Inlet Boys

by Chris Krupa

  She put her hands on my chest, pushed me back onto the bed, and lay on top of me.

  I caressed her buttocks and got an erection.

  She rolled her hips into me and moaned. Her sweet, strong scent made me dizzy as she reached down, loosened my belt, and pulled at my pants.

  I lifted my hips and helped. When I undid my fly, my cock sprung out, and she slithered down my body and gripped it with her hand.

  She teased the knob with her tongue and her hot breath made me gasp. She stayed there for a long time—stroking, kissing, and taking me in almost all the way.

  I wavered between ecstasy and realising how stupid I must have looked with my pants around my ankles. I brushed her hair from her face, and when she looked up with my cock in her mouth, I almost exploded.

  She smiled, climbed on me, and kissed me hard again. She scissored me with her legs and ran her tongue over my chin and into my mouth.

  I pulled her head back and kissed her neck.

  She moaned, lifted her hips in the air, and rolled her knickers off. She straddled me and her wetness rubbed against the length of my cock. Our breathing became heavy, and then she quickly jumped off and retrieved a condom from her bag.

  I smiled as she ripped open the packet and rolled it on. I helped, then she straddled me again, and I was inside her.

  She rubbed her pubic bone hard against mine and her hair hung in my face and tickled my cheeks. I watched her heavy breasts as they swung in rhythm, and then looked at her face when she tried to hold back an orgasm.

  That did it for me. I came hard, and she bucked against me.

  ‘I felt you come,’ she moaned, her mouth against my shoulder.

  I stopped thrusting, and she stayed motionless for what seemed like minutes with me deep inside her.

  She trembled and fell onto me and screamed into my neck. After a moment, she slowly slid off me, our skin tacky with sweat.

  I rolled the condom off as she went into the bathroom.

  I heard the toilet flush, and felt myself slipping into unconsciousness. I’d been up for a long time, and the hours were catching up to me.

  When she returned, I tried with everything I had to stay awake. I caught a glimpse of her outline in the darkness—straight shoulders, toned upper arms, curvaceous hips. When she lay next to me, I brushed some hair away from her face as she leaned over and kissed me. The wine tinged her breath in a pleasant way.

  The pain in my groin flared up, sharp as a hot iron, and I rolled away.

  Annette flinched. ‘You okay?’

  ‘Just a nagging pain I have to get checked out.’ I had to put my hand between my legs in a vain attempt to stem the pain.

  Annette’s arm wrapped around me and, as she spooned up close against my back, the pain subsided and I started breathing normally again. She nonchalantly slid her hand down and cupped my dick and balls, and the realisation made me hard.

  ‘Better?’ she said.

  I smiled and rolled over to face her. ‘I’m glad we met.’

  She looked down at the sheets. ‘Me too.’

  ‘You okay?’

  She shook her head. ‘Honestly? Not really.’

  ‘I don’t know who that guy was. I’m sorry. Are you sure you’re not hurt?’

  She rubbed my arm. ‘It’s okay. Took me by surprise, that’s all.’

  I rolled on top of her, started kissing her, and she responded. We explored each other’s mouths, and I climbed between her legs, then stopped.

  Annette smiled. ‘I have another condom.’

  I laughed. ‘Give me another hour, at least.’ I rolled back off and looked at the ceiling.

  She placed an arm across my chest and played with my chest hair. ‘I have to say something that’ll kill the romance.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I have to take the boys to school tomorrow, and I hate hotel beds. Sorry, but I have to go. Please don’t hate me.’

  ‘I’m here for the week. Maybe we can catch up again?’

  She kissed me. ‘Sounds good.’

  She climbed out of bed and had a shower. When she came back, she slipped into her dress. ‘Are you going to hunt down our masked attacker, Mister Detective? I hope so.’

  ‘If I find him, I’ll make sure to string him up and give you a call.’

  ‘Please do. I’d like to give him a kick in the balls for pushing me around.’

  ‘I’ve got the police picking me up tomorrow. A Constable Hunter is driving here personally.’

  Annette sat on the edge of the bed and slipped on her shoes. ‘Oh really? I might have to come around and check out this Constable Hunter. Always love a man in uniform.’

  ‘It’s a she, actually.’

  She gave me a smirk over her shoulder. ‘Really? Well then I really will have to keep a close on you.’ She slicked her wet hair back with her hands and kissed me. Her hair smelled like apples.

  ‘I don’t normally drink on school nights but I enjoyed this.’

  She retrieved a phone from her handbag and ordered a cab. ‘See you soon?’

  ‘I’ll walk you out.’

  She went to protest but I raised a hand. ‘I’m not going to let you go out there by yourself with that idiot roaming the streets.’

  I escorted her downstairs and out the front. The cab appeared from nowhere and we hugged. It felt good to hold someone close again.

  Once the cab was gone, I returned to my room, and almost immediately faded off.

  I woke up with a jolt, and the clock by the bedside said 8:40AM. I dressed, carefully pulling a tee shirt over my aching shoulder, rinsed my mouth with toothpaste, and made my way downstairs. I left the reception area just as Constable Hunter pulled up in a squad car.

  I climbed in and said good morning.

  She didn’t respond as she pulled out in a rapid reverse turn.

  We drove a kilometre out of the village in silence, until I decided to break the stalemate. ‘So where are you from, Constable? Country or city?’

  She hesitated for a moment, then gave in to the situation. ‘Coonabarabran, but Dad transferred to Marrickville when I was eight.’

  ‘Your dad’s a cop?’

  She nodded. ‘He’s about three weeks away from retiring.’

  ‘I heard on the grapevine you’ve only been here for a few months?’

  ‘Yes. I was stationed at Redfern for seven years, then my other half got work with Shoalhaven Council, so I put in for a transfer.’

  ‘And how’s the dynamic between you and the good Sergeant Green?’

  She hesitated. ‘As long as you don’t touch his car, you won’t have any problems.’

  I nodded appreciatively.

  ‘His wife, Vicki, is a really lovely lady,’ she continued. ‘I met her last month at a charity fundraiser. She’s a great cook. Her lamingtons are amazing. She’s assistant manager at Henley’s Optometry. If you need glasses, she’ll do you a good deal.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m still twenty-twenty, for now.’

  I took the opportunity to surreptitiously inspect Constable Hunter’s features. She had thin lips. I’d heard something somewhere about not trusting a woman with thin lips. Maybe it was a Bob Dylan song? Five or six wrinkles lined her top lip like vertical bars. They seemed to highlight the sternness of her mouth. She’d constrained her hair into a bun, and some wiry dry strands escaped at the back. She kept her hands at ten to two on the wheel.

  We left town and entered scrubland, rural properties and orchards. After a few minutes, she slowed the car, and a gateway to a development site appeared on the right-hand side. Two sections on either side of the front entrance retained a line of banksias and wattle trees, nestled against dozens of majestic she-oaks. I made a mental note of the strip of houses on the left-hand side as Constable Hunter pulled into the dirt driveway. She negotiated various potholes until we reached an abandoned construction site, and parked the car behind some diggers and an excavator.

  We got out, and she led me to where the foreman ha
d found Rob’s body last Tuesday morning. ‘It’s possible an argument broke out, the murderer picked up what was close to hand, and hit the victim in the head at least three times.’

  ‘It could have been premeditated,’ I said. ‘It looks like, maybe, he was told to meet here with the killer, but maybe the killer just wanted to talk. Maybe things escalated and got out of hand?’

  ‘Or Rob was selling drugs,’ she said. ‘Which seems the most likely.’

  We stood for a while.

  ‘Is there anything further you need?’ she said. ‘Did you want to look around some more?’

  I couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary so consented to being driven back to the hotel.

  We drove in stony silence once again, which made me uncomfortable.

  About half a kilometre before we hit the village, Sergeant Green’s voice came over the CB asking for Constable Hunter to acknowledge.

  She responded, and Sergeant Green went on to say there was a ‘one nineteen’, a white Toyota Hilux found abandoned on the Princes Highway two clicks north from Sussex, registration traced to George Demich, and there were strong indicators George had been met with foul play.

  Constable Hunter swore.

  ‘What the fuck does that mean?’ I said.

  ‘Talk about shit timing.’

  ‘We have to go.’

  ‘You can’t ride in the squad car. I’ll have to let you out.’

  ‘Bull fucking shit. I’m going out there whether you like it or not.’

  Her jaw worked furiously.

  ‘I need to come with you,’ I said. ‘I had a drink with George last night. I could probably help with some intel.’

  ‘It’s against regulations. I can’t have you interfering with a potential crime scene.’

  ‘You really want to argue fucking semantics?’

  She looked at me squarely. ‘You can’t ride with me, but there’s no reason why you can’t follow me out.’

  She pulled into the driveway at the hotel, and I quickly got out, kicked the ute over, and pulled out of the driveway. I caught up to the squad car and didn’t let her out of my sight.

  Chapter 8

  Three patrol cars had parked off the highway. A white Hilux was parked in front, its driver’s side door hung open. Crime scene tape formed a barrier, and Sergeant Green engaged in deep discussion with three other police officers.

  Oh, Jesus Christ, George. Please don’t be fucking dead.

  I pulled up behind Constable Hunter’s squad car and got out.

  Sergeant Green approached me with his hands raised, palms out.

  ‘Mr. Kowalski, I need to warn you. There’s blood spray on the passenger exterior and traces of blood on the surrounding soil. I’ve contacted the crime scene investigators, and they need to come down from Wollongong, so it’ll be a while until we can have the scene properly investigated.’

  Regret welled in my stomach. I swore several times.

  ‘I understand this is a stressful time,’ he continued. ‘But I’ll need you to stand clear of the site so you don’t disturb any potential evidence.’

  ‘Have you notified Carmine Demich?’

  ‘Yes, as soon as the sighting was reported.’

  ‘Is there a chance George is alive?’

  ‘Assuming the blood is his, it’s not likely. I’m sorry...’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  Green hesitated. ‘There are traces of extensive brain matter present on the car. From what I can deduce, it’s consistent with a gunshot wound to the head. The blood’s congealed. I’m no expert, but the incident may have occurred between 11PM and 12AM last night.’

  He crossed to an area a few feet from the car and pointed at the gravel. ‘Those marks indicate he may have been dragged in this direction.’

  He enacted the scene outside of the crime scene tape by holding imaginary arms in front of his body and walking backwards. ‘They end there where his body may have been transferred to a waiting vehicle—maybe an SUV, a van, or something similar.’

  I walked to the front of the Hilux, strained to see the passenger side, and spotted the blood spatter over the passenger window, pillars, and door handle. A sense of overwhelming loss washed over me.

  Mannaggia.

  ‘I was only having a drink with him yesterday,’ I muttered to no one in particular.

  Constable Hunter faced me squarely. ‘Do you need some time, Mr. Kowalski?’

  The way she said it sounded more like a challenge than a compassionate query.

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said with some spite that surprised me. Maybe she’d just put on a front for the Sergeant, but either way, I didn’t need her bullshit.

  Sergeant Green squinted against the sun that broke through a large cumulus. It appeared higher in the sky but the light wasn’t stronger. ‘You said you were drinking with him yesterday?’

  ‘At a little after six, at the RSL. Jesus Christ. I hope he’s okay.’

  Constable Hunter frowned. ‘He is?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You referred to George Demich in the present tense. ‘I hope he is okay.’’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d made the effort to go her way in the morning, but that all seemed for naught. ‘Sue, unless I see a body I believe George is still alive.’

  Sergeant Green interjected. ‘Did you see him leave the other night? Do you know where he went or what he did when he left the RSL?’

  ‘We left around 6:30 PM. He said he had to go back to work to finish reconditioning an engine on a mate’s car.’

  ‘We’re going to have to get a statement from you over the next couple of days. Keep yourself available. Do you mind if I get your mobile number?’

  I gave him my business card and returned Constable Hunter’s icy glare, then stepped around the car to inspect the area for any clues.

  George had pulled the car right off the road. Perhaps there was a car already here, broken down. Perhaps someone had waved him down and lured him into a trap.

  ‘It’s too coincidental,’ I said. ‘Rob last week and George this week, exactly a week apart? Think he’s been targeted?’

  ‘You suspect it’s the same person or persons?’ Sergeant Green said.

  ‘Same MO. Rob could have been lured out to the site. It looks like George may have also been lured into an isolated location. No witnesses. Maybe someone watched them, knew their movements, knew their routines.’

  ‘We’ll canvass and try to attain witnesses who may have seen anything last night,’ Sergeant Green said.

  Constable Hunter crossed her arms. ‘Unfortunately, the likelihood of finding the victim alive within forty-eight hours diminishes with each passing hour.’

  ‘His name is George, and I’m going to find him.’

  ‘I understand this is a distressing time,’ she said in that bureaucratic voice. ‘But you can’t ignore the physical evidence. Trace evidence of gunfire and the potential headshot indicates the victim is deceased, Mr. Kowalski. The abandoned car, the blood spatter, the drag marks.... You can’t stare into the face of scientific evidence and deny it.’

  I said, ‘It’s almost as if you wish he’s dead.’

  She remained silent.

  I continued. ‘Until the results come back conclusive or you find a body, I say he’s alive.’

  What was I going to say to Carmine? To Zio Fausto? Horrible pangs of anxiety hit my stomach. Was George missing because of me? I couldn’t figure out if that was arrogance, or genuine concern talking. A million different scenarios bounced around my head at once.

  Constable Hunter met my eyes and shook her head slowly. She removed a business card from a pouch on her police belt and held it out to me. ‘Here’s the phone numbers for a highly recommended counsellor. There’s no need to feel embarrassed or humiliated about seeking help.’

  ‘Shove your fucking counselling up your fucking arse.’

  I stormed back to my car and pulled away in a spray of gravel. I pushed the ute t
o a hundred and thirty back into Sussex, and the wheels lost traction at a particularly sharp bend....

  Chapter 9

  I pulled back.

  As much as I hated to admit it, Constable Hunter was right: no denying the evidence. I started shaking as waves of anxiety tightened my chest and churned my empty stomach. After pulling off the road and turning the engine off, I got out, pulled back the tonneau, and dug out a flask I kept in a toolbox. A strong pull of the whiskey calmed me, and I took a breath while struggling to get my bearings. I found a shaded area under some eucalypts and sat down on the grassy verge.

  I’d bucked against something I couldn’t control or fix. The strong possibility that George was dead meant I needed the police on my side. It even meant making amends with Constable Sue Hunter, who, despite her manner, seemed like one of the good ones, if my instincts were still on target. It was imperative to sort my priorities and keep a clear head. George’s killer had to be found, as did Rob’s.

  If they—the killers—were one and the same, I needed to rely on tried and tested methods, those that I’d analysed and studied in the past, and would continue questioning those close to both George and Rob. I also hoped to Christ the crime scene boys would find something.

  I resigned myself to exploring other avenues. Sergeant Green had been right; it was a matter for the Crime Squad. While the detectives got on with it, I needed to get back on track and tackle someone else—time to speak with Rob’s fiancée, Amanda Hotchkiss. Maybe she’d give me some information that would link Rob and George with someone. I couldn’t predict success down that road, but there weren’t a lot of alternatives.

  The only lead I had on George was to talk to the mate whose car he was working on, to see if he was alone at the shop, and if anyone had seen anything of interest. I made a note to chase that up with the police before taking another pull on the flask, then returned it to the toolbox, closed up the tonneau, and used my phone to search the address for Nicholson & Law.

  I drove back out along the Princes Highway into Nowra, and negotiated mid-morning traffic until I found Kinghorne Street. A good number of consumers pounded the pavement here, more diverse than the citizens of Sussex Inlet—young couples, mixed race, and middle-aged office workers. Parking was scarce, but I pulled off the road and found a shady spot in a council car park, then walked back to the street and urban centre of banks, pharmacies, and cafes.