‘Come on, Bob—for Christ’s sake. Take me inside.’ Ailie was almost screaming as she started getting up off the lounge.
‘Yeah righto,’ replied Davo glumly. He was going to have to try nevertheless.
There was enough light in the bedroom for Ailie to see where the bed was; she quickly stripped down to a pair of skimpy blue lace knickers and jumped on top. Davo stripped down to his jocks and got in beside her though his predicament remained the same; even the sight of Ailie with her long legs spread wide open, panting as she ran her tongue around her lips did nothing to improve it. He kissed her breasts again and placed his hand on her crutch which was hot, wet and sticky. He found her clitoris, rigid and swollen and began vibrating it with his middle finger. Ailie squealed and moaned and writhed around the bed in ecstasy as Davo kept rubbing away firmly but gently. Before long she snarled at Davo then closed her eyes and gave a muffled scream as she bit into his shoulder and orgasmed all over his hand. The sounds she was making were enough to turn a normal man into a raving sex maniac—but still Davo was completely limp.
Ailie tore off her knickers and flung them to the side of the room. ‘Come on you bastard. Fuck me,’ she demanded and spread her legs further across the bed.
Davo swallowed hard. ‘Ailie,’ he muttered. ‘I can’t do anything.’
In the darkness he could see the whites of her eyes staring at him. ‘What do you mean you can’t do anything?’ she bristled.
‘This is what I mean.’ Davo took her hand and put it down the front of his jocks.
‘Jesus!’ she gasped in disbelief. ‘What’s the matter with you?’
‘It was that car accident.’
She stared at him for a second then crouched down over him and put her mouth around him: but still nothing. Davo felt awful. He was confused and angry at himself—and starting to get angry at her too. Ailie was just horribly frustrated.
‘Oh Christ, I don’t believe this,’ she cursed, and threw herself back on the bed. ‘Well give me another hand job for God’s sake. Finger me. Do some bloody thing.’
Davo did: if only for peace of mind. But he was that angry he could have thrown her out of the flat: and Colin and Donna too. The night had turned into a disaster. Not only had he blown his cover, now this had to happen. As he lay there stroking and working on Ailie with his hand, for some reason, probably because he was frustrated and angry at himself for being so useless in bed, he suddenly found himself feeling disgusted with her. Jesus I wish you were somewhere else out of here you stupid, soapy moll he thought to himself.
Ailie turned and twisted on the bed obviously not enjoying herself. ‘Ohh shit, this is no good,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Can’t you do something else?’
Davo looked at her contemptuously. ‘Hold on a second,’ he said, and got up from the bed.
‘Where are you going?’
Davo ignored her and started rummaging through one of the drawers in his dressing table till he found what he was looking for beneath a pile of T-shirts. Christ, it’s been months since I’ve used this. I hope the bloody batteries still work he thought. He gave the base a twist and the large vibrator hummed into life in his hands. You beaut. Good old Mister Buzz. And good old alkaline-energisers.
‘What have you got there?’ panted Ailie, still writhing around on the bed like a snake.
‘My mate Mister Buzz. You’ll love him,’ replied Davo.
He lay next to her on his side and placed the pulsating vibrator between her legs. Ailie’s tongue stuck out as she choked in a gasp of surprise and ecstasy then she buried her face against Davo’s neck and began writhing around the bed more feverishly than ever, while Davo lay there watching her impassively.
‘Ohh, put it inside me,’ she groaned.
Davo obliged and Ailie let out a high pitched squeal of pure rapture that quickly turned into a scream of blissful agony as Davo plunged it in deeper; but still Davo could not be aroused.
‘Ohh shit! How good’s this,’ she gargled.
‘This is my other little something,’ said Davo, in a private joke to himself.
‘Ohhhhh! Ohhhhhhhh!’
Davo lay there in the soft darkness watching her going through the throes of sensual abandonment, though to Davo, in the state he was in, it was nothing more than a drag. God I wish I was somewhere bloody else he thought.
As he lay there on his side watching her he began to reflect on how this whole rotten thing had come about. His beating. Wayne’s death. Hospital. His training. The killings. The girl. The two detectives. That young bloke out of the blue tonight. And now this. A terrible sense of foreboding suddenly overcame him and he began to think, or to realise that this couldn’t go on forever. Sooner or later something had to happen. Something bad. He’d either end up in gaol, or more likely a mental institution pumped full of sedatives for the rest of his life. Or even more likely—dead. Either at the hands of the police or he’d get overconfident one night and a gang would beat him to death or knife him. Dead eh. But what sort of life was he leading anyway. Women were obviously of no use to him, so what was he going to do? Go on killing people to get his kicks. God, if only things had been different. And to think, if he hadn’t gone to that Santana concert with Wayne that Thursday night he’d have been taking out that beautiful Sandra Lessing the following Saturday. Sandra Lessing. God how lovely she was. So sweet. So innocent. Jesus, how would it have been?
The more he watched Ailie wriggling on the bed and felt her slobbering all over his neck the more she began to repulse him. He closed his eyes and let a mental picture of Sandra and himself take over his mind. They were having a picnic or a barbecue out in the country somewhere. There was no one around for miles, just birds and trees and a beautiful crystal-clear stream gurgling happily past them. They were sitting on a blanket on the soft grass sipping some chilled wine and stealing a kiss every now and again. Then he’d lower her on to the blanket and they’d make love under the warm sun. Tenderly, wonderfully, naturally. Not like screwing and having to satisfy this half drunken pig of a thing on the bed next to him for the sake of an empty. He kept his eyes jammed shut and thought of beautiful Sandra.
Ironically, at that very point in time Sandra was sitting in the front seat of a Holden panel van parked in Bronte Cutting, where it runs up from the beach through the cliffs, not far up from the shops. Sandra didn’t particularly wish to be there. She’d been out earlier with a young surfie from around the Bronte Clovelly area to see a band at the Golden Sheaf Hotel in Double Bay. The guy was goodlooking enough and he’d been alright at the start until he got a few middies and a number of Bacardi and Cokes into him. He’d promised to drive her straight home but instead they’d finished up here in Bronte Cutting. She’d given him a few kisses to try and keep him happy but now he was all over her, groping at her breasts and trying to get his hand between her legs; while some Midnight Oil tape howled through the speakers in the back. As the young surfie kept groping at her and Sandra kept trying to move her face away from his, quite out of the blue she suddenly found herself thinking about Bob Davis. God—Davo. I wonder how he is now?
Almost a year to get through to the big loveable larrikin, and when I do that had to happen. One lousy stinkin’ Thursday night and now he refuses to see me. God—Davo. The one person, the one man she genuinely cared for: even if he was years older than her. But he was nice with her. A little shy maybe but always funny and kind. And the look on his face that afternoon she’d said she’d go out with him. He’d tried to hide it but he looked like he was about to fall straight through the floor in the chemist’s. Wouldn’t they have had some fun together. Where would they have gone? Anywhere. Imagine a picnic with Davo somewhere. A barbecue. He would have got the best steaks possible from the butcher shop and they’d have driven off into the country somewhere together. Somewhere with no one around. Sandra could picture it now almost as if she was watching a film in her mind. They’d be near a stream or a lagoon. They’d cook the steaks and drink wine and liste
n to the birds singing in the sunshine. Then they’d go swimming in the lagoon and eventually they’d take their swimming costumes off and make love together, bobbing around in the clear warm water. Oh how lovely that would be. And somehow it all seemed so real to her as she sat there—as if somehow for that brief few moments her and Davo’s thoughts had become intertwined through space and time. A little shiver of happiness suddenly ran up Sandra’s spine as if for some reason she felt that in a strange way she and Bob would get together again. Forever.
Sandra snapped out of it, back to reality, and jammed her elbows into the young surfie’s chest to heave him away.
‘Look, are you going to take me home or what?’ she snapped. ‘I’ve had enough of this.’
The young surfie looked at her sourly from behind the steering wheel. ‘You can get out and bloody walk if you like,’ was his rancorous reply.
‘Alright,’ said Sandra defiantly, taking hold of the door handle. ‘I bloody well will. It doesn’t worry me.’
The young surfie glared at her. Annoyance and frustration stamped all over his face. Plus the thought that in the course of the night he’d blown almost fifteen dollars. ‘Alright. You pain in the arse,’ he said bitterly, as he turned the key in the ignition. ‘I’ll bloody well be glad to get rid of you.’
Davo’s hand was now starting to feel like it was ready to fall off. He didn’t know how long he’d been lying there but it seemed like hours and the way Ailie was going on she would have laid there and copped it all night. But Davo had had enough.
‘Come on,’ he almost barked at her, taking the vibrator away and switching it off. ‘That’s enough. I’ll finish up being here all bloody night.’
Ailie’s eyes flew open and she made a startled movement with her hands. ‘Ohh what are you doing?’ she snapped.
‘Come on get dressed. I want to go to sleep.’ Davo got his tracksuit, that was folded up on a chair, and started putting it on.
‘Yeah. I think I will,’ sneered Ailie. She found her panties on the floor and sat on the edge of the bed while she put them on. ‘I might go out and see if I can find myself a real man.’
‘Don’t bother looking for a man. See if you can find a horse. You’ll need it to fill that thing of yours.’
Even in the darkness of the bedroom, Davo could see the filthy look on Ailie’s face as she started climbing in to the rest of her clothes.
‘You miserable prick,’ she said.
Davo ignored her and went out into the kitchen to get a glass of orange and mango juice from the fridge. A minute or two later Ailie came out of the bedroom plonked herself down on the lounge and lit a cigarette. Davo didn’t offer her a drink. They didn’t exchange glances.
It wasn’t long before Colin and Donna came out of the spare bedroom. Donna’s hair looked like a burst sofa, her makeup was smudged all over her face and she had her shoes in her hand. She stood there looking at Ailie while she adjusted her jeans with this foxy satisfied look tugging at her eyes and the sides of her mouth. Colin had certainly done some sort of an outstanding job in there, that was for sure.
Colin’s hair was streaked with sweat and the rest of his head too, and even from the kitchen Davo could see several ugly purple welts around his neck; for all that he had a look on his face like someone who had just won the Opera House Lottery. The look on his face quickly changed when he saw Davo standing moodily in the kitchen and a sour-faced Ailie sitting on the lounge sucking testily on another cigarette. The way Davo was now he didn’t know quite what to say, but he knew something was radically wrong.
‘How’s it going, mate?’ he said quietly.
‘I’ve got a headache, Colin. I want to go to bed. Can you drive these . . . these two home?’
Colin stood there and blinked at him for a second. ‘Yeah sure, mate.’
That was Ailie’s cue. She jumped up off the lounge without bothering to even look at either Colin or Davo. ‘Yeah, come on. Let’s go,’ she said, and headed for the door.
Donna looked curiously at her girlfriend, then at Davo and followed her to the door. Somewhat puzzled, Colin shuffled along behind her. Ailie jerked the door open, stepped outside and started down the stairs; she didn’t say goodnight to Davo, she didn’t even look at him. Donna gave him a brief smile and followed her. Colin hesitated in the doorway while in the background you could hear the girls’ high-heeled shoes thumping down the stairs. He stood there, still not knowing what to say to Davo standing stony-faced in the kitchen.
‘Well—I guess I’d better get these sheilas home,’ he shrugged. How about I ah . . . give you a ring tomorrow?’
‘I won’t be going out on the weekend,’ replied Davo flatly.
‘Yeah, okay, mate.’
‘In fact leave it for me to ring you through the week. Okay?’
‘Yeah sure, mate.’ Colin paused for a moment. ‘Is everything alright, Davo?’
‘Everything’s fine, Colin. I’ll ring you through the week.’
‘Okay, mate.’ Colin moved towards the open door. ‘I’ll see you then.’
‘Goodnight, Colin.’
‘See you, Davo.’
Colin stepped out onto the landing and closed the door behind him. He was extremely puzzled and his face was a mask of disappointment; he stood there for a few moments completely mystified. Even though it had been a good night—a ripper really—it had also been a complete mystery, especially the way it ended on such a strange, sour note. Even though he was disappointed and knew he could again kiss going back to Davo’s for the good times goodbye, it was more, much more than that. Davo had changed completely. He was a different man altogether now. Colin was convinced he’d just lost one of the best friends he’d ever had and he also had this awful feeling that for some reason or other he was never going to see Davo again. Buggered if I know he thought, and shook his head as he ran down the stairs to the girls waiting on the footpath ouside.
Davo glared moodily at the door for some time after Colin left while he slowly finished his glass of fruit juice; his face looked like it was made of granite. ‘You rotten, stinkin’ bastard’ he cursed bitterly, then flung the empty glass into the sink smashing it into a thousand pieces. He slept reasonably well but he was in an absolutely ropeable mood when he got up the following morning.
Hatred filled Davo’s heart as he stood there in the bedroom. Hatred for himself but mainly for Ailie and what she had said to him. He sensed, he could still feel her presence in the room; he noticed the stains on his sheets and with a curse he tore them, plus the pillowslips, from the bed, bundled them up and stuffed them into the washing machine. The loungeroom stank of cigarettes when he walked out there. He saw the ashtrays half full of cigarette butts with lipstick all over the ends, cursed out loud and flung the lot, butts, matches, ashtray into the kitchen-tidy, then sprayed the loungeroom with Glen-20. He imagined he could still feel her presence on his body and with another string of curses got into an almost scalding shower, scrubbed himself and his teeth and gargled with Listerine. Good thing I didn’t stick it up her, he cursed to himself again as he climbed into his tracksuit. She probably would have had the jack anyway.
Davo’s foul mood manifested itself in his training; it was the only way he could seem to get it out of his system. The chest expander sang, he couldn’t seem to skip fast enough and this time he did punch the heavy bag right off the hooks. He did three hours in the morning and another three in the afternoon; which he topped off with twenty muscle-wrenching sprints up and down the steps in the Oval.
After a huge evening meal of pork chops and fried rice he was sitting in the loungeroom feeling a little better but still brooding into a mug of coffee about what Ailie had said to him. Go out and find herself a real man. Real man. I’d like to give the moll real man he thought. If I knew where her and her black slag of a girlfriend lived I’d go round later tonight and smash both their heads in. He gave a contemptuous chuckle into his coffee. Wouldn’t that give the cops something to think about. Colin would kn
ow who it was though and then I’d probably have to kill him too. So what shrugged Davo. He only wants to use me up half the bloody time anyway. So I kill him and the two girls. Then what? Where does it end? Do I go and try to kill everybody? He sucked in a deep breath and clenched his teeth. I wouldn’t bloody mind.
Davo finished his coffee while he studied the TV guide, eventually flinging it back on the coffee table in disgust. Not a bloody thing worth watching. He put the empty mug in the kitchen, looked at it for a moment, then walked across to the sliding glass windows in the loungeroom and stared out into the night and at the lights of the cars streaming up and down busy Bondi Road. It was a perfect night for killing. A slight breeze and plenty of cloud cover. Should he risk it? Jesus there’d be some cops around after him killing those two detectives. But what about if I try somewhere else. What about Glebe or Balmain. Or go right out in the Western suburbs. The cops will only be looking for me around the Cross and Taylor Square. They can’t be everywhere. But the Cross and round Oxford Street and the inner city are where all the skinheads hang out. Or at least the ones I’m looking for anyway. The ones I’m looking for. The one I’m looking for.
Then it dawned on Davo what he was really looking for. Even though by now he definitely enjoyed killing—and after what happened with Ailie last night and what she said that was about all he had left—there was more to it than that. Just one burning desire that he had to quench. He had to find the skinhead with the red hair and the swastikas on his boots. If he could find him and kill him the poison and hatred eating away inside him like a cancer would be flushed from his body. He’d probably get his virility back. But how could he find him? And what would he do when he did? Davo sucked in another deep breath through his nose, held it for a second then let it out again. It wouldn’t be very pretty and it wouldn’t be very quick either. But how was he going to find him? One thing for sure: he wouldn’t find him gazing out his loungeroom window.
Davo's Little Something Page 32
