Blood Sport (Little Town)

by JD Nixon

  “Of course not,” I lied, applying my most innocent face.

  “Tess!” He looked away for a second before returning that dark blue glare back to me. “I don’t know what to do with you sometimes.”

  “Escort me to a party?” I suggested helpfully.

  He said something under his breath that I didn’t catch, but jerked his head towards the Super’s house. I hurriedly joined him and our umbrellas banged together annoyingly as we rushed to the shelter of her verandah. When we entered the Super’s house, dripping umbrellas safely stowed near the front door, the party was already in full swing, the music blaring loudly. Well, who were the neighbours going to complain to about it?

  We tried to slip in unnoticed, the Sarge’s hand on my shoulder blade, but there was a huge cheer for us when we stepped over the threshold. I was embarrassed, suspecting that more than a few beers and wines had already been sunk by the happy greeters. Fiona always threw a great party and there would be alcohol on tap for hours as well as catered food, judging by the formally dressed waiters circulating the rooms with their trays.

  Fellow cops immediately crowded me, wanting to know all the juicy details of my latest encounters with Red Bycraft. He was fast passing into folklore in the district, like a modern day Ned Kelly, and I was the only one who’d had any close contact with him since he went on the run. Everybody had obviously forgotten that he was actually trying to harm me.

  I fobbed them off coldly with as little information as possible, but a couple were very persistent, fuelled by booze and already becoming a tad obstreperous. One of them was Phil, one of the Big Town desk sergeants, a loud-mouth who always laughed hardest at his own jokes.

  “Rumour is you did some horizontal dancing with Red Bycraft,” he leered, eyes firmly fixed on my cleavage.

  “Is he as well-hung as they reckon?” asked another, a glazed-eyed woman I didn’t know. But I did recognise her voice as the uninterested dispatcher who’d ordered us to abort our chase of Red the other morning.

  “Sounds as though you have a thing for Bycrafts,” laughed another female voice. “Those hot bad boys get to you every time, don’t they? I wouldn’t mind a physical tangle with Red Bycraft one day, myself.”

  “I didn’t do anything with him,” I shot out, but the resultant smutty, knowing glances thrown in my direction made me shrink back, feeling small and dirty. The Sarge’s hand clenched my shoulder painfully. I regretted coming to the party already. I was going to ask him to take me home.

  He was about to open his mouth to say something that was not going to win him any friends when a husky voice cut through the jibing. The Super stood before us, hands on her hips, blue eyes burning. Her pretty party dress, beautifully styled hair and glamorous makeup belied her ferocious anger.

  “Are you fucking idiots insane? Of course Tessie didn’t root Red Bycraft! He was trying to kill her, you dipshits! Just because most of you easy-lays have horns for him thinking he’s a hot outlaw – and I’m not just looking at the women when I say that – doesn’t mean that Tessie has. Her arm’s not in that fucking sling for nothing. And do you think she wears that knife for fashion? Fucking hell! I’m sick of having to explain A-fucking-B-fucking-C to you bunch of knob-brains. No wonder they’re cutting our funding. We couldn’t solve any crime in this district even if we had Hercule fucking Poirot on staff.”

  Those pearls of wisdom dispersed the crowd swiftly, and upset, I pushed past everyone to find a secluded, darkened corner. I sat by myself, my good arm resting across my sling defensively, hoping to catch the Sarge’s eye so he would take me home. Unfortunately he’d been cornered by a couple of single female cops who’d had more than a few drinks already and were probably hoping that he’d whip out his baton for them later tonight.

  Wherever I looked, people were enjoying themselves easily – drinking, laughing, dancing, flirting, getting together, breaking up. I felt different, separate from them all. I wanted to be in the middle of them, but again as usual, I was on the periphery watching. I was swamped by that horrible, awkward familiar sense of not fitting in that had plagued me all my life. I knew I wasn’t normal, could never be normal, because of my past and probably because of my future. That didn’t mean that I didn’t wish I could just slip right into the middle of that happy crowd and drink, laugh, dance and flirt too.

  Someone passed close by and I shrunk back into the shadows. My movement made them turn and peer at me more closely.

  “Tessie, there you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” It was a warm, friendly voice that spoke to me.

  “Hello, Mr X,” I said simply from the darkness.

  He sat down next to me, carefully placing his drink on the small table between our chairs and peered at me through the gloom. “You don’t have a drink?”

  “I was ambushed and didn’t get a chance to do anything but hide. I just want the Sarge to take me home.”

  “Everyone’s being revolting? I heard a commotion before. Was that you arriving?”

  “You bet. I want to go home. I shouldn’t have come. I don’t think I’m up to it.”

  “You can’t go home yet. The party’s just started. What do you need? The drinks are flowing like a waterfall and the food is great.”

  “Both would be nice, I guess.”

  He assessed me for a moment. “This is what we’re going to do. You and I are going to have some fun and we’re going to give a huge ‘fuck you very much’ to all of those clueless idiots out there who don’t know what you’ve been through with Red Bycraft. Do you want to do that?”

  I smiled reluctantly. “Yeah, I do.”

  “Give me your hand,” I gave it to him. He hauled me to my feet and pulled me close, looking into my eyes. “You look gorgeous tonight. I love that top. You should wear it more often,” he smiled nicely.

  I looked down at my boobs regretfully. “The Sarge wouldn’t let me change.”

  “Thank God for Finn Maguire!” His eyes searched my face, suddenly serious. “Are you really okay? I kept hearing different reports all day, but I was stuck at work and couldn’t get to the hospital to find out for myself.”

  “I’ll live.”

  “Glad to hear that.”

  He was Xavier Guylen, a detective sergeant in Big Town. Everyone called him X, but I preferred to call him Mr X, and he did too. He was in his early thirties, tall with curling dark brown hair that he kept too long for regulation, the warmest brown eyes I’d ever known, and a sweet smile. He was a lovely man and I liked him a lot. More than a lot, if I was strictly honest with myself. If I was single, I sure wouldn’t turn him down if he asked me on a date.

  With his arm thrown casually around my shoulder, he led me to the temporary bar Fiona and her husband, Ronnie, had set up in their lounge room. He pushed through the crowd and ordered me a glass of white wine and himself a rum and cola. While we waited for them, we snatched a few hors d’oeuvres off the trays of the waiters moving through the crowd. When our drinks arrived, we clinked glasses and took huge sips.

  “To crime.”

  “That’s what keeps our pay coming every fortnight,” I responded and sipped again. The alcohol went straight to my head. I’d never been much of a drinker. “Oh boy.”

  “What?”

  “I shouldn’t be drinking. I met a really cute doctor today and he told me to take it easy tonight.”

  “I’m jealous. Was he cuter than me?”

  “Geez. Don’t make me decide. You’re both cute.” I took another sip. “Have you managed to find a girlfriend yet?”

  He shot me a look. “No, but thanks for reminding me that I’m a lonely loser. I appreciate it.”

  I laughed. “What happened with you and Gretel? You seemed to be getting on fine last time I heard and then suddenly it’s over.” I’d introduced him to my friend Gretel Harcourt, a primary school teacher from Little Town who wasn’t shy about letting everyone know that she was sick of being single. They’d gone on a few dates, but then it fizzled out.

&
nbsp; He shrugged and took a sip of his drink. “I dunno. I liked her well enough and I’m sure she liked me. We had a good time together. And the sex was fun and more than welcome, believe me. But there wasn’t any real spark between us. And she kept talking about Finn the whole time.”

  “Oh. She has a thing for him.”

  “I gathered,” he said dryly.

  “What about her, then?”

  I was looking over at one of the new probationary constables, a pretty young woman fresh from the academy. She had long dyed blonde hair and huge brown eyes, wearing a micro skirt that barely covered her butt and a low-cut top that showed her small boobs to advantage. She was surrounded by men and some of them were even happily married. Bum was front and centre. She looked around at them with hungry eyes, and if she was wanting to get lucky tonight, she had her choice from a male smorgasbord.

  “I’ll get in line,” he grumbled, staring down at his drink.

  “You should be head of the line. You’re the best looking detective in Big Town.”

  “I’m too old for her.”

  “Hush your mouth. Your best years are ahead of you.”

  He looked up at me and smiled. “You’re a shameless flatterer, Teresa.”

  We finished our drinks, then had another, chatting casually and casting our eye over the increasingly intoxicated crowd.

  “I’m starting to feel really good, Mr X,” I said when I’d finished that second drink. Everything had taken on a warm fuzzy glow.

  “Let’s dance.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me over to a cleared space where a few couples were swaying together already.

  He slipped one hand around my waist, taking my good hand in his. He pulled me close and we danced together for a while. I enjoyed leaning against him, inhaling his nice cologne while he made me laugh with his unkind, but funny, comments about our fellow colleagues.

  The Sarge had finally escaped the amorous women and was leaning on the bar, sipping on a plain mineral water, keeping a close eye on Mr X and me. I smiled at him when I caught his eye and he winked back at me. To the disappointment of the majority of the men at the party, the pretty young probie cop sidled over to him and standing closer than was normally considered polite, openly flirted. She giggled loudly at everything he said, placing her hand on his arm and frequently flicking her hair over her shoulders, pushing out her chest as she looked up at him with her big eyes. Her mistake. The Sarge wasn’t a flirty kind of man and he stared down at her in annoyed bemusement.

  She persisted for five long minutes, not even raising a smile from him in response to her increasingly frustrated attempts to engage him. I almost felt sorry for her trying to break through his armour. It had taken me months to get to our present level of camaraderie and while he was relaxed and friendly with me, he was still very reserved with other people. There was a reason we all called him Sergeant Serious behind his back. Unwillingly, she gave up and moved on to another man, looking back over her shoulder with irritation at him. She probably wasn’t used to being ignored, especially dressed the way she was.

  The Sarge and I exchanged a wry glance that made me laugh out loud.

  “What’s so funny?” demanded Xavier.

  “That blonde girl just tried to crack on to the Sarge with no luck.”

  “That’s not fair! She would have got lucky if she tried to crack on to me. I’m always in the wrong spot at the wrong time,” he complained.

  “She doesn’t look too happy talking to Bum, so you should get yourself up to the bar, pronto. I reckon she’s ready to move on to another man.”

  With undignified haste, he dropped my hand and took off, leaving me trailing behind and smiling to myself. I went over to lean on the bar next to the Sarge.

  “Having fun?” he asked, looking down at me.

  “Not until Mr X came to my rescue. How about you? You’re very popular with the ladies tonight.”

  “It’s my animal magnetism.”

  “So that’s what that horrible smell is, huh?”

  He smiled and chucked me under the chin. “How are you holding up, Tessie?”

  “Another drink will help,” I smiled back.

  “How many have you had?”

  “Two.”

  “That’s enough.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s not nearly enough. It’s a party, you know.”

  “Do you want me to check with the Super?”

  I sighed impatiently. “You don’t have to bring her into everything.”

  “It’s not your balls on the chopping block.”

  I giggled. “I thought she was going to hang you by them, not cut them off.”

  “Whatever she does, it’s going to be painful for me. Have you had much to eat?”

  “No.”

  He managed to catch the attention of a waiter immediately in that imperious way he had and before long I had a plate of finger food in front of me that I wolfed down. The food was delicious and I grabbed even more off another waiter when she walked past.

  Instead of getting me another drink, the Sarge dragged me off to dance with him. Over his shoulder, I saw Mr X deep in conversation with the blonde girl, who was giggling her head off, her hand resting on his arm. He glanced up at me and winked. I mouthed “good luck” to him and he gave me the thumbs-up.

  “Getting a bit fucking cosy there, aren’t you, Maguire?” accused that familiar growly voice off to our left. “I want to see some daylight between you two, if you don’t mind.”

  “Fiona,” I complained. I was perfectly comfy where I was leaning against the Sarge. And he hadn’t objected either. “You sound just like Nana Fuller when I was sixteen and she used to chaperone at the school dances I went to with Abe. She had a strict rule about how far apart we had to be from each other when we danced.”

  “Your Nana Fuller was the most sensible woman I ever met, Tessie. She wasn’t swayed by tall, well-dressed men from the city.” She glared at the Sarge. “And neither am I.”

  He sighed dramatically and pushed me away a few inches. “Is that to your satisfaction, ma’am, or would you prefer us to dance together via web cam from different rooms?”

  She eyed him off silently for a good minute. “You’ve got a fucking mouth on you, Maguire, and attitude to boot. I’m keeping my eye on you.”

  “I don’t doubt it for a second, ma’am,” he replied politely. I hid my smile. He had the most wonderful way of being terribly insubordinate, but with such manners that nobody could directly point to any particular comment as being deliberately disrespectful. It was something I admired a lot about him – in a very hierarchical profession, he didn’t seem to care about brown-nosing to his superiors at all. It was as if he thought of his career as being bulletproof. He had quiet confidence in himself.

  Shooting him one last threatening look, Fiona turned her attention to me. “Tessie, you can have one more drink then you’re off home. Understood?”

  “Yes, mum, I mean ma’am,” I said cheekily.

  She narrowed her eyes at me, but the corners of her mouth twitched in a suppressed smile. She had a load of tolerance for me that she wouldn’t dream of granting anyone else. She was childless and I was motherless, and we both pretended to the world that it didn’t matter to us. Initially forged from the pain of violent deaths, it was a relationship that had grown stronger each year, especially after Nana Fuller was killed. When I’d returned to Little Town to take up the job of junior cop, Fiona had immediately taken me under her wing where I’d nestled contentedly ever since.

  “One more drink, Tessie,” she warned, then did a one-eighty and plastered on her hostess voice. “Have you tried the smoked salmon blini with caviar yet? Absolute perfection. That blond-haired waiter over there has a tray full. Make sure you grab a few.”

  She left us to accost some other nervous partygoers and the Sarge turned to me, his eyebrows lifted in surprise. “She managed to say about five sentences then without any swearing. I’m impressed.”

  I smiled up at him. “Get me
another drink, Sarge. The Super insists I have one more.”

  “I don’t think she meant it quite like that.”

  “That’s what I heard,” I insisted, looking up at him.

  “No, you’ve had enough,” he decided. I kept my eyes on his. “Tess, don’t look at me like that.” My eyes remained fixed on his. He sighed. “Oh, all right! One more.”

  I smiled and reached up to pat his cheek. “Thanks, Maguire. You’re a real champ.”

  “Then why do I feel like such a chump?” he grumbled good-naturedly. I followed him back to the bar, where he ordered us both a drink, me a wine and him another mineral water. We chatted while we sipped and ate whatever came near us. The Super was right – the blinis were exceptional.

  I scanned the room, noticing instantly some movement from the same dark corner I’d been hiding in earlier. Straining my eyes, I recognised Mr X and the blonde girl. They were making out and it looked hot and heavy, tongues at very close quarters, her sitting on his lap, both their hands inappropriate.

  “Aw, how sweet. Mr X has made a new friend.”

  The Sarge looked over and grimaced. “God, I hate that kind of public display. Especially at a work party. X isn’t being too smart tonight, particularly with a probie.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s not his brain doing the thinking,” I commented dryly.

  We exchanged a glance. “Come on, drink up. Let’s get out of here before everything goes downhill.”

  “We have to wait for the Super’s speech first,” I reminded him. “It’s only polite.”

  Luckily, that much anticipated event started quickly afterwards. The Super stood in front of us and in the respectful hush, treated us all to a prolonged and profound blast of profanity, describing her difficult journey as a woman up the ladder in the police force. It was a speech so blisteringly crude that I was surprised the paint didn’t peel from her walls and her indoor plants didn’t wither and die instantly. The crowd was silenced – you could have heard a discreet fart from a flea. The Sarge and I stared at each other in shock, our ears scorched. Mr X and the blonde girl stopped groping each other, eyes wide with horrified astonishment, mouths agape. One of the younger waiters fainted. The journalist from the Wattling Bay Messenger sent to cover the social event of the winter blushed beetroot red, traumatised. His pen hovered over his notebook as he worried about how on earth he was going to report on a speech that was unprintable for any kind of polite company, but was supposed to head the social pages in tomorrow’s paper.