Blood Sport (Little Town)

by JD Nixon

  “Oh, God,” he groaned. “Not a meth lab?”

  “I hope not, but that’s what sprang into my mind straight away too.”

  He sighed heavily. “We better check it out.”

  “We have to finish our chat first. You were telling me that you were really pissed off about something yesterday . . .”

  “Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Sarge!”

  “Let’s go to the secret bikie retreat,” he insisted, making it clear that he had absolutely no intention of continuing that interesting conversation.

  “I need to eat first.”

  “You always need to eat first,” he complained.

  “I always keep missing meals. I haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday morning. Your disgusting pancakes.”

  He stared at me, for once not biting at my teasing jibe. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No. I just couldn’t cook in my kitchen. Not after . . . everything. And I was so tired yesterday after cleaning up that I couldn’t be bothered eating.”

  “Tessie,” he reproached, his dark blue eyes clouded with guilt. “I knew I should have woken you up last night for dinner.” He stood up. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

  “Thanks, Sarge. I’d feel guilty just eating Tim Tams.” I threw him a half-smile. “You must be rubbing off on me.”

  “And with that tantalising image in my mind, I make my departure,” he tossed over his shoulder, heading out. I stood puzzling over what he meant by that, watching him drive out the gates. The rain continued relentlessly, thundering with a deafening roar on the thin tin roof of the station.

  I went back to work on my report, only stopping long enough to phone the Super. Surprisingly, she was free and answered the phone herself.

  “Midden. Speak,” she barked into the receiver.

  I thanked her for her support and help the previous day, apologising again for all the trouble I’d caused.

  She exhaled heavily, obviously sneaking an illicit ciggie in her office, breaking at least one law as she did. “You’re worth it, Tessie, unlike most of the other useless fuckers who cause me trouble around this place. I really want you to –” A pause while she rustled some papers, then screamed out away from the mouthpiece. “What the fuck? Bum, get in here! What the fuck do you call this report? My cat can write better English than this and she’s half-blind and senile. This report has to go to that royal arsehat, the Police Commissioner himself, and you’ve spelt my fucking name wrong. It’s got two fucking ‘ds’ in it, you dipshit! I swear to God that I’m going to replace you with a lump of coal. Not only will it be brighter than you, it’ll have more fucking personality as well!”

  She hung up on me. I wondered if I’d ever get to know what she wanted me to do. I wondered if I even wanted to know.

  The Sarge returned and I braced myself for a tuna salad sandwich again, but he’d brought back a lovely hot pastie and a coffee for each of us from the bakery, as well as a cup of Frannie’s yummy homemade vegetable soup for me. Just perfect for a rainy Monday morning. I tucked into my food greedily, the flaky pastry of the pastie leaving a huge mess all over my desk, my cargo pants and the surrounding floor.

  He gave me that amused tolerant glance that he seemed to reserve especially for me, having managed to eat his without making any mess at all.

  “You look like you’re enjoying that,” he teased, smiling.

  “I am,” I said, mouth full of food. “It’s delicious. Thank you so much, Sarge. You better add it to my tab. I’ll be paying you off for years for everything you buy me.”

  He frowned and stood suddenly, pushing his chair back hard. He scrunched up his paper bag and coffee cup, pitching them perfectly into the bin. “You don’t owe me anything. I told you that before.”

  “Yeah, but I better stop freeloading off you all the same. I keep remembering Nana Fuller’s warning not to ever be in anyone’s debt and I think I’m getting a little too used to you feeding me.”

  He didn’t respond, instead pointedly turning his attention to his computer screen.

  I finished my soup, cleaning up carefully afterwards, even dragging out the huge old broom that had probably been sweeping crumbs from the wide timber floorboards of the police station since it was built. I turned on my heel and strode off to the counter area to collect Young Kenny’s mug to make him his second tea for the day. To my utter surprise, he was munching on a pastie himself with great enjoyment, covered from head to toe with the flaky pastry. In the time I’d known him, he’d never accepted any food from me other than the three sugared biscuits. He looked up at me and grinned gummily.

  “That’s a great pastie, isn’t it, Young Kenny?” I commented. He nodded enthusiastically, biting again into the pastry. I returned into the back room. “How the hell did you get Young Kenny to eat that?”

  The Sarge winked. “I will never reveal my secrets.”

  I snorted with disrespect, even though I was silently impressed yet again with his thoughtfulness. How many other people would have remembered a silent old homeless man in those circumstances? I sat at my desk and checked my mobile only to realise I’d a missed call. It was Jake and he’d left a terse message telling me that he was going to spend the afternoon properly securing my back door and trying to fix as many of his mother’s windows as possible. My shoulders slumped with guilt when I heard that message. My temper tantrum would cause him a whole world of grief, not to mention a lot of physical labour and expense. Knowing him, he would be paying to replace all those windows at his horrible mother’s place, because nobody else in his family had his carpentry skills or a steady income like he did. Poor Jakey didn’t deserve that – I really was a pain in the butt type of girlfriend.

  I tried to ring him back, but was diverted to his voicemail. He was probably busy hammering away. I left a lovingly apologetic message, hoping that I’d see him sometime soon before he went back to work for his evening shift.

  I made Young Kenny another mug of tea and took it out to him. He had brushed all of his flaky pastry on to the floor and I grimaced when I looked down. The Sarge had managed to find us a once-a-week cleaner who lived on one of the outlying properties with her farmer husband. But she was a fastidious woman who I always felt was judging me harshly, but silently, if the station wasn’t already tidy when she arrived. My housekeeping workload hadn’t reduced much.

  I hauled out the old broom again and with one arm, roughly swept the front room to the delightful sound of Young Kenny slurping his tea. Too lazy to fetch the dustpan, I just kept sweeping the crumbs out the front door and off the side of the verandah.

  The mail van drove into the carpark and Joanna, our mailwoman, dashed to the stairs, almost stumbling in her ridiculously high heels in the gravel. She and her lovely husband ran the newsagency/post office in town.

  Joanna was a huge, bulky woman with a taste for ultra-feminine fashion. And sure, it did look incongruous to see such a hulking, muscular form in a dainty dress and full makeup, but she had a heart of gold. I had a real soft spot for her especially after she’d come to my rescue when I’d been viciously beaten up by some Bycrafts a few months ago. Red Bycraft had been appearing in court on that assault charge when he’d escaped from custody and became a fugitive.

  “Hey, Joanna,” I called.

  “Hi, Tessie. How’s the arm?”

  I shrugged. “It’s okay. No point complaining about it.”

  “Guess not. What’s done is done and at least you’ve managed to bang up Red Bycraft again. Let’s hope they can keep him locked up this time.”

  “Amen to that!”

  “Sick of this rain yet?”

  “I’m starting to quack,” I joked.

  “Tell me about it! Our bedroom’s leaking. Nothing like waking up with cold water dripping on your face.”

  “My kitchen’s almost flooded. Dad’s had to move out.”

  “I heard about your chickens,” she said sympathetically. “I’m really
sorry, Tess. That’s a bastard act if I ever heard of one.”

  I nodded silently, acknowledging her kindness, sad again when she mentioned my girls. I turned away to take the broom inside and Joanna followed me in. She greeted Young Kenny and left our few pieces of mail on the counter, but didn’t stop to chat.

  “Better be off. Seems to take me twice as long to do my rounds in the rain.”

  “See you next time, Joanna. Give my regards to Mark.”

  “Will do. And mine to Trev.”

  I put the broom away and turned to the Sarge. “I’ve had enough of this housekeeping crap,” I said, hitching up my cargo pants. “Let’s go do some cop stuff.”

  “Good idea. Time to visit the bikies.”

  My phone rang. I hoped it was Jake ringing me back, but it was the Super.

  “Ma’am? . . . Yes, ma’am . . . Now? . . . But we were just about to . . . Certainly, ma’am.” I glanced up at the Sarge.

  “What now?” he asked.

  “We have to go to Big Town straight away. Red Bycraft has a committal hearing this afternoon and she wants us in court.”

  “We have to leave right now?”

  “Immediately. Or knowing the Super, even sooner.”

  He wasn’t impressed, but knew that we ultimately had no choice in the matter. We shooed out Young Kenny and locked up, running to the patrol car before heading off back to Big Town, yet again.

  Chapter 13

  Despite our rush, he stopped on the way to Big Town to assist a stranded motorist. The flashy little red sports car was pulled off to the side of the road, its hazard lights blinking. The Sarge pulled up behind it, rummaged for the umbrella and went out to investigate. I declined to join him out in the downpour, enjoying the warmth of the patrol car. Happily ensconced in that warm cocoon, I watched as he tapped on the window of the sports car to have a conversation with the driver.

  But it wasn’t long before he came back to force me out of the comfort of the car into the biting cold of the relentless rain.

  “The driver has a flat tyre. I want you to help me change it.”

  “I suppose,” I said ungraciously. I didn’t see why I should have to become cold and wet while the driver sat in their toasty, dry car. “Why can’t they help you?”

  He merely grinned and raised his eyebrows.

  I groaned. “It’s a woman, isn’t it?” He nodded and I sighed with exasperation. “You men are all the same – swayed by a pretty face or some nice boobs. And anyway, I’m a woman too, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  “I certainly have noticed, but right now you’re a senior constable and your sergeant is telling you to get out of the car.”

  “I don’t like my sergeant sometimes.” He smiled. I tried again. “I’m no use. I only have one good arm.”

  “I’ll do all the work. I just need you to hold the umbrella over me so I’m not soaked to the skin afterwards.”

  I grumbled as I stepped out and let him drape the raincoat he was holding over my shoulders. “Most men can change a tyre by themselves, you know. I could change a tyre by myself, even with only one arm. Even in this rain. With my eyes shut. In the dark. In fact, even my Nana Fuller could change a tyre by herself and she was tiny.”

  He smiled again good-naturedly, not paying any attention to my whining. “It’s good for us to do things together.”

  “We don’t have to do everything together, Sarge.”

  “Yes, we do. It helps us bond as partners.”

  “I’d like to bond you, partner – to a railway track with a train coming,” I said rudely, snatching the gigantic umbrella from him and holding it over our heads as he swiftly and skillfully changed the flat tyre. That bit of community service finished, we went to the driver’s door. She wound down her window again and thanked us in a charming manner with an undeniably stunning smile. I could see why he was won over.

  “All fixed, but make sure you get a new tyre when you return home. Don’t forget,” the Sarge advised her nicely. She waved at us before zooming off, spinning her wheels in the roadside gravel. The Sarge took the umbrella from my hand.

  “So, was it her pretty face or her nice boobs you were swayed by most?” I asked straight-faced, looking up at him as we walked back to the car.

  He laughed. “I think it was more the fact that she reminded me of my Grandma. She has that same fluffy white hair and old-fashioned perfume.”

  I elbowed him accusingly. “You tricked me.”

  “I didn’t say a word, Tessie,” he teased, throwing the umbrella in the boot and hastening for the driver’s door. We both climbed in. “It’s not my fault you’re the jealous type.”

  I glared at him with indignation. “I am not!”

  “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s quite common for senior constables to be very possessive of their sergeants,” he laughed. “Maybe even a little bit in love with them.”

  I blew a raspberry at him. “And it’s even more common for senior constables to think that their sergeants are complete wankers.”

  “Luckily for me that you’re one of the former, hey?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Dream on, Sarge.”

  “Oh, Tessie, if only you knew,” he sighed enigmatically and we drove in companionable silence until we pulled into the carpark at the Big Town police station, parking in one of the ‘police vehicle only’ spots.

  It was still bucketing down.

  “God, I’m fed up with this rain,” the Sarge complained as we ran into the station, throwing our arms uselessly over our heads as makeshift umbrellas. Inside, I wiped the rain from my face, damp and rumpled. We walked towards the counter, minds set on heading inside to the modern, well-equipped staff room to dry off and find some coffee or tea to warm us up.

  Unfortunately the Super had other ideas. Unluckily for us, just at that instant she strode from the lift across the foyer towards us, Bum in tow, licking off the cappuccino froth that formed a white moustache on his upper lip. She glanced at her watch.

  “Took your sweet fucking time getting here, didn’t you? Did you stop for a screw or something? We’re due in court in fifteen minutes.” She marched towards the front door, lighting up a cigarette as she did, despite the number of ‘No Smoking’ signs posted in the foyer. “Bum, bring my car to the entrance. I’m not going out in that fucking deluge. It’s pissing harder than a bunch of men during happy hour at a brewery.”

  The Sarge and I abandoned our hot drink plans and scrambled to our car again. Not long afterwards we pulled into the back carpark of the courthouse, reserved for the court staff. The Sarge eased our patrol car into the space next to where Bum had parked. I shut my eyes briefly when we stopped, trying to psych myself up into stepping out of the safety of the car. The last time I’d been at the courthouse, Red Bycraft had taken me hostage. I’d resigned myself to dying that day on the bitumen in the carpark rather than suffer a horrible and torturous death at his and his relatives’ hands.

  The Sarge grasped my hand and squeezed. “You’ll be okay, Tess. We’ll all be watching out for you this time. Bycraft won’t get anywhere near you.”

  I squeezed his hand in return, appreciating his support. “Thanks, Sarge. That means a lot to me. I’ll admit that I’m a bit jumpy today.”

  We huddled in the foyer outside the courtroom for a quick briefing by Pinky Kowalski, the police prosecutor. She was particularly blinding in a trademark fluorescent pink skirt suit, her grey hair recently trimmed to its usual two-centimetre, almost military length. The Sarge and I would both be required to testify about our dealings with Red that morning when he shot me. Of course, I would also have to testify about his later attack on me at the hospital, but no other witnesses were being called up at this stage of the proceedings. Pinky assured us that there was zero chance that Red would not be committed to trial for those assaults.

  I was summoned into the courtroom first. I made a perfunctory bow to the magistrate before moving through the room to the witness box to be sworn in.

  The pu
blic gallery was jampacked with Bycrafts. A stream of obscene taunts flowed in my direction as I passed by, but I made a point of not turning around to look at them. The magistrate, voice increasingly querulous, threatened to evict them if they couldn’t be quiet, forcing them to settle down.

  After being sworn in and seated on the stand, I waited anxiously for Pinky to gather her information and begin her examination, my eyes wandering around the room. I didn’t plan on it, but I found myself looking at Red. He sat relaxed in a wheelchair, dressed neatly in a suit, his hair now cut as short as Jake’s, his yellow eyes bright with anticipation – he was beautiful, radiant and confident. His eyes were fixed on me. He grinned, pleased, as if I’d turned up to support him, not testify against him.

  I clutched the front of the stand and closed my eyes for a moment, not only to avoid his gaze, but to concentrate on slowing down my breathing and pulse. And for the first time in my life I wondered if the Bycrafts’ relentless campaign of terror was starting to get the best of me. Maybe there was only so much one person could take before they cracked irreversibly? I feared then that I was edging precipitously close to that cracking point.

  The Super shot me a sharp look from her spot in the gallery, as if she could read my inner unrest. Later, she told me that her arrival in the courtroom with Bum had been met with a similar wave of sneering hostility from the Bycrafts. In response, she’d apparently cast some aspersions about the nature of their mothers’ intimate relationships with various farm animals that only made them ramp up the vitriol. That had brought the wrath of the magistrate heavily down on them, leaving the Super smiling with smug satisfaction.

  Her tight smile of encouragement lasted only a second before her attention was again captured by her phone, but surprisingly it did help to steel my resolve. I reminded myself that Red was properly shackled and guarded this time and would be no danger to me. While Pinky continued to rearrange her papers, Red conferred briefly with his lawyer, a public defender with an ill-fitting suit, amateur haircut and a sweaty face, who looked even more nervous than me.