Blood Ties

by JD Nixon

  “She sure is,” he agreed, regarding me wistfully.

  I protested. “I’m not in the slightest bit cute. I’m tough and mean. Haven’t you seen me kicking Bycraft butts?”

  “I’ve seen the Bycrafts kicking your butt plenty since I got here, but not so much the reverse.”

  “Sarge!” I reproached. “I thought you were on my side.”

  He smiled. “I am Tess, and that’s why I’m being so honest with you.” I blew a raspberry at him and turned back to the tea-making.

  Abe laughed, looked at his watch and prepared to make tracks. “I’d better head off. I have a big delivery coming soon. See you later guys.”

  “Bye, Abe, and thanks again for the computer,” said the Sarge. “We appreciate it.” Abe waved off the thanks. He liked to help. He especially liked to help me.

  “Sure you don’t want to stay for a cup of tea?” I tempted, dangling the tea bag between my fingers, smiling.

  He was torn, hesitating for a second. “Better not, Tessie. If I’m not there when the delivery truck arrives, those Bycrafts will be swarming over it like ants. Last time I was on the phone when it turned up and I lost three cartons of beer and a whole box of bourbon in just four minutes. Bloody Bycrafts. They cost me money every time they come near me.”

  “Least they don’t beat you up every time they come near you,” I replied, feeling sorry for myself again as I experienced a painful twinge in my hip.

  “I’d like to see them try,” he said grimly, his massive arm muscles rippling as he clenched his fists. He’d probably enjoy the chance to take on a few Bycrafts. So would I, in a fair fight for once, without being outnumbered or ambushed. He gave us a last wave goodbye and left.

  I handed the Sarge his mug of tea and he carried it back to the borrowed computer that was loading twenty times more quickly than the blue-screener. He took a sip and grimaced, running to the sink to spit out his mouthful.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked, offended by his expression. I’d been making cups of tea since I was twelve-years-old and I’d never had anyone look like that after tasting one I’d made. Except once, I suddenly remembered. “Oh,” I said awkwardly, worrying my bottom lip with my teeth. “I think I gave you the mug Young Kenny used yesterday after his broke.”

  He rinsed and spat. “I could actually taste him! Un-be-liev-able.”

  “That’s what Des said too. Sorry, Sarge. I’ll make you a fresh cuppa.”

  “Are there any safe mugs?”

  “Here, you have mine and I’ll make myself a new one. I haven’t touched it. You won’t get any germs from me.”

  “Your germs I could live with. His germs are another matter altogether,” he said vehemently, and took my mug with a doleful look.

  “Sorry,” I repeated abjectly. I felt awful. I tried to make it up to him by offering the last Tim Tam in the packet, a huge concession from me because they were my favourite treat and Stacey had eaten more than her fair share yesterday. He considered me gravely with those fathomless dark blue eyes as I held the packet out to him. And when I thought he was about to refuse, he reached out, snatched it from the packet and demolished it in two bites.

  “Sarge!” I protested, shocked. “The Tim Tam should be savoured, never gobbled.”

  He grinned wickedly as he crunched the biscuit between his teeth and turned back to the computer, tapping in his username and password.

  “I don’t even like Tim Tams,” he confessed, his mouth full.

  He broke my heart when he said that, because I didn’t have enough money to buy myself any more for a while. And yes, I did buy all the kitchen supplies for the station each week – tea, coffee, milk, sugar and biscuits. And I also had to make sure I had Young Kenny’s favourite biscuits on hand as well.

  I stood there and stared at him sadly. He looked up but I turned away not wanting to witness any more gloating from him.

  And I don’t know why, but somehow that stupid biscuit suddenly represented everything that was wrong with my life at that moment: Dad, my only family in the whole world, was dying; I was living a stilted and endangered life in a town I couldn’t wait to escape from; the man I loved came from a family of brutes who would cheer as I died; my computer was dead; my chickens had been evicted from their home; my bank balance was perilous; my wheels had been taken away by a man who already owned an expensive car; my hip hurt to hell and back; my period was due AND someone who didn’t like Tim Tams had just eaten my last Tim Tam.

  All at once it seemed too much, so I escaped to the back verandah. I sat on the stairs for a breather, mug of tea close by, chin in my palms, elbows resting on my knees, glumly looking over at the sparkling clean lockup. It made me feel better thinking about Lola Bycraft locked in there overnight, her raucous voice screeching into the lonely darkness for someone to get her “a fucking cigarette, for fuck’s sake”. In fact, that even made me smile. Not that it would ever happen because I’d never lock up Lola Bycraft. That would be a very unwise thing to do.

  “What’s so funny?” asked the Sarge, venturing out to the verandah and coming over to sit next to me, probably wondering why I was slacking off.

  “Nothing,” I said, and took a sip of tea.

  “What’s the matter, Tess?”

  I looked at him. “I needed to have a private pity party for a moment,” I hinted lightly. “Now and then everything just gets a bit too much. You know how it is.” He probably didn’t know how it was at all, I thought to myself, not without a small touch of bitterness.

  Unfortunately, he didn’t take the hint but glanced down frowning and nudged a beetle off the step with his boot. It fell to the ground, struggling on its back. I leaned down to flip it over on to its legs, watching it scuttle frantically to safety. He frowned again. “I shouldn’t have eaten that last Tim Tam, should I?”

  A laugh burst from me unexpectedly and my good humour returned in a rush. “No, you shouldn’t have, Sarge. Some days it’s all I have to look forward to.”

  The phone rang. “Your turn to talk to the nice men wanting a saucy siren,” he said, giving me a gentle nudge with his elbow. “You’re more what they’re after than I am.”

  I sighed and stood up slowly and painfully, dusted off my pants and went back inside, carrying my mug. “Mount Big Town police station,” I answered politely and listened. “You have the wrong number, I’m afraid . . . That’s right, this is a police station.” Then listened to some rather lewd remarks about what a hot police babe could do for a man’s libido. I hung up on him in disgust.

  “In your dreams, loser,” I muttered to myself and jumped on to the abandoned computer, logging in with my ID. I called up my police email account and groaned softly when I saw the hundreds of emails I hadn’t had the equipment or time to access. I isolated one, the report on my injuries from Dr Fenn, and sent it to the printer. It would take ages to print. While the printer thought about whether or not it was in the mood to action my request, I sent a quick email back to the doctor thanking him nicely and answered another wrong number.

  I washed the three mugs, giving the one that Young Kenny had used an extra hard scrub. I put it to one side so I was sure not to use it again for anyone else. The counter bell rang. I went out to answer to find the two Big Town detectives who’d been given my hit-and-run case looking around them disparagingly. They were both old hands that I knew very well.

  “Nice digs you’ve got here, Tess,” said Gil, the older one, a dark-skinned man with short black hair and liquid chocolate eyes. He smirked.

  “Now don’t be nasty,” I admonished as I opened the counter for them. “It’s home sweet home for some of us. What can I do for you gentlemen?”

  He sighed with heavy resignation. “The Inspector’s sent us back here to interview you again about your hit-and-run. And to take down some notes about the location. You know, all the routine stuff that she insists on.” He sounded bored.

  I invited them out the back and went to seat them, but we only had enough chairs for three p
eople. My desk was covered in paper, so I had to perch on the Sarge’s desk. It was hard for him to do any work with my butt in the way – not that he was complaining, I noticed.

  The detectives again went over the events that had transpired the previous day, then interviewed the Sarge again. I handed over the doctor’s report on my injury that had finally finished printing and promised to email them the photos Jake had taken as well. They had a cursory look around the carpark, asking a couple of extra questions and jotting down a few notes.

  “We’ll probably want you at Lebutt’s committal hearing. We’ll let you know when it’s scheduled.”

  “Okay, thanks guys. See you later.” I walked them to their unmarked and watched them drive away.

  Chapter 15

  “Let’s go walk the beat,” the Sarge decided when I returned. “Oh, and Tess, I want you to start wearing your radio from now on.”

  “Sorry, Sarge,” I said, suitably reprimanded yet again, and grabbed it out of the drawer where it had been languishing for two years, slinging it into place over my shoulder. There was no point wearing a radio if there was no one to contact on the other end, I’d reasoned to myself when I’d taken it off for good soon after I started working here. It was pointless radioing the station because, of course, nobody was ever there. I’d tried to radio Big Town in my first few weeks, but the disparaging response I’d received the few times I even received a response, had dissuaded me from continuing. That was when I’d realised that nobody except me cared two hoots about what happened in Little Town, not even Des. But now there was someone there for me on the other end of the radio.

  I thought about that for a moment – it was a good feeling. I had dreaded a new boss, but I was now glad that the Sarge had come to Little Town, no matter if I liked him or not.

  We strolled around the central shopping area of town. It was clustered into two streets, the main thoroughfare, Timber Street, which was the part of the Coastal Range Highway that ran through the centre of town; and Gum Street, which ran crossroads to it. Despite being a sleepy and tiny rural community, because of the proximity of Mount Big and Lake Big, Little Town’s population swelled during long weekends and school holidays. As a result of that we had a reasonable range of shops, nothing fancy, but better than you’d expect in a one-horse town. And by that I meant that we had a pharmacy, the Chinese takeaway, the post office/newsagency, a craft store showcasing local artists, a small exorbitant supermarket, a dodgy ‘antique’ shop, and a bakery/coffee shop that served real, decent coffee and gourmet lunch meals. As well, we had the expected petrol station/milk bar and pub that every small touristy town had.

  The Sarge was a hit out on the beat. He was virtually mobbed by curious shop owners and shoppers, every citizen in Little Town out on a Tuesday morning eager to meet their new police officer. Or maybe it was just sheer surprise that Little Town finally had a senior officer who showed his head outside the pub and was willing to mingle with the townsfolk.

  I stood back and let everyone introduce themselves to him. I was glad that he was finally experiencing the nicer part of town, not a Bycraft in sight, no one wanting to attack us or run us over, just good, honest townsfolk trying to make a living. I had a fair few sympathetic comments about my injuries, dark murmurings over the Bycrafts and the silly women who ran with them, before the inevitable embarrassed back downs and retractions once they remembered that I was one of those silly women.

  Some didn’t even speak to me at all because of my relationship with a Bycraft. I sometimes wondered if I should find myself a new boyfriend, but when I thought about how much I loved Jake, his hot kisses and sensational lovemaking, that thought flew straight out of my mind. I didn’t even wave it goodbye. A sensible girl’s not going to give up on loving that fine too quickly.

  “Senior Constable? Tess?” The Sarge’s sharp voice pierced my consciousness and I turned to him, a goofy smile on my face.

  “Sarge?”

  “You’re blocking the path,” he whispered fiercely. I turned to see Lavinia Knowles, the largest lady I’d ever met in my life, trying to squeeze past me on the footpath. Her flesh spilled over her giant-sized black muu muu printed with silver suns, stars and moons, showing an impolite amount of cleavage, and as usual, she’d applied her face with a makeup cannon. She claimed to be a psychic, running a small ‘conferral centre’ above the coffee shop for the last three years. Everybody I knew had consulted her at some point, even Jake, but I had always resisted. I sure as hell didn’t want to know my future, being rather nervous about it. But the meaningful glances she always affected to throw me whenever she saw me turned me off as well.

  “Teresa Fuller. Such a fascinatingly tragic life,” she purred, running her long black fingernails up and down my arm caressingly. I flinched at her touch. She noticed, smiling with a hint of maliciousness. “Don’t you want to know what your future is? I could tell you so much that you need to know.”

  “No thanks, Lavinia,” I said, forcing a smile on my face, making a great effort to maintain my politeness. “I’m struggling to cope with the present, to be honest.”

  “Some Fuller women would have appreciated the opportunity to receive advanced warning of their futures, don’t you think?”

  It was all I could do not to slog her one at that thoughtless comment. I battled to contain my temper. My mother and my grandmother had been two of those Fuller women. Oblivious to my anger though, she pressed on.

  “And who is this?” she asked, her lascivious eyes landing on the poor Sarge.

  “This is Sergeant Maguire, Des’ replacement,” I explained icily, glad to have her eyes away from me.

  “Dearie me,” she said, eyes widening with interest, smiling. “Mm mm! Thank the Lord for Des’ retirement on behalf of all the single girls in town.” The Sarge shuffled his feet, clearly uncomfortable with her intense attention. “You are free, aren’t you, Sergeant Maguire? Please say yes. I’m not seeing a wedding ring.”

  “No, I’m not free actually,” he shot back with indecent haste. “I’m engaged.”

  That took all of us by surprise.

  “Are you really?” I blurted out in astonishment. He hadn’t mentioned anything about it so far.

  He glanced at me. “Yes, I am.”

  “Will your fiancee be joining you here in Little Town soon?” asked Lavinia, covering up her disappointment at that unwelcome news.

  “I hope so,” he replied, with an expression suggesting that he wasn’t prepared to discuss his personal life one second longer with anyone.

  I shouldn’t have been so surprised – he was a man in his early thirties, a time when a lot of people start thinking of settling down. But I pondered over his odd response as we kept strolling. It sounded as though he didn’t know whether or not his fiancee was going to join him but hoped that she would, and that struck me as strange. If Jake and I had been engaged and he had moved town for work reasons, I’d want to be with him without a doubt. I was dying to ask the Sarge a million questions about his fiancee, but that formidable look on his face warned me not to even try.

  Knowing that I wouldn’t have any joy probing into his personal life, I turned my thoughts to the Greville problem instead as we walked. Could the suitcase full of money have anything to do with Miss G’s peeper? But what about Mrs Villiers’ peeper? Were they connected or did we have two men who liked to peep on older women on our hands in this town? And why hadn’t anyone reported such a big stash of money being lost or stolen? And how did it get into that hut? What did the Sarge mean about getting some money spent around the station? How was he able to say that with such confidence? Why wasn’t his fiancee joining him the second she could? And then I realised that I was thinking about her again. Damn!

  While he was being earbashed by the owner of the craft store, Gwen Singh, I cast my eye over the streetscape. The hair on the back of my neck suddenly stood up and I knew there were Bycrafts in the near vicinity. The young ones. It was a Tuesday morning – they should be at high
school in Big Town. But instead, there they were, strutting down the middle of Gum Street in their skinny jeans, their horrible music blaring from their stolen iPods. Knowing them as I did, they were planning on a shoplifting extravaganza that morning. The sight of the Sarge and me made them pull up sharply, unhappy expressions crowding out the usual cocky, bored looks they sported. They stopped and huddled together, having a quick discussion before continuing on their way towards us. They’d decided they could handle the two of us.

  “Sarge,” I warned, discreetly but firmly butting into Gwen’s monologue, “trouble heading our way.”

  He turned to see the Bycraft posse coming towards us.

  “Don’t react to them, Tess,” he ordered. “No matter what they say or do to you.”

  Easy for him to say, I thought sourly. He wasn’t the target of their constant hatred.

  There were seven of them – Chad, Timmy, Kristy, Jade and Sean (all Jake’s younger cousins) and Larissa and Mikey (Jake’s younger siblings). And I know it was tragic, but I was the world’s expert on Bycrafts. Jake himself could barely remember the names of his numerous cousins or tell them apart, but I could without fail. I virtually had a doctorate in Bycraftology.

  The teenagers all had that unmistakable Bycraft look – honey-brown skin, hair ranging from blonde to dark golden brown, eyes ranging from light yellow to dark yellow-brown. They were tall, beautiful, and arrogant. They believed that they ruled the town and they were right.

  The shop owners withdrew their friendly faces back into their shops to protect their merchandise from the plundering that the Bycraft juniors were planning. Like me, they’d learned from bitter experience about the Bycrafts, and while they respected my dedication, they had acknowledged a long time ago that one cop was no match for the whole immense Bycraft clan. Nobody in Little Town relied on me to stop petty pilfering in their shop. That cut me to the core.

  The posse drew level with us and threw us hostile glances, standing with what I thought was some unsteadiness.