Blood Sport (Little Town)

by JD Nixon

  I sped up and pushed against his hard waist, forcing him to move faster than the careful pace he’d set. He reached behind to slap my hand away in irritation, thinking he was in charge, but I poked him harder in the back in response. We had to get to the drum, retrieve the ashes and get the hell out of here fast, so I could ring the Super and tell her what I’d seen.

  We’d almost reached the drum when the door to the patio was thrown open and a drunken couple stumbled out. The Sarge and I hit the ground, our bodies slamming into the rain-drenched mud surrounding the cement slab.

  “It’s too fucking cold out here,” grumbled a man’s voice.

  “There’s no privacy in there,” complained a female voice in response. “I’m not sucking your dick in front of everyone. I have standards, you know.” I recognised the whining tones of her voice, as well as the distinctive pregnant silhouette of her body – it was Dorrie Lebutt. What the hell was she doing here?

  “Babe,” he cajoled. “We do everything together in our gang.”

  “No,” she insisted firmly. “It’s either out here or it’s extra if others are watching. Suit yourself.” She turned to go inside.

  “Don’t be such a prick tease, babe. I can’t give you my best here. It’s too fucking cold. My cock shrinks in the cold. Every man’s does – it’s a well-known fact.”

  “Where then, baby?” she coaxed, her hand in his jeans, rubbing. “Is this warming you up?”

  “Oh God, oh. Um. Um. I know, come with me.” He grabbed her hand and led her inside, a dozen voices yelling at them to shut the door as they did. The door slammed behind them and the Sarge and I relaxed into the mud.

  We scurried over to the drum and carefully and quietly tipped it on to its side, pulling out the garbage bags from our pockets. And in a manner that would make a forensics officer weep, we shovelled ash into the bags until we’d emptied the drum, trying not to let any rain into the bags. When we finished, we gently slapped hands in a sooty and muted high-five. I immediately hoped that we hadn’t been premature in congratulating ourselves.

  We fastened the bags and prepared to head back, when the door to the patio flew violently open again. Someone was on the phone. Once more I recognised the voice – it was Rusty. And he was angry.

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Are you threatening me? Because I will come to your house and –”

  Silence for a moment, but we could see a figure pacing up and down the patio. His shoes crunched on the broken glass from the fluorescent light that I’d shot out.

  He stopped and looked down, moving his feet a few steps forward. More crunching glass. “What the fuck?” He hung up on whoever he was talking to and turned towards the house, bellowing, “Mickey, get your fat arse out here now!”

  The Sarge and I froze again and pushed further into the far shadowy corner of the patio, dragging our haul with us. I was all in favour of changing plans and proceeding down the other side of the house, despite the security lights.

  Inside the house we could hear the echo of Rusty’s call.

  “Where’s Mickey?”

  “Mickey, you’re needed by the boss outside.”

  “Mickey, get your fat arse outside now. His highness is yelling for you.”

  A few moments later, a tense, dark-haired chubby man with spectacles and sloppy, ill-shaped clothing, stepped out to the patio. “Y-y-yes, Rusty?”

  “There’s a light out on this patio and there’s broken glass under my feet. What’s happening, Sherlock?”

  “An intruder’s shot out the light,” he deduced instantly.

  “Why?”

  “Didn’t want to be seen approaching from this patio.” He turned to gesture backwards into the surrounding darkness. “They can see us, we can’t see them.”

  “What the fuck do they want?”

  “Let’s look around and check.”

  The Sarge and I exchanged anxious glances. This could be it.

  “Oil drum’s knocked over,” noticed Mickey.

  “Fucking foxes again,” cursed Rusty, relaxing. “They’re in the bins all the time. What can we do to stop them? Google it for me Mickey, will you?”

  “Foxes don’t shoot out lights, boss,” Mickey reminded him, earning his wage.

  Rusty turned and regarded him carefully. “You’re right about that. But can fluoros explode? This one hasn’t been changed for a while.”

  Mickey thought for a while. “Possible. Not probable, but possible. I’d favour someone shooting it out though.” My opinion of Mickey rose every second. He wasn’t a suck-up and he was smart.

  They made another half-arsed search of the patio with no result – the Sarge and I were really good at holding our breath. Neither of them had their heart in it either, not thinking there could be any real bother for them in this small town. Rusty wanted to go back to his partying and Mickey probably wanted to go back to Call of Duty on his computer. And it was really cold and damp outside.

  “I still reckon it’s the foxes,” insisted Rusty, and Mickey and I shared the same scorn at his stupidity. Foxes were scavenging for food, not old ashes.

  “Yeah, boss, it was probably the foxes. But let’s get that light fixed tomorrow though. No excuses,” Mickey unwillingly conceded. But geez, hadn’t we all had to do that to a thick boss once or twice in our lives?

  “Good idea, Mickey. No point leaving us exposed. That bitch of a cop was asking too many questions about Kylie earlier, just like before with Lucy. Wouldn’t put it past a nosy bitch like her to be sneaking around trying to find out what we’re doing here.” He spat noisily on the ground. “Fucking feminists! She’s probably a pussy muncher with hairy armpits. But fuck, she’s a good-looking bitch though. I wouldn’t mind giving her a taste of my pork sword.” He laughed sharply. “Hey, that’s funny! A pork sword for a pig. Oink, oink, pretty police lady! Daddy’s got a present for you.”

  Laughing loudly at his own joke, Rusty returned inside. Mickey followed him slowly, lingering and peering around in the darkness of the patio nervously when he was alone. When he spoke, his voice cracked with some kind of strongly suppressed emotion. “If it is you out there, Officer, I just want you know that I watched you both times when you came here. Like me, you’re smart but unlike me, you’re also brave, and I hope you succeed in whatever you’re doing here. I don’t like what goes on in this place. I just . . . I just want to play on my computer. I don’t want to be here anymore. Please help me.” He scurried inside and slammed the door behind him.

  The Sarge tapped my arm twice and we took off, each carrying a bag over our shoulder. We moved stealthily across the edges of the patio, back down the side of the house. Well, he moved stealthily – I stupidly tripped over the same exposed root and jarred my arm again, losing my grip on my garbage bag. I laid there on the ground in exceptional pain, the rain pouring down on me, soaked to the skin, freezing, thinking that I should have become a teacher like Dad and Nana Fuller had wanted.

  The Sarge had forged on ahead of me, not noticing his partner down until he suddenly stopped and turned around. His chest heaved in a sigh that I could almost hear from where I was, before returning to help me up to my feet.

  He walked behind me after that, annoyingly poking me in the back at regular intervals. He virtually pushed me to the front and out of the gate until we were off the bikies’ land, both of us exhaling in relief about that. If we were discovered now, we weren’t breaking the law, even if we were acting suspiciously. We were just a couple of buddies out for a stroll on a balmy winter’s evening.

  The Sarge maintained a fast clip as we trudged back to his car and I struggled to keep up with him. He popped the locks and snatched my garbage bag from me to toss it into the boot. As I did up my seatbelt, teeth chattering with cold, he threw himself into the driver’s seat. He started the little car and drove away so fast that he almost gave me whiplash. He sped all the way back to his house, where he screeched to a halt under his carport, turned off the car and collapsed against the ste
ering wheel. I had the feeling he was saying a prayer of thanks.

  I turned to him brightly. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”

  He shot me a withering look in response.

  “Did you see what was going on inside that room?” I asked.

  “Tell me about it after we’ve had a shower and warmed up. I’m so cold that I can’t feel my fingers, toes or brain any more.”

  He made me take the first shower and I was as quick as possible, even though the hot water was bliss, knowing that he was freezing while he waited for me. As he showered, I gratefully swallowed another painkiller and antibiotic and heated up some milk for us.

  We sat at his kitchen table, sipping the warm milk, yawning. Adrenaline had kept me going, but now we were safe again, weariness was fast replacing every other emotion. Judging by the number of times he yawned as well, I was sure the Sarge was experiencing a similar let-down.

  “What did you see, Tessie? I was too busy worrying about getting caught that I didn’t pay too much attention to the fun and games going on inside. All I saw was that it looked as though they were having some kind of orgy. And wasn’t that Dorrie Lebutt who was with that man on the patio.”

  “Yep, it sure was. I recognised other women there as well. I saw Jake’s sister, Rosie, and his cousins, Jade and Kristy.”

  “You’re honestly not surprised that the Bycraft women would offer sexual services for payment? It seems to be completely in character to me.”

  “No, it’s not that, although I bet Jakey doesn’t have a clue about what they’re up to.” I peered at him over the edge of my mug as I sipped. “Sarge, Kristy’s only fourteen and Jade’s thirteen.”

  “Oh.”

  “Oh, indeed. It’s definite evidence of criminal activity. The problem is that we witnessed it while we were trespassing.”

  “That is a slight problem,” he acknowledged.

  “Also, I didn’t see Kylie anywhere. Wouldn’t she be part of the action? And another also, I wonder why I didn’t see Jake’s little sister, Larissa, there? If Rosie, Jade and Kristy were making some money offering their services, I’m positive Larissa would have been in on it as well. Those cousins are tight.”

  “I can’t answer your questions. Perhaps they were in a different room?”

  “Having a private party?”

  He shrugged. “It’s possible.”

  “And what about that Mickey guy? I reckon we could lean on him to spill his guts about what he knows.”

  He didn’t answer, but stood up yawning, collected both mugs and rinsed them out, leaving them to drain.

  “Go to bed. We can talk about everything in the morning.”

  “But Sarge, I feel as if we should be going back there right now and taking Jade and Kristy away. It’s not right for young girls to be treated like that.”

  He sighed. “Tess, did they look as though they were under duress or being held against their will?”

  “No,” I admitted. “They looked like they were happy partying.”

  “Is there any chance that tonight would have been their first sexual experience?”

  I snorted. “I doubt it! All the Bycrafts become sexually active once they hit high school and Jade and Kristy have both already had a number of boyfriends that I know about. And Bycraft girls have a certain, um, reputation that makes them very popular with teenage boys. Not to mention . . .”

  “What?”

  I wasn’t sure whether I should tell him or not. “Kristy’s been done for soliciting in Big Town a few times.”

  “Good God! How old did you say she was?”

  “Fourteen.”

  “And you really think that they are going to thank you for ‘rescuing’ them tonight?”

  “Sarge, you know as well as me that no Bycraft would thank me for anything, even if I saved their life.”

  “Tess, I know we should act because there’s a law being broken and it’s our duty to uphold the law. Not to mention that a situation like this involving young girls is something that most people would find abhorrent. But I can’t possibly put you in the line of fire in your condition, especially with Bycrafts involved. And I can’t take on thirty bikies by myself when we have no idea about their fire power. That would be nothing but a suicide mission. And as for any back-up, I seriously doubt that I could convince the Super to send out a team tonight on the basis of what you’ve seen. We’ll just have to look through the ashes tomorrow, hopefully uncover something solid that we can take to the Super, and build some support for a raid that way. Okay?”

  “I guess,” I agreed reluctantly. I could see the sense in what he was saying, but I wasn’t pleased about it. “Sarge?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Would you think differently if the girls weren’t Bycrafts? If it was some other young girls from town? Ones without reputations?”

  He gazed at me steadily. “Yes.”

  I was saddened by that. “Those poor girls have never had a chance in life. For being born Bycrafts, they’re condemned to nothing more than dropping out of school with teenage pregnancies and no futures. And they keep repeating the whole vicious cycle over and over. Lola Bycraft was only fifteen when she had Red. Rosie was sixteen when she had her first kid. Larissa’s made it to seventeen without being knocked up yet, but I don’t hold much hope for Jade and Kristy if they’re going to carry on like they were tonight.”

  “I can’t believe you feel sorry for them,” he shot back heatedly. “They’ve made their choices and they’ve taken the easy path in every way. You’re the one who’s had it hard in life, with everything that’s happened to you. And all just because you were born a Fuller. But you’ve managed to educate yourself, maintain a career, care for your father, and contribute to society. You don’t sit around moaning about how hard life is for you and how the world’s against you and how you never had a chance.”

  “I do sometimes,” I confessed lightly, trying to defuse his passionate anger. “That’s when the Tim Tams become so important.”

  He stopped and his anger deflated. “Let me see your injuries,” he demanded mildly, changing topic completely.

  I rolled up the sleeve of my pyjama top and let him examine them. “I thought I’d broken the stitches on my stab wound again, but they seem okay.”

  “Has the painkiller kicked in yet?”

  “Just getting there now,” I smiled happily at him.

  He rolled down my sleeve and turned me around, giving me a light push in the middle of the back. “Off to bed with you, Tessie. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

  And I trooped off to bed obediently, although it took me a while to fall asleep, thinking about what could be happening back at the bikie retreat.

  Chapter 17

  Tuesday dawned dull, grey, cold, and rainy. I cracked open one eyelid, saw the sky out of the window, and closed it again. I decided that I just wasn’t interested in participating in Tuesday. Maybe Wednesday, but definitely not Tuesday. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but I was lying on my sore arm and the Sarge was rattling about in the kitchen, disturbing the peace. I could arrest him for that, I thought sleepily.

  I should have slept with my door shut, but Dad had always insisted I kept my door open when I was growing up, in case someone came for me during the night. He wanted to be able to hear if I was screaming or struggling and it was a habit from which I’d never been able to wean myself. You never knew when you’d need to call for help during the night. Of course though, the big disadvantage was that you were woken up by inconsiderate housemates who apparently never needed to sleep.

  I rolled out of bed and staggered to the bathroom where I splashed cold water on my face. My reflection staring back at me only confirmed that I looked like someone who’d been creeping around a bikie retreat in the middle of the night in the freezing rain.

  I made my way to the kitchen and plonked down on one of the kitchen chairs, leaning my head on the table and closing my eyes.

  “A little bit tired this morning
after our big adventure last night, are we?” the Sarge smiled.

  I mumbled something indistinct in reply, keeping my eyes firmly closed.

  He placed a mug of coffee on the table near me and guided my hand over to it. “This will help clear the cobwebs.”

  I sat up, cradling my coffee, watching him blearily as he confidently moved around the kitchen. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m making porridge. A perfect breakfast for a rainy day.”

  “I miss cooking,” I complained sadly. “I wonder if the glazier will be able to make it to my house today.”

  “You can stay here another night if he doesn’t.”

  “Thanks, Sarge. It’s really nice of you to put up with me for so long.”

  “Isn’t it just? Especially with the way you look each morning.”

  I pouted at him and raised my hand to smooth my hair down into some semblance of civilised humanity. “Jakey’s never complained before.”

  “You’re probably pretty chirpy on the mornings that he sees you, after he stays the night.”

  I smiled at the thought. “I probably am.”

  “And of course he’s right next to you in bed, not experiencing the whole frightening sight at a distance like me.”

  I giggled. “That’s true. Poor Sarge.”

  He placed a bowl of porridge in front of me and I started thinking that I could easily become used to being looked after. We argued over breakfast about who would be the one to tell the Super what we’d been up to. But first we decided to wait until after we’d sifted through the ashes to see if we came up with anything that might distract her from our misbehaviour.

  Later, the breakfast dishes washed and dried, both of us dressed in uniform ready to tackle another day, he spread a tarpaulin down on the cement floor of his carport. He hauled the two garbage bags of ashes from the boot of his car. The sound of the endless rain was deafening on the thin tin roof of the carport and we had to raise our voices to be heard by each other.