Muzzled

by June Whyte

No wonder his voice sounded familiar. It was Big Mick, the bookie. The same Big Mick I’d had dealings with before. The sleazy bookie who was always on the take.

  And the silver flash?

  A gun.

  Which was now pointing at Gina and Liz.

  “Ah. So this is where you’ve been hiding the evidence?” he said, gesturing toward the shed with the gun. “Even drugged the mongrels so they wouldn’t bark and attract attention. Clever.” He sniggered, his lips set in a perpetual snarl. “But not clever enough. I’ve had my eye on you two and knew you’d eventually lead me to the four legged witnesses.” He shook his head in mock sympathy. “Can’t help yourself, can you Gina? Gotta save every bloody animal on the planet. Even talked Garry Smart, that half-witted boyfriend of yours, into letting you hide the dogs instead of shooting them, like I’d told him to.”

  Gina dropped the bonnet of the bus into place with a bang and turned to face the man with the gun, her GAP face in place. “Come on, Mick. There’s no need to shoot the dogs. Let me place them into the Greyhound Adoption Program. What harm can they do? Dogs can’t talk. They can’t tell anyone about your racing scam.”

  He laughed and it wasn’t a fun sound. “And what happens when the dye wears off or someone decides to check the mongrels’ ear brands, hey?”

  “Nothing. The dogs will be with pet owners by then. And what do the general public really know about racing?”

  “You seem to be missing the point here, my lovely Gina. I’ve got too much at stake to pander to you and your hippy friend’s pie-in-the-sky, Save the World philosophies. My only philosophy is—the world starts with me and mine and that’s where it stops.”

  Liz, mouth set in a straight line, took a step toward him. “If you shoot those dogs, you piece of pig’s shit, I’ll be the first to talk.”

  I held my breath. Oh no. Stupid-stupid-stupid. If only I could dash out, tuck my sister under my arm and run away—like I did the time she stood up to a bully with a baseball bat when she was five.

  Yet I was never more proud of her.

  “Is that so?” Mick said and you could have sharpened nails on the tone of his voice. He made a great show of leveling his gun at an invisible X right between Liz’s eyes. I opened my mouth to scream as he tightened his trigger finger but he just said BANG and then let out a laugh that would scare the collar off a shirt. “You’ll keep. Now, enough chitchat, ladies. Time to move. Okay, Gina, ya’d better tie this mouthy one up and toss her in the back of the bus with the dogs—or I’ll put a bullet through her right here and now. And then grab two shovels from the shed and climb in behind the wheel. You’re gonna to drive me to an isolated spot I know, where we can…talk some more.”

  I clutched at my chest in an attempt to ease my heart rate down from a million mile an hour to something I could actually live with—and watched Gina, her shoulders slumped in defeat, carry out Big Mick Harrison’s orders

  * * *

  I’d lost them.

  Crouched over the steering wheel, I strained my eyes to check the vehicles on the bitumen road ahead. I chewed on my bottom lip until I tasted blood.

  Where was the GAP mini-bus?

  By the time I’d waited until the bus trundled out of Gina’s gateway, then raced back to my car to follow—they were nowhere in sight.

  Sweat trickled down into my eyes and I dashed it away with the back of my hand. Sweat—or tears?

  If I didn’t find them…

  No, I couldn’t think like that. Instead, I pressed my foot down harder on the accelerator and squinted at the vehicles ahead. Surely after Liz and Gina finished digging a hole to bury the dogs Mick would let them go? Or would he? An icicle of fear jammed my arteries and sent my heart racing. No way could Big Mick afford to leave any live witnesses. With seven kids all under the age of eight—Big Mick Harrison would do whatever it took to keep himself out of prison.

  One hand on the wheel, I fumbled my mobile phone open, discovered there was only one bar left on my battery, tossed six identical F words out into the Universe, and sent a text message to Tanya.

  Big Mick the killer. Taken Liz and Gina. I’m following.

  I switched off the phone, clutched the wheel more tightly and drove to Port Wakefield road where I turned right. Figured Mick would be heading away from the city—he’d mentioned an isolated spot he knew—so he’d be more likely traveling on the highway to the north.

  And there it was—about a mile ahead of me—with its white body, red printing and colorful paintings of greyhounds adorning the sides and rear—the GAP mini-bus. And it was bowling along, right on the speed limit. Of course Mick wouldn’t want to attract any police presence by speeding. But hey—not me. I’d welcome the police with a great big hug. Aiming to catch up, I jammed my foot on the accelerator and zoomed through traffic, deflecting and ignoring car horns and irate drivers’ middle fingers, until I was only three cars behind.

  Content to stay where I could keep an eye on the bus without drawing attention to myself, I slowed down, snatched my phone from on top of the console and switched it on again.

  Damn. One bar and wavering.

  I sent another frantic text to Tanya: Heading north on Port Wakefield road, and switched the phone off again.

  Half an hour later, the GAP mini-bus turned off the main road onto a dirt track, heading toward the beach. I slowed down and followed, making sure I kept well to the rear. Hopefully Mick would be too busy concentrating on his present plan to look in the rear vision mirror. Even if he did, I doubt he’d recognize my car. Probably think it was some guy heading off for a spot of fishing.

  I turned my phone on again and a text message beeped up straight away. Yay! It was from Ben. Then another identical message came through from DI Adams.

  Where r u now?

  I let out a whoop. The rescue team of DI Adams, Ben and Tanya were on their way. Big Mick Harrison wouldn’t stand a chance against my team.

  First dirt road on left after Port Wakefield.

  I clicked on ‘send’ and the screen on my phone went blank.

  Nooooo!

  Willing the message to get through, I banged the phone against the consul. I sent screaming vibes into the Universe. I cursed. I yelled.

  Not now. Please…please…not now.

  How could my rescue team save Liz and Gina if they didn’t know where to look?

  Of course the answer to that question left me shaking so much I skidded across the road and had to haul hard on the wheel to straighten the car out again.

  The answer was—they couldn’t…

  So now, it was all up to me.

  27

  My car juddered down the dirt road, the ancient shockers complaining at every bounce. In a daze, I gripped the steering wheel harder. If only this was a bad dream. A bad dream where I’d wake up hot and sweaty and tangled in my bed sheets—but knowing I would feel better after two cups of coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs.

  All up to me…

  The words crashed around in my head as I drove, threatening to fuse my brain cells and create an electrical short. I shook myself. Snatched a quick breath.

  You are all that stands between the murderer and your sister—so for goodness sake stop acting like a floppy rag doll and get your act together.

  Okay, I needed a plan. Not just any old plan but a plan huge enough to outwit the man with the gun and rescue his two-legged and four-legged victims.

  I closed my eyes. Hell, I didn’t need a plan—I needed a gold plated miracle. Firstly, Mick was bigger than me by about eight inches and ten stone. And secondly, Mick had a gun. And what did I bundle into my back pack whilst preparing for surveillance? Coffee and potato chips. I sighed and tried to imagine a scene that included death by potato chips. A scene where I threw hot coffee in Mick’s face and while he was recovering, shoved handfuls of potato chips down his throat until he choked to death.

  Resisting the urge to bang my forehead against the steering wheel, I let out another colorful curse, opened my eye
s and quickly brought the car back under control. If I didn’t concentrate on my driving I’d be a mangled wreck on the side of the road and of no use to anyone.

  Plus…while my eyes had been closed, the GAP mini-bus had disappeared. There was no sign of it on the road up ahead.

  Figuring Mick had directed Gina to drive the bus off the road, I slowed down so I could peer into the scrub, searching amongst the prickle bushes and undulating sand hills. The wind whipped loose sand in the air and it pelted the roof and sides of the car as though warning me to go home—I was no match for Big Mick and his deadly gun.

  Five hundred yards further down the road I came to a grinding halt. Was that the white nose of the GAP mini-bus protruding from behind a dense thicket of scrub?

  One eye on the mini-bus, I cautiously eased the car off the road and ploughed through the heavy sand until I came to a well-concealed dip a couple of hundred meters further on. Heart pounding, I switched off the ignition and sat and waited. Two minutes passed. When no bullets whizzed past the windscreen, no big hulking man in a black coat jumped out of the bushes, I decided to open the car door and climb out.

  Now what?

  Eyes and ears on high alert, I edged my way toward the bus. No humans in sight, only the six dogs with their noses plastered against the windows. Okay, the dogs’ eyes still appeared a little foggy but they seemed more on the ball than when they left Gina’s property. And most importantly—they were still alive.

  One hand on the bus door ready to open it, I was distracted by Gina’s voice coming from the other side of the sand hill.

  “Come on, Mick. You’re not a bad man. You don’t really want to do this.”

  I threw myself down on my stomach and quickly wriggled to the top of the hill where I eased my head over the top and took in the scene below. If I was lucky enough to live through this nightmare, the scene below would keep me awake at night for years to come.

  Gina, breathing heavily, was looking pleadingly up at Mick while Liz, hair plastered to her face, leant on her shovel and examined the toes of her boots. They both stood knee high in a newly dug hole. My stomach cramped. How much deeper did the hole have to be? Deep enough to bury six dogs? Or deep enough for six dogs and two humans?

  Big Mick, his face impassive, long black coat making him look like the harbinger of Death stood, legs apart, gun steady, a few feet away. Where was the loving father who played ball, helped feed the triplets, kissed his kids goodnight? I didn’t know this man.

  And I was fast running out of time.

  Mick waved his gun in the air. “You’re wrong there, Gina. I do want to do this. Now shut up and save your breath for digging. Fair dinkum, you’re using that shovel like a bloody tooth pick. Put your back into it or I’ll shoot your mouthy friend and you’ll have to finish digging the hole on your own.”

  “Well,” put in her mouthy friend, aka my brainless sister, “if you don’t like the way we’re digging, why don’t you dig the bloody hole yourself?”

  A reluctant grin spread across Mick’s face. “You’ve got a bit of an attitude there, kiddo, but unfortunately for you, it’s slowing you down. Now, the way I see it, you have two choices—either put your back into it and dig the hole willingly, or I’ll put a bullet in your foot and you’ll be digging up your own blood.”

  “Come on, Liz,” said Gina wiping sweat from her forehead with the sleeve of her sweater. “Don’t antagonize the bastard. You’ll only make this more fun for him.”

  The two bent to their task again and Mick regained his stance of legs apart, gun at the ready.

  My stomach roiled. I knew as soon as the hole was deep enough Mick would shoot the dogs and order Gina and Liz to bury them.

  And then what?

  Okay, one thing at a time—first, I’d rescue the dogs.

  I slid down the sand hill and approached the bus, praying the dogs wouldn’t bark and give me away. All okay. With the drug still in their system they didn’t seem to have the energy to do more than slobber on the window when they saw me coming.

  Stanley was the first to greet me when I opened the door of the mini-bus. Staggering up from the back of the bus like a drunk, he cleaned my face with his tongue and then promptly fell over.

  “Hi sweetie. Good to see you too,” I whispered, helping him to his feet and deciding to transfer the dogs to my car. If I let them loose in the scrub they might wander onto the road and become road-kill. Or cause an accident if a driver swerved to miss them. If I stashed them in my car, at least that would slow Big Mick down.

  As I helped the dogs out of the bus, Attica the goat pushed past and launched himself at me.

  “Hey!” I hissed trying to get out of his way. “Watch it buddy!”

  Disregarding my whispered warning he butted me in the chest, grinned in satisfaction and then took off into the scrub.

  Now that one I wasn’t worried about. Bloody Attica could look after himself.

  Whatever drug Gina fed the six greyhounds to keep them quiet had also affected their coordination. But at last, after much manhandling, I managed to steer each dog across the sand to my car. Squeezing six fully grown greyhounds into a station wagon was a bit like packing sardines in a tin, but once inside, the dogs seemed happy enough to scrunch up and go back to sleep. At least five of them did. Stanley, after licking my face, turned in a tight circle then proceeded to sprawl out comfortably across the entire front seat of my car.

  How could Mick even contemplate shooting these gorgeous animals?

  Dogs settled, I scuttled back to the bus, intent on finding a weapon to defend myself against the enemy. Seemed like Gina wasn’t afraid of hold-ups or muggings as there was no knife—no gun—not even a sharp nail file to be found. All I could rustle up was a rusty tire iron. So with the rough steel pressed hard against the palm of my hand, I set off to climb the sand hill again.

  Flat on my stomach, I peered over the crest of the hill. Oh! Uh! The hole was bigger now. Much, much, bigger. The ticking clock was fast approaching zero hour. I wriggled forward. My plan was to inch down the hill and approach Mick from behind, belt him over the head with the tire iron, tie him up while he was unconscious, and then rescue Liz and Gina.

  Easy.

  A couple of feet down the slope, doubts crept in and my plan started to crumble around the edges. Mick was a lot taller than me. Even if I did manage to get behind him without him noticing, would my arm be long enough to reach high enough and bring the tire iron down hard enough to knock him out?

  Oh God. And what if he spotted the loose sand shimmering down the hill every time I moved?

  Damn. This wasn’t going to work. I stopped, snatched a reassuring breath and went searching for my inner strength, screaming in my head at the Universe to get his/her butt out here and give me a helping hand.

  “You’ll never get away with this, you piece of dog’s shit.” That was my sister, taking a rest from digging, but not from aggravating the man with the gun.

  “Ah, but I will.” The man with the gun twisted his mouth into a semblance of a smile. Reminded me of a fat snake with the gastro virus. “In fact, I reckon that hole is large enough now to start eliminating the evidence.”

  “Nooo!” yelled Gina. “Don’t shoot the dogs, Mick. They won’t talk. I’ll send them to an interstate GAP program. No-one will ever know.”

  “Except you and the mouthy one.”

  His words hung in the air. Implying what?

  Oh God, it was time for action. Now or never. I quickly pushed myself into a crouching position and slithered out from behind the covering bushes ready to continue my descent.

  Didn’t see the rabbit hole.

  Didn’t mean to lose my balance.

  And with a shriek of dismay, went tumbling head over turkey down the hill.

  When I finally lifted my nose from the sand and gazed upward, three pair of wide startled eyes greeted me.

  But it was the black eyes of the killer that made me want to vomit.

  28

&nbs
p; I spat the sand from my mouth, gingerly touched my right eye which felt like it had come in contact with a rock the size of Uluru, and sat up. My head ached. And when I moved my legs, a searing pain shot through my right ankle. Great. Just when I might be called on to run for my life—I’d sprained my freakin’ ankle.

  “Nice of you to drop in, Katrina.” Mick’s voice, colder than steel, conveyed exactly how welcome I was at his little hole-digging ceremony.

  “Where in heavens did you spring from?” Gina bent to help me to my feet but one Rottweiler snarl from the man with the gun had her backing off in a hurry.

  I dragged my eyes away from Mick and Gina and stared at Liz. My little sister. Face smeared with sweat and dirt, the hem of her long colorful skirt torn, hands bleeding from digging, she stared back at me as though I was a gourmet ice cream and she wanted to eat me in one big swallow.

  Finally, she dropped her eyes to her feet and sighed. “Hi, Kat.”

  “Hi, Kat?” I snapped. Suddenly the hurt of Liz’s rejection overflowed, pushing aside the fear of the man with the gun. “That all you can say after six years of avoiding me?”

  “Well, what do you want me to say?”

  “Damn it, Liz. I’m your sister—once your best friend and protector—and yet after Dad died you took off and left me to cope with Ma on my own.”

  “You know what she was like with me, Kat. With Daddy gone—I couldn’t cope. I had to get away.”

  “Okay, so what about now?” I demanded. “Gina lives a few blocks from me and yet you couldn’t pick up the phone—or say—drop around to see me—let me know you weren’t lying dead in a gutter somewhere.”

  She shrugged one shoulder and her face closed down. “I didn’t contact you, Kat, because I knew this was how you’d carry on.”

  I let out a gasp of disbelief. “I carry on as you call it, because—”

  “Enough!” yelled Mick, spittle flying from his mouth. “Jesus, it was trouble enough having the Mouthy One in my ear every five minutes—now I have her freakin’ sister too. Kat McKinley, what the hell are you doing here?”

  “I followed you.”