by JD Nixon
“Shit! I’m so sorry,” I said, disconcerted and blushing. “Why didn’t you wake me up? God, how embarrassing! There’s nothing worse than someone draping themselves all over you when they’re asleep. I’m so sorry, Sarge. God!”
“Believe it or not, there are worse things in life than you snuggling up to me on the lounge, Tessie,” he smiled, standing up leisurely, his hands out ready to haul me to my feet.
“I wasn’t snuggling up to you,” I said crossly, pushing myself up without his help. “I just fell asleep and accidently leaned on you.”
“Nope,” he dismissed teasingly, shaking his head, amused. “There were definite and active elements of snuggling going on.”
“That’s an absolute lie. I don’t snuggle with men who aren’t my boyfriend. Not ever. Full stop. End of argument. I don’t want to hear another word about it.”
“You’re just lucky that Denny Bycraft wasn’t watching you tonight. Jake would be going ballistic over that snuggle.”
He was right about that, but noticing that I was about to become genuinely upset over the situation, he dropped his teasing. Instead he pushed me towards the bathroom where I sleepily brushed my teeth and stumbled into the bed in his guest room, where I fell asleep before my head even hit the pillow. And that was Monday over and done with.
Or so I thought.
Chapter 16
A few hours later I woke and sat up in bed, a crazy idea swirling around in my head. I told myself to forget about it, but I couldn’t. It just wouldn’t go away.
Sighing heavily, because it was very snug and warm in bed and it was raining and cold outside, I threw my legs over the side and slipped my feet into my slippers. I padded down the hall to the Sarge’s bedroom, hesitating in the doorway, listening to his steady slow breathing as he slept. I hoped he wouldn’t jump to the wrong conclusion about the reason for my night time visit, especially after the whole embarrassing snuggling incident earlier.
“Sarge?” I asked quietly.
No response.
“Sarge? Are you awake?” I asked louder.
He roused in bed, before rolling over and spotting me in his doorway. I came closer to him. He sat up quickly and threw his legs over the side.
“What’s the matter, Tessie?” he asked urgently, on full alert. “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay, Sarge. Everything’s okay,” I assured, chiding myself at my stupidity in worrying that he would think I was coming on to him. Of course his first thought would be that something was wrong with me, because it usually was when I contacted him in the middle of the night.
He flopped back down on his pillow and exhaled noisily. “God, you frightened the shit out of me!”
“Sorry.”
He rubbed his face with his hands and yawned loudly. “What’s up? Did you have another bad dream?”
“No, I’ve been sleeping well for once. Until I woke up, that is.” I paused, then it all came out in a rush. “I’ve had this stupid idea that I think is really stupid and I need to tell you so you can tell me that it is stupid and only a stupid person would act on it and I should just go back to sleep instead of being so stupid.”
He laughed softly. “That’s a lot of stupids.”
I sat on the bed next to him. “I’ve been thinking about the bikies’ burnt film and wondering what was on it. And then I started thinking that maybe it didn’t all burn and that maybe there might be some pieces of it left in the oil drum that would give us a clue about what they’re up to.” He didn’t speak. I was immediately disheartened. “Stupid, hey?”
“No, it’s not stupid. Wishful thinking that some film had survived the fire maybe, but not stupid. But how were you intending on searching for the film? There’s no way any judge would sign a warrant on the basis of our non-existent evidence. And we can’t just barge in and demand to search through their ashes without reasonable suspicion that a crime has been committed.”
“That’s where it gets even more stupid. I thought I could go there now and under the cover of the rain and the darkness, sneak around to the back of their house and take the ashes. I could bring them back here where we could look at them in our own time.”
There was a long, uncomfortable silence.
“Tess,” he said finally, choosing his words carefully. “Um, were you asleep when you had this great idea?”
“You do think it’s stupid, don’t you?” I stood up, disappointed with his reaction. “Well, I’m going to do it anyway, no matter what you think.”
“Don’t be like that.”
I was feeling stubborn. “Sarge, one thing I’ve learned from all my dealings with the Bycrafts is to trust my instincts. It’s what saved me from being run over by Red the other morning. And my instincts are screaming at me right now to go and get that film. It’s important. Otherwise it wouldn’t have woken me up.”
He sighed and ran his hands through his bed hair, making it stick out even more. “Is anything I say going to change your mind?”
“Nope.”
“It’s insanity. If we get caught, it’s going to be very difficult to explain what we’re doing. The Super will fire us.”
“She won’t fire us,” I wheedled. “She’ll just demote us. You’ll get a desk job dealing with red-light camera paperwork for the rest of your life while she’ll partner me up with Bum, or something equally satanic. We’ll still have a job, I’m pretty sure.”
“Oh, I’m positive I’ll always have a job,” he said in yet another enigmatic example of his self-confidence about his future in the police force. Where did that confidence come from? “But right now, I need to decide whether I let you do something incredibly foolish by yourself or whether I join you for the ride.” He searched my face in the darkness. “It’s times like this that I really miss my last partner. He wouldn’t breathe unless he had it as an order in writing from our inspector. Frustrating sometimes, but I never had problems like this to worry about with him.”
I stood up. “You don’t have to come with me. I just wanted to let you know what I was doing. In case you woke up and I was gone and you went crazy with worry.”
“Which I would if you went missing.”
“Which you would,” I agreed.
“You need to rest.”
“We need to rescue Kylie and find out what happened to Lucy.”
“Who’s Lucy?”
“The other girl I saw there. I remembered her name.”
He sighed heavily and stood up too, looking at me seriously. “God! I don’t know why I let you talk me into these things.”
I glanced up at him hopefully. “Does that mean that you’re coming with me?”
He sighed heavily again and flicked on the bedside lamp, before rummaging in his cupboard. “We’ll want dark clothes, black preferably. Tie your hair up. Do you have a black beanie?”
“No.” I was beyond happy that he was going to be there with me.
He threw me a beanie. “Use this. Hopefully all the bikies have partied hard tonight and are fast asleep.”
“Hopefully.”
“Go change.”
I didn’t argue, but went back to my room and delved into my backpack, dragging out black track pants, a black skivvy, a dark blue zip-up hoodie and a navy waterproof jacket. I pulled my hair up and covered it with the Sarge’s black beanie, and then the hood of my jacket. I put my runners on for flexibility – they were waterproof but lightweight. As a last touch I slipped on my utility belt and my knife.
He came out wearing virtually the same as me. “They don’t have any guard dogs, do they?” he asked, slinging his utility belt around his hips and doing it up.
“I’ve never seen any and there wasn’t any barking when we visited earlier.”
He stood in front of me and considered me critically, adjusting my beanie, zipping my jacket up higher and tightening my utility belt. He ordered me to put on some dark gloves as well, so my hands wouldn’t become too cold.
“Do you want to check that I’ve laced
my shoes properly too?” I asked cheekily, hand on my bedroom doorway, looking back at him.
“Just do what you’re told, woman,” he growled, busy tightening his own utility belt. When I returned, he looked at me unhappily. “I thought we were going to have a normal night.”
“Look who you’re talking to. This is a normal night for me.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, right. What was I thinking?”
He detoured to the kitchen to grab a couple more of those garbage bags with which we’d lined the broken windows of the Land Rover earlier. “We need something to put the ashes in. We’ll take my car – it’s dark-coloured.”
“And I don’t have a car at the moment, anyway,” I reminded him.
“True.”
It was 12:40 AM as we drove in silence to Beach Road. The roads were deserted, every house we passed in complete darkness. There was something about the constant rain that sapped people’s enthusiasm for living and sent them huddling into their beds at an early hour. Perhaps there might be a mini baby boom in Little Town in nine months time? Given the choice, I’d much rather be cuddling up in a warm bed with Jake than running around in the rain, raking through dirty ashes.
The Sarge parked a good five hundred metres from the bikie retreat, behind a small copse of paperbarks, the trees hiding his little sports car from the road. It was raining hard as we stepped out of his car and the first sharp splatter of icy raindrops hitting my face almost made me change my mind and insist that we head back to our own warm beds.
We walked carefully on the side of the road. There were no street lights or footpaths and it was pitch black, so the road itself was the safest surface for us to walk on. The rain stung our eyes and I was drenched and freezing after the first hundred metres. I was beginning to regret my impetuousness. I bet he was too.
About halfway to the retreat, some headlights swung towards us in the distance. The Sarge pushed me hurriedly towards the edge of the road, where we ducked behind some low-growing bushes. I knelt in a muddy puddle as we hid, the cold water seeping through the cloth of my track pants. My teeth started chattering.
The car swept past us, the loud sounds of a Keith Urban song splitting the silence, the driver oblivious to two crouching figures only metres away.
“It’s okay,” I pushed my freezing lips close to the Sarge’s ear and whispered. “It’s only Rod Barwick heading off to work in Big Town. He works the early morning shift in the abattoir there. He won’t have noticed anything, not while he’s listening to Keith. I followed him once for ten kays, lights and sirens blaring because he’d forgotten to put on his seatbelt and he honestly didn’t even hear me because he was singing along to Keith.”
When the car had disappeared into the distance, we recommenced our trek along the road until we were approaching the bikie retreat.
The Sarge’s hot breath in my ear was a welcome touch of warmth. “Shit! Their lights are still on.” We could hear the soft, but distinct, bass thump of music coming from the house. They were being careful not to annoy the neighbours again.
I whispered back. “That could be good. Between the music and the rain, they won’t hear a thing. Something interesting though. That’s Rosie Bycraft’s car parked there on the verge. That old yellow clunker. What do you think she’s doing here?”
“Partying with the bikies?”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Do you know this property at all?”
“A bit. We played here as kids when it was vacant for a few years. The right side is probably the best one to move down. The left side has the washing line and the garbage bins, and if I remember correctly, security lighting as well.”
“Okay. I’ll go first. Make sure we stay together, no matter what.”
Stealthily, we made our way through the open gate in the tall wooden fence. We kept to the fence line as much as possible as we traversed the front yard, avoiding the light streaming from the front windows of the building. The house lights threw rectangles of brightness on the overgrown grass, highlighting the glistening rain. We made sure we stayed in the darkness up against the fence.
When we reached the right side of the house, the Sarge stopped and we stood motionless, flattened up against the side fence, taking stock of our situation.
“I don’t hear any dogs,” he whispered into my ear.
“No,” I agreed. “The people inside don’t seem too interested in what’s happening outside either.”
“No, luckily.”
An empty beer can tossed at the window nearest us made us both jump then freeze, rigid with fear. A loud burst of noisy laughter followed from inside the house and we relaxed. High-jinks, that’s all. It sounded as though everyone was getting smashed. The music cranked up. I hoped no neighbours tried to ring the police about it, because there wouldn’t be a response. We took the opportunity offered by the cover of the music to make our way down the side of the house, the overgrown dripping vegetation slapping against our faces and arms as we did.
I tripped over an exposed root and fell on my knees, automatically throwing my hands out to stop my face from hitting the cracked concrete path. I’d taken my sling off back at the police house in case I needed to use my left arm, and the pain from the impact had me biting my bottom lip so hard I could taste my own blood.
“Tessie!” the Sarge called softly, turning and fumbling around in the dark for me.
Waves of pain swept down my arm and I clenched my eyes shut, gritted my teeth and counted to ten to stop myself from screaming out.
“I’m okay,” I lied, stumbling to my feet with the Sarge’s frantic help. I think I might have ripped the stitches on my stab wound open. I dreaded facing a doctor for a third time over it – they could be so sarcastic sometimes. I leaned against the Sarge for a moment until the world stopped spinning around me and the pain cleared enough for me to carry on.
“You’re a terrible liar!” the Sarge hissed in my ear. “I’m going to be very pissed off if I have to rush you to the hospital again because of this little caper.”
“I said I’m okay,” I snapped back at him. I’d drive myself to hospital if he was going to have that attitude.
A window flung open near us. We froze in place, clutching each other’s arms, eyes huge.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” we heard a voice shout from inside the house.
This was it, we both thought. We’d been spotted. We both reached for our guns.
“I thought I heard something,” replied another voice much closer to us and a head poked outside the window, looking up and down the side of the house, peering through the heavy rain in vain.
“You didn’t hear shit, so shut the fucking window, you dickhead!” called the first voice again. “You’re letting all the warmth out. My dick’s shrivelling up already.”
The man at the window shouted with laughter. “Don’t pretend it’s the cold air making your cock so small, Tipper. We all know you’ve only got a cocktail sausage to offer the ladies.”
“Mate,” Tipper retaliated, “you know I’ve got a full-sized meat and two vege here, not like your puny fun-sized bar.”
“That’s not what your old lady’s saying when I’m plugging her hard,” retorted Window-Man. Tipper’s response to that insult was cut off by Window-Man slamming the window shut and pulling the blind down.
The Sarge and I exhaled and relaxed against each other for a second. He moved onwards and I followed, finding the icy rain a good distraction from the pain in my arm. But I couldn’t wait to return to the Sarge’s place to take another painkiller.
We reached the back of the house and cautiously peered around the corner to the back patio. It was a simple structure – a plain concrete slab protected from the weather by cream-coloured roofing iron, joined to the house and supported by a few posts. The rain drummed noisily on its roof.
Fortunately for us, at that moment there was nobody on the patio. The oil drum that they’d held the fire in sat over to the far sid
e in a darkened spot. That would provide us with some cover.
Unfortunately for us, there was a bank of glass doors leading on to the patio and the room inside was party central at the moment, no curtains or blinds blocking the view outside. The Sarge cursed softly when he assessed the situation. Even worse, a fluorescent light to the patio was on, blasting out one hundred watts of brilliant illumination. We would be completely visible to every person in that room if we crossed the patio over to the drum.
There was only one thing to do.
“Out of the way, Sarge,” I said and took out my gun. We both knew this was my area of expertise. I aimed and waited patiently for a loud burst of music before cleanly shooting out the patio light with one shot. The noise was negligible over the thump of the music and the rain. We waited with bated breath, but nobody in the room inside seemed to notice, or if they did, they merely thought that the light bulb had blown. No one seemed in a hurry to rush out to replace it.
We waited a full two minutes, which is an agonisingly long time when you’re freezing cold, in pain, and hoping not to be caught trespassing by thirty bikies. Or by one Super.
The Sarge reached behind him and patted me twice on my arm. It was time to go. We hugged the perimeter of the patio, not crossing it. I looked into the room as we went and saw things happening in there that almost made me stop what I was doing and storm inside, gun out. But we needed to deal with one thing at a time and we had to think before we acted on what I’d seen. The Sarge and I were empowered by law to enter a premises if we believed a crime was occurring. But I didn’t think the bikies would be overly acquiescent to that argument. Let’s face it – when it came down to the hard facts of life, the law was just a bit of writing on a piece of paper to some people.
The whole endeavour was turning out to be more difficult than I’d ever imagined, lying in my warm safe bed, planning it through initially. The Sarge had been right to be cautious and I regretted getting him involved. Unlike me, he had a whole wonderful personal life and promising future career ahead of him. I would never forgive myself if something happened to him because of my recklessness. He didn’t deserve that. I vowed to myself then that I’d have to make sure he came out of this idiotic venture alive with his reputation unsullied, no matter what happened to me.
