Kill Shot

by Blair Denholm

  Jack’s heart hammered in his ribcage. He could only wonder what was flooding through Sharpe’s mind as Harlow maintained his savage grip and jammed the gun harder and harder into the man’s temple.

  ‘We’ve got enough evidence to convict both you and Danny, put you away for years. By the time you got out it’d be straight into a nursing home. But I don’t want to see lives wasted. You don’t want that. I’m sure Louise and the kids don’t want that.’

  A flicker in the corner of Harlow’s eye as he sighed deeply. ‘Don’t bring my family into this!’

  ‘Why not? Louise is facing all kinds of trouble with her business. Now you, making one mistake after the other. She’s going to fall apart unless you man up and start doing the right thing for once in your life.’

  Silence.

  ‘What about your two young kids, Andy? Sweet, innocent little–’

  ‘Enough!’ Jack could hear the man wheezing as he struggled to maintain the headlock on his partner. ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘First, you let go of Danny and put the gun away. Then we talk.’

  Jack imagined cogs whirring inside Harlow’s head. The trainer retracted his arm from Danny’s neck, swapped it for an avuncular embrace. He slid the pistol into the back of his shorts. Bizarrely, instead of stepping away, the young man snuggled into Harlow’s side, like a whipped dog loyal to a cruel master. The surreal scene unfolded as if in slow motion.

  ‘That’s better.’

  ‘What’s the deal?’

  ‘Admit to your crimes, tell us what you did to Terry Bartlett, and I’ll push for a big reduction in your sentence.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘Like I said, I’m worried about your wife and children. As for Danny, he’s still got a life ahead of him. Spending the rest of it in prison would be just another tragedy.’ Jack sheathed his own weapon, detached a pair of handcuffs from his belt and held them in the air. He couldn’t believe the bullshit he was prepared to spin to get Harlow and Sharpe to co-operate. ‘Turn around and let me put these on you.’

  Harlow must have had an epiphany. He complied without further protest, turned around, his hands held close together behind his back.

  As Jack got closer, Harlow growled: ‘Why no restraints for him? He’s as guilty as I am.’

  ‘I’ve only got the one pair. I’m gonna have to hope he doesn’t try anything stupid. You’re not going to try anything stupid are you, Danny?’

  ‘No.’ It was barely a mumble. No fight left in him now.

  ‘How about immunity if I give you information on the source of all the HGH and steroids?’ said Harlow, shoulders twitching.

  Jack gave an involuntary laugh. ‘It was Zane who fingered you! You can forget about immunity.’ He smiled as he went to attach the first cuff. Click. The second one never made it to Harlow’s wrist.

  An almighty swing of the elbow caught Jack unawares. A rookie mistake, he’d been confident the big man had fully surrendered. Before Jack could react, Harlow spun around, his right fist slammed into Jack’s cheek, sent him sprawling to the ground. With his ears ringing and pain arcing through his skull, Jack commando rolled as far away as he could in the semi-darkness, eating dirt as he tumbled. He reached for his back pocket, snapped to a crouch position and took aim at where he thought Harlow’s midsection would be. He squinted, blinked grit from his eyes. Harlow had somehow managed to wrestle Sharpe to the ground, stand back up and place a foot in the middle of his back.

  You fucking idiot, Lisbon!

  ‘Stay still, pig! Move and I’ll blow the kid’s brains out. No more mucking around. Toss your weapon over here. NOW!’

  ‘Jesus mothering Christ, Andy!’ Jack entreated. ‘Are you completely mad?’

  ‘Yeah, maybe I am.’

  ‘It was all an accident…’ Finally, Danny had summoned the courage to speak.

  ‘What happened, Danny? You can tell me,’ said Jack.

  ‘SHUT UP!’ Harlow shrieked.

  ‘Stop him, for God’s sake!’ Danny pleaded. ‘I’ll tell you everything. It’s all Andy’s fault. Terry…he never deserved to die…’

  ‘You traitorous fuck.’ Harlow pulled his leg back; a ferocious kick in the kidneys drew an agonised yelp from Sharpe. Jack saw the lad try to push himself up, but Harlow stamped his foot in the small of Sharpe’s back like he was trying to extinguish a grassfire.

  The click of the trigger. A flash. A bang.

  And just like that, a bullet to the back of Danny Sharpe’s skull ended a life of promise unfulfilled.

  ‘Stay still and drop the weapon!’ Taylor’s shaky voice boomed in the night air. ‘I won’t hesitate to finish you off if you don’t comply.’

  What the hell? Where did she come from?

  Jack looked up. She’d appeared like a phantom. The barrel of Taylor’s pistol pressed firmly into Harlow’s cheek. A small cloud of dust rose as Harlow tossed his gun to ground. He’d run out of aces.

  ‘Game over, mate,’ she said.

  As Taylor secured the second handcuff dangling from Harlow’s right wrist, Jack leapt to his feet, sprinted the couple of metres separating him from Harlow and smashed him in the mouth with the hardest right hook he could produce. ‘Damn right it’s game over!’ The smack of fist on bone rang out as loud as the sound of the gunshot had. Harlow was unconscious before he hit the ground. Jack leaned over to inspect his handiwork.

  ‘Nice punch, cowboy.’ Taylor’s body trembled, her fake bravado masked the terror she must have felt.

  ‘Thanks. He’s going to wish you’d killed him by the time I’m done with him.’

  She shook her head. ‘For fuck’s sake, Jack. You’ve broken his jaw. Don’t hit him again or I’ll have to write it up as unnecessary brutality.’

  Jack ignored the remark, rumbled around in Harlow’s shorts pocket and extruded the roll of electrical tape. He wound some around the man’s mouth and used it to bind his arms tight to his side. ‘Hoist by his own effing petard.’

  ‘I’ve no idea what that means. Aren’t the handcuffs enough?

  ‘The quote’s from Shakespeare. It means karma’s a bitch. And yes, the cuffs are enough but I don’t like to take chances with vermin like him. Now he can get to experience what he thought was acceptable for another human being. An innocent one.’

  Taylor turned her attention to Sharpe’s body, Jack’s mobile phone torch showing a growing pool of blood around the man’s head. He felt for a pulse knowing it was a futile gesture, looked up at Taylor and shook his head. ‘What are we going to do with him?’ she asked.

  ‘Wait here. I’ll get the Hilux. We’ll stash him in the cool room until forensics gets here to go over the scene.’

  A quick call to Batista as Jack returned to the car confirmed his suspicions. The military had denied use of any of their aircraft. ‘Doesn’t matter, sir. The siege is over.’

  ‘Why do I get the feeling you’re understating what happened?’

  A cough into the fist as the hot night breeze stirred up dust. ‘Send forensics and a couple of uniforms to secure the place. Taylor and I have Harlow under arrest.’

  ‘Sharpe?’

  ‘Dead sir.’

  ‘What the fuck!’

  ‘Harlow shot him. Claudia and I witnessed it, there’s no getting out of this one for Harlow.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Young Danny was about to let us know what had happened to Terry Bartlett and Harlow shot him point blank.’

  ‘What a mess.’

  ‘I would have been dead, too, if Claudia hadn’t shown up in the nick of time.’

  ‘Are you and Claudia OK?’ Batista’s voice wavered. ‘I’ll get Cairns hospital to send their chopper if it’s available.’

  ‘No need, sir. We’re unharmed.’ Jack rubbed his aching face where Harlow had struck him. ‘We’ll keep an eye on the body until the troops arrive. As for the perpetrator, I wanna bring him in myself.’

  ‘What state is Harlow in? I imagine he’s putting up
a fight.’

  ‘Not exactly, sir. I’ll keep you posted.’ Jack hung up the phone before Batista could press for details about Harlow’s health. He likely needed urgent hospitalisation, but when the smashed jaw was detected Jack would say the man fell hard trying to escape. At least the electrical tape would spare him and Taylor from verbal abuse when Harlow regained consciousness.

  He popped a nicotine gum into his parched mouth and jumped into the SUV. One piece of gum left. He may have to search Uncle Steven’s house for a pouch of tobacco, perhaps a stiff drink. Taking care to avoid animal burrows and boulders, he nursed the car down the rutted hill to the middle of the paddock. His high beam floodlit two bodies on the ground. Next to them, hand on hips and tottering like a loose fence post, stood DC Taylor, all colour drained from her face.

  Jack gripped the interior grab handle, hoisted himself into the passenger side. He waved at Wilson and Smith as they drew up level in the driveway. The constables stopped, Wilson wound down the driver’s window. ‘Where’s the body?’

  ‘In the cool room,’ Jack replied. ‘Dr. Proctor’s already there with a couple of her colleagues. You’ll see the vehicles parked out front.’

  ‘Anything we need to be aware of?’

  ‘Just insects the size of sheep,’ said Taylor. ‘Apart from that, the danger’s over. Just turn up and look as enthusiastic as you can. They’ll do a quick examination of the scene where Sharpe was killed, then inside the house to look for evidence they tortured Masiker.’

  ‘You think it’ll take long?’ said Wilson.

  ‘Shouldn’t do. There’s nothing to investigate.’ Jack turned as he heard Harlow give a groan in the back of the Hilux. ‘Claudia and I saw the lot.’

  ‘Good, only I’ve got a date with–’

  The window was back up before Wilson could finish. Jack didn’t give a monkey’s about the man’s love life.

  Two minutes along the main highway Jack asked: ‘What happened to Gupta and Uncle Steven after you escaped?’

  ‘Masiker was in deep shock. He had injuries. Bruises, lacerations. Harlow knocked him about after he and Sharpe lobbed on the doorstep uninvited.’

  ‘What an arsehole.’

  ‘Yeah. Gupta dropped me at the car and raced Masiker to a GP in Kilroy township.’

  ‘I’m so glad you didn’t go with them, Claudia.’

  ‘Believe me, I was tempted. Somehow my sense of duty took over from self-preservation. Gupta loaned me his infrared binoculars before he left. I watched your standoff with the bad guys unfold from the top of the ridge. When it was clear things were getting out of hand I knew I had to move.’

  ‘I’m forever in your debt for saving me, Claudia.’

  ‘I’ve never been so scared in my life.’ She turned on the water to wash a film of squashed insects from the windscreen. ‘You owe me big time, DS Lisbon.’

  ‘I hope you’re not planning on constantly reminding me about it.’ Jack turned his head but she kept focused on the road.

  ‘Do you really think I could be such a bitch? It’s part of the job description to save colleagues. You learn it on day one.’ Something in her voice told Jack she wouldn’t hesitate to rub his nose in it down the track. He’d be looking out for any opportunity to save her arse and square the ledger. There was nothing worse than being indebted to someone.

  Taylor held the vehicle’s speed at a steady 90kph, eyes constantly scanning ahead for kangaroos and other suicidal wildlife. It was almost a pointless exercise, critters jumped out of the shadows from every direction. They collided with a few animals and hundreds of insects, but no serious damage was done to the car; Jack thought they must’ve killed half a dozen ‘roos and wallabies within the first 100 kms. Taylor winced every time there was a bump against the chassis.

  ‘Listen, Claudia. How about we just put a couple of bullets in Harlow’s brain and chuck him in the bush? No one’s going to miss him. His life’s worth less than any of the dead beasties on the side of the highway.’ Jack glanced in the rear vision mirror. Harlow, trussed up like a Christmas turkey, groaned pathetically.

  ‘No. We need Harlow to tell us where Terry Bartlett is. Have you forgotten about him?’

  ‘To tell you the truth, in the middle of this train wreck, I almost had.’

  ‘Lots of people still want closure on this, Jack. With Sharpe dead, the only one who can give us any answers is that piece of human garbage on the back seat.’

  The rest of the journey took place with the radio turned up to drown out the sound of Harlow’s pitiful moaning.

  At five minutes before midnight, Taylor turned into the entry of Yorkville General Hospital. In the underground carpark, Jack pulled Harlow to a sitting position and set about removing the tape from his mouth. The scent of the joint he’d smoked wafted from Harlow’s mouth, made Jack want to gag. The last centimetre of tape clung grimly to the stubbly skin around the prisoner’s bloody lips. Claudia gasped as the last bit of tape came away and the end of Harlow’s bottom jaw flopped down. Harlow tried to speak but the broken bone turned his efforts into garbled nonsense.

  ‘Stop whining or the tape goes back on.’ Jack gave the man’s face a gentle slap, drawing an expression of disgust from Taylor. ‘Will you keep quiet?’

  Harlow winced and nodded.

  ‘Good. And don’t even think about making a complaint against me, or I swear you’ll regret the day God put breath into you.’

  Harlow whimpered as the officers escorted him to the elevator. ‘Yes, I know it hurts.’ If it wasn’t for the sarcasm, Jack’s tone could be described as compassionate. ‘You’ll be all patched up in no time. Then you’re going to answer our questions. Then you’re going to jail. Got it?’

  As they walked, Taylor tugged at a loose piece of the tape securing Harlow’s arms to his side. ‘Leave that on,’ said Jack.

  ‘Come on. It’s not very dignified, is it?’

  ‘I don’t give a toss. His dignity is the least of my concerns after what he’s done.’ He put an arm around Harlow’s shoulder. ‘You don’t mind do you, old son?’

  The hatred burning in Harlow’s eyes could have melted a candle. As the two men stared at each other, The Clash erupted on Jack’s phone. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Just a heads up, Sarge. There’s a gurney on its way down to the carpark to collect the precious cargo.’ As soon as the words were out of Constable Trevarthen’s mouth, the elevator doors opened. Standing with a male and female nurse was the charming Dr. Walter Chesson.

  Harlow was placed in a ward on the top floor offering a commanding view of Yorkville’s botanical gardens. The scene of serene natural beauty below was a perfect match for Chesson’s newfound friendly attitude. The head doctor had done a 180 degree turn once the police made clear the seriousness of his new patient’s alleged crimes against humanity. The fact Batista had spoken to him personally and two grim-faced uniformed constables stood guard outside the ward seemed to have added a frisson of excitement to the situation for Chesson. The clincher, though, was Carl Masiker coming out of his coma and showing signs he’d make a full recovery and be discharged in a day or two. Jack had skilfully batted away questions about how Harlow’s horrific jaw injury occurred, ably assisted by Taylor nodding agreement each time he answered one of Chesson’s questions.

  ‘He’s been given powerful pain killers that’ve made him a bit woozy, so he shouldn’t give you too much trouble.’ Chesson smiled broadly. ‘Be sure to let me know if there’s anything you need. Please be as quick as you can. That jaw of his needs treatment within the next half hour.’

  Jack tipped him a salute. ‘Will do, Doc. Basically, I’d appreciate it if you could turn all visitors away, especially the press.’

  ‘Understood. You needn’t worry, though. Unless there’s been a leak, no one is even aware he’s here.’

  Just before Chesson closed the door, Jack ventured with all the seriousness he could muster: ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any of that sodium thiopental lying about, do you?’


  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Truth serum. Mr Harlow has a pathological aversion to telling the truth, so I thought, you know…’

  ‘Um, no we don’t stock that drug.’ Chesson fiddled with his stethoscope and blushed. ‘My shift ends in an hour. You’ll need to speak with my replacement after that. Good evening.’

  With the medico out of the room, Taylor burst out laughing. ‘Jesus, Jack. What was that all about?’

  ‘The man’s a complete tosser.’ Jack shrugged.

  Taylor sat one side of the bed with a notepad; her phone rested against a jug of water on a mobile table and recorded the scene. Jack sat on the other side of Harlow, squeezed up next to an IV pole. Harlow’s jaw was smashed so badly he couldn’t eat; he was able to speak, but with difficulty. To assist in the interview, Constable Trevarthen had obtained a mini white board and a marker pen.

  ‘There’ll be no legal representation for you unless you co-operate in full and don’t get violent. Nod if you understand.’

  Harlow nodded.

  Jack readjusted his sitting position. ‘Importantly, an operation to rewire your jaw won’t be sanctioned until we’re satisfied you’ve told us all you know. Got it?’

  Another slow nod.

  ‘If you’re honest with me, I might even let your wife and kids come see you. I wouldn’t hold my breath though, sunshine. I hear they want you to rot in hell. Ready to begin?’

  ‘Yesh.’ When he spoke, Jack noticed the bottom teeth on the left hand side of Harlow’s face sat a centimetre or so higher than the ones on the right. Harlow scrawled on the whiteboard, held it up. Fuck you!!! This is against the law!!!

  Taylor whispered in Jack’s ear. ‘I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this, Jack. The man needs urgent medical treatment. Anyone can see it.’

  ‘Thank you, DC Taylor. Your comment is duly noted.’ He turned back to Harlow. ‘This here is a good, decent woman. Unfortunately for you, I outrank her, and she’s going to do as I say.’

  Jack leaned forward and took the white board and pen from Harlow. ‘You’re speaking well enough to dispense with these.’ As he leaned back in his seat, he dropped the pen and immediately bent down to recover it. As he returned to an upright position, he saw Harlow grab the IV pole with two hands and yank it so hard it popped out of its base. The patient wielded the steel pole above his head and went to take a swing at Taylor. Jack instinctively launched himself at Harlow, smothered the pole and Harlow’s arms with his body before his opponent could get up any momentum with the improvised weapon. The men’s faces were pressed close together; Harlow’s skin was clammy and his breath smelled like stale blood. The temptation to land a head butt on Harlow’s nose was almost too much to resist. Somehow, Jack did. ‘Do that again, and I’ll finish you off here with my bare hands!’