  Her challenger, Teddy Caravani, and his partner, Lee, had purchased a large block of land from Dad and me about three months ago and were currently building their dream retirement home on it. The recreational fishing available at Big Town and Lake Big enticed them here from the city as they were keen anglers.