Simone Kirsch 03 - Cherry Pie

by Leigh Redhead

  I lay back on the mattress and decided that when the interview was over, wherever they stashed me, I was gonna make the most of it. Lie around, watch Dr. Phil and Oprah, read trashy magazines, recuperate. After everything that had happened I felt bruised, mentally more so than physically, and for the first time since Andi had disappeared I didn’t actually give a shit what had happened to her. So she’d killed herself.

  So she was following me around Sydney. So what? I was that exhausted I just didn’t have the strength to care.

  I was almost asleep when I heard Steve’s ute pull up, its shuddering engine and handbrake’s sharp crick audible despite the rain on the roof. Not the most environmentally friendly car, but he needed it to lug around his mudbrick shit. I considered jumping up, meeting them at the door and letting them know I was there, but realised the lights I’d switched on would have alerted them to my presence so I stayed prone for a few more precious seconds. The gate squealed and footsteps thumped as they ran onto the veranda. Mum laughed, the sort of breathless giggle people get when they’re caught in the rain, and Steve said something I couldn’t decipher in his husky, pot-smoker’s rasp. A key rattled the lock, the door creaked on its hinges and I stretched, sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I was just about to stand when the noises went all wrong.

  Chapter Forty

  I froze.

  Scuffling. A muffled scream. A gasp, a whimper, a crack.

  The house shook as something hit the floor and my fingers curled involuntarily, clutching the star sign bedspread.

  I couldn’t breathe. After a couple of seconds the initial spike of panic levelled out and I heard footsteps and dragging coming down the hallway, heading for the lounge. I slowly stood, praying the rain would mask the bedspring squeak, padded to the door, knelt and peered through the keyhole, eyeball straining.

  Mum entered the room first. I could only see her middle, but recognised her slim hips, grey pants and thin red belt.

  Someone in a designer trench-coat followed close behind, and when they walked past into the centre of the living room I saw the person had long fake nails and was pressing a dark grey handgun into Mum’s back. Rochelle.

  Perry came next, backing into the room, dragging Steve by his desert boots. He dropped the feet on the floor and straightened up, pink shirt streaked dark with rain. Rochelle pushed Mum down onto the overstuffed couch and kept the gun pointed at her. Now I could see Mum’s face, pale and pinched, tears glittering behind her black framed glasses. Seeing her cry made my eyes prickle and my breath catch somewhere between my throat and my lungs. Keep your shit together, I told myself, no one’s dead and Alex is calling in reinforcements right at this moment. The Tactical Response Group, probably, big bastards with boots, tear gas and high powered rifles.

  Mum was looking at the floor where Perry had dumped Steve.

  ‘Is he …?’ Her voice shook.

  ‘Nah, just tapped him, but he fuckin’ went down like a bag of shit.’ Perry leaned over him and appeared to be rolling him onto his front. He dug around in his own back pocket and pulled out the nasty little plastic restraints, yanked Steve’s hands up and secured them together.

  ‘Are you going to do his ankles?’ Rochelle asked.

  ‘Fair go. I’ve only got four pair and this guy’s not going to cause any bother.’ He stalked off down the hall and I heard the front door slam.

  What the hell was he up to? And where the fuck was Alex?

  In the meantime, I had to figure out what to do. I couldn’t escape from the spare room because the windows were barred, and if I made a break for the lounge Rochelle would probably shoot me on sight. The only place I could hole up was under the single bed or inside the wardrobe. Lame.

  A toddler playing hide and seek’d spring me in a second. I ran my gaze over the floor, up the wooden walls. There was no escape, I was screwed. In desperation I checked the ceiling and—There was a square hatch with dirty fingermarks around the edge, just like the one in the living room. It led to the attic. If I climbed from the desk to the wardrobe I could get up there. Would they hear me? Maybe not if I was really slow and careful. After all, the rain was drumming pretty hard, thunder rumbling as the storm closed in. Perhaps I could escape the house through the roof, or somehow slip into Mum’s office and use the phone, or make a break for the front door. I had to try. I was just about to clamber onto the desk when I sensed, rather than heard, heavy footsteps trudge onto the veranda. I pressed my eye back to the keyhole. I had to see.

  I wished I hadn’t.

  Perry pushed Alex into the room. Water streamed down both their faces and Alex staggered, dazed. His hands were already fastened behind his back. Mum looked up and let out a clipped yelp. Alex’s knees drooped but he remained upright, until Perry planted a high kick between his shoulderblades and he flew forward, smashing his head on the side of the coffee table. Mum gasped. Alex rolled onto his back on the threadbare oriental rug, groaned and lost consciousness. When I glimpsed his face I had to cover my mouth so I wouldn’t cry out too. His lip was puffed and split, one eye had swollen shut and there was something wrong with his nose. The shape was different and blood flowed from his nostrils and also from his temple where his head had whacked the table.

  I shook with anger and helplessness. Silent tears ran down my cheeks and I pressed my hand so hard against my face my teeth cut into my lip. The SWAT team weren’t coming, all the responsible adults were out of action and I was crouching behind the doorway like a scared little kid. Perry reached into the front of his jeans and pulled out Alex’s service revolver. Jesus. I wished for a weapon, but I didn’t even have any shoes.

  ‘Now search the house,’ Rochelle commanded, gesturing towards Perry with her gun.

  I backed away from the door but he went straight past, up the hall to Mum and Steve’s room. The rain squalled harder, thunder boomed. Someone was on my side. God, Sam Doyle would reckon. Mum would argue Mother Nature but I didn’t give a shit who, just knew it was time to get in the goddamn roof. I climbed onto the desk, lay my chest flat on the top of the wardrobe, stretched my arms across, hooked my fingers around the opposite edge and pulled the rest of my body up.

  The sound of creaking wood seemed deafening. I heard Perry stomp across the hall to the office. It wouldn’t take him long to look around.

  I kneeled, flattened my palms to the ceiling and pushed the grubby square in, laying it to one side. Holding on to the edges for support I stood so my torso was inside the dark, dusty attic.

  The wardrobe wobbled under my feet and I quickly hauled myself all the way in, sitting on a splintery wooden beam with my knees drawn up to my chest. I had just picked up the hatch when the door below burst open and Perry marched across the room, upending the mattress on the single bed. Slowly, gently, I replaced the square of ceiling and prayed he wouldn’t look up.

  Then I remembered the wine glass, and my clothes in the wicker hamper in the bathroom. The mirrors were probably still steamed up, and they might twig to the fact all the lights were on. They’d know I was in the house …

  The building vibrated as Perry tromped through the kitchen, laundry and bathroom. I sat on the beam tasting dust, neck and jaw muscles knotted with fear. Beams of light filtered through cracks in the ceiling and as my eyes adjusted I made out a low, sloping roof insulated with foam batts, a couple of rotting cardboard boxes and wooden beams running across the floor. I couldn’t see any obvious way out but noticed another hatch like the one I’d come in, directly over the lounge room.

  Great. The only exit led to the people with guns.

  The rain eased off. Good, because I could hear what was happening below. Bad, ’cause if I moved they’d hear me.

  ‘She’s not here,’ Perry reported back to Rochelle. Luckily for me his kickboxing skills were a damn sight better than his powers of observation.

  Mum piped up, sounding defiant although her voice wavered. ‘What do you want, Rochelle?’

  I started. I’d never mentioned
Sam’s wife’s name to her.

  Maybe she’d heard it years ago, but the way Mum addressed her sounded strange, almost familiar.

  Rochelle laughed. ‘What I’ve always wanted, Cherry Pie. You out of my goddamn life, once and for all.’

  Chapter Forty-one

  Cherry Pie? What the hell was she talking about?

  ‘Out of your life?’ Mum said. ‘Don’t you mean Sam’s?’

  ‘Sam’s not the one you should have worried about, honey.’

  ‘But he—’

  ‘Didn’t do shit, actually. Sam wanted the spoils but it turned out he didn’t have the stomach for the dirty work needed to achieve them. He promised the world, but in the end it was all left up to me. Don’t send a man to do a woman’s job, wouldn’t you feminists agree? I loved him though, even when he didn’t hold up his end of the deal. Loved him and needed his contacts. It was a boys’ club in those days. Still is, really. No one would deal with a young ex stripper with an inheritance, except to rip me off. We made a good team for years, Sam and me. Although I have to admit I almost left him when he didn’t take care of you.’

  ‘Didn’t take care of me?’ Mum sounded incredulous. ‘He kidnapped—’

  ‘He was supposed to kill you. Instead he just snatched your precious brat and put the fear of god into you so you’d fuck off to parts unknown. Who knew he’d be so sentimental? I had no idea he didn’t go through with it until a week later when you hadn’t been reported missing. Sam insisted you’d never cause any trouble, and I guess he was right, but he didn’t count on your goddamn daughter growing up and sniffing around.’

  My mind was reeling. Rochelle had known my mum and wanted to kill her? Sam kidnapped me to scare Mum into leaving town? But why? The demo? It had to be something more serious than that. As serious as murder? As serious as Melody?

  The rain was picking up and it was getting hard to hear.

  Moving in slow motion I spun around and lay down on my belly so my ear was closer to the living room ceiling. Better, but not ideal. I inched along the scratchy beam until I got to the hatch and put my ear to the plasterboard square. I’d thought I was being silent until I heard Rochelle.

  ‘What’s that?’

  I froze.

  ‘We have a possum problem,’ Mum said. ‘You want to shoot them, go for it. Nothing else has worked.’

  ‘Where’s Simone?’ asked Rochelle.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Mum was lying. She’d seen the lights on, must have known it was me in the roof.

  ‘Don’t fucking bullshit me. We’ve been watching you for hours. Perry followed you to the restaurant, saw you answer your mobile and heard you discuss it with the hippy over there. You left early to meet her. When’s she due to arrive?’

  ‘Soon, she should be here soon.’

  ‘Then we’ll wait.’

  ‘What are you going to do when she gets here?’

  ‘I haven’t quite decided, but the cop’s gun is a stroke of luck. Maybe set up some kind of murder–suicide thing? What do you think, Perry?’

  Perry grunted his assent.

  ‘You’re going to kill us? Why?’

  ‘Because Don likes his people to clean up their own mess, always has. You bring trouble to his door and you don’t last too fucking long yourself, know what I’m saying? For a supposed university professor you’re not very bright, Cherry.’

  ‘Stop calling me that.’

  ‘I’ll call you anything I want, bitch, I’ve got the gun.’

  The rain was heavier now and the only way I’d hear what they were saying was to lift the hatch. I got my fingernails underneath, raised one corner of the square and peeped through. I was directly above Alex, who was out for the count but still breathing, thank god. Perry stood over him, nudging him in the ribs with his running shoe every now and then.

  Steve was still unconscious, face down on the floor by the sideboard, and Mum was sitting on the couch, Rochelle standing over her with the gun. I saw the top of everybody’s head and noticed Perry’s hair was thinning, right on the crown.

  ‘Maybe she’s decided not to come,’ Mum bluffed. ‘Gone back to Melbourne.’

  I winced. If they thought that was true they’d kill everyone before taking off and looking for me. Luckily Rochelle didn’t believe her.

  ‘Oh, I doubt that. After our little chat today she was dying to talk to you. All these deep, dark family secrets she thinks she’s uncovered.’

  ‘You talked to Simone?’

  ‘For ages. The stupid little tart was desperate to know why you were scared of Sam so I thought of a fib and got him to go along with it. He told her it was because of the protest. The best lies are based on the truth, don’t you agree? She bought it. If only she knew the real story. I might tell her when she gets here. What do you say?’

  ‘I say once a lying junkie slut, always a lying junkie slut,’ my mum said, and I clapped my hand over my mouth to stop myself audibly gasping. She never used the S word.

  Rochelle slapped her face, grabbed a handful of Mum’s short hair and wrenched her head back, digging the gun barrel under her chin.

  ‘Now you’re just making me cross. I was going keep you alive in case we needed leverage, but I don’t really think it matters. May as well get it over with now.’

  Jesus. I had to do something. Make a noise, distract them?

  But then what? They’d shoot me through the ceiling and we’d all be dead meat.

  ‘Rochelle,’ Perry scolded, ‘if you’re gonna shoot anyone, use the cop’s gun.’

  He tugged it out of the waistband of his jeans, turned his back on Alex and walked across the rug to hand it to her. Alex’s eyes flicked open. Rochelle and Perry were looking in the opposite direction and the rain was coming down hard. In one swift move Alex rolled onto his side, drew his knees up to his chest, slipped his bound hands around his feet so they were in front of him and jumped up. They heard him and had just started to turn when Alex lunged at Perry’s back, threw his hands over his head, and yanked on his neck. The two of them fell backwards and the gun flew out of Perry’s hand and clattered across the floor, coming to rest by Steve’s prone body.

  Rochelle pointed her gun at Alex but couldn’t take a shot with Perry in the way. A huge thunderclap shook the house and the rain pissed down, booming on the roof, gurgling down overflowing gutters. Alex pulled hard against Perry’s throat, the plastic ties digging into his skin, and Perry made a sound like a cat hoicking up its Whiskas and drummed his heels on the floor.

  Mum, wrists still tied behind her, leapt up from the couch and ran at Rochelle, butting her like a ram. Rochelle wobbled on her high heels and fell to the floor, and Mum threw herself on her, attempting a head butt. When that didn’t work she started biting her neck and face. Rochelle shrieked.

  That was my cue and I was about to race back to the spare room, grab whatever blunt object I could find and leap into the fray when Perry elbowed Alex in the guts, struggled free and started stomping him in the head, going crazy. That sort of shit could do serious damage and by the time I hustled through the attic it might be too late.

  There was only one thing I could do. I lifted the hatch completely off and threw it to the side. Perry’s head was directly underneath me. I squatted over the hole and jumped.

  Chapter Forty-two

  I flew through the air, hit Perry’s neck with my knees and we crumpled into a heap, his head cracking as it bounced off the floor. We were sprawled half on top of Alex, who was out cold again, and I lay still for a second, stunned and winded, sucking in air. Perry didn’t move. Maybe I’d snapped his neck. I hoped so. If I’d broken anything myself I was running on too much adrenaline to feel it. I stretched out towards Steve, reaching for Alex’s gun, and my fingers had just touched the butt when I heard Rochelle screech, posh accent completely obliterated.

  ‘Don’t fucking think about it! I’ll blow her fucking head off!’

  I looked over. She’d gotten free of Mum and was picking herself up off the f
loor, pointing the gun at Mum’s head.

  Mum lay on her side, hands still tied behind her, glasses askew, dark red lippy smudged.

  Rochelle patted her hair-do which had tilted to one side.

  She was breathing heavily, fake boobs swelling beneath her coat. ‘Possums, huh?’

  I ignored her. ‘You okay?’ I looked at Mum.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Shut up.’ Rochelle kicked Mum onto her back and ground one spike heel into her chest.

  ‘Stop hurting her,’ my voice wobbled.

  ‘ “Stop hurting her”,’ Rochelle mimicked, sounding exactly like one of the mean girls at school who flushed heads down toilets and lorded it over the back of the bus. ‘Should have thought of that before you spied on me, you stupid bitch. Your mother was actually sensible, believe it or not. Caused no trouble, kept to herself. I didn’t even know she was back in Sydney until you rang the Doyle Food Group. Kirsch. German for Cherry. Had a different name when I knew her but when you said that it clicked. Cherry Pie, daughter named Simone. Didn’t take me long to find out where she was at and all about you. Of course, I was prepared to leave it until you started sniffing around, hiding under my bed. That was just fucking rude. So whatever happens from now on in is your fault.’ She gesticulated with the gun before pointing it back at Mum.

  A horrible thought occurred to me. Maybe Rochelle was right. Maybe everything was my fault and I was finally being punished for all the deaths I’d caused in the past. Farquar, Van Annen, Vincent Pirelli, other thugs whose names escaped me, and Meg’s sister, Fran. The lyrics from a country song drifted through my head. Something about how nothing was free and everything had to be paid for, in the end.