Plebs

by Jim Goforth

  With all the bills and rates and constant upkeep of a grand house of such magnitude Corey had to spend plenty of money too.

  "You a rich boy Corey?" Asked Melissa though not in any demeaning manner.

  "Yeah, I guess so," he replied honestly. Saying he wasn't would have been an obvious and blatant untruth when he lived in such an opulent neighbourhood, indeed owned a house in such an area. "My parents left me a whole bunch of money when they passed away. And the house and everything in it. It isn't without its downfalls though."

  "I bet. A house like these monstrosities must need some serious attention. Be a full time job looking after it."

  "It is," Corey agreed. "I do a lot of it myself but I pay a gardener and a cleaning lady to look after those things."

  "Hear that Desi?" Blaise called out to her friend in the back.

  "No, what's that?"

  "Your boy Corey is rich. You should see the size of these fucking mansions here, Apparently Corey owns one."

  "Well it would help if we could see," Jess replied for Desiree. "Glad you're enjoying the scenic tour, but as for the rest of us stuck here in the back there's no freakin' windows!"

  "Look out the back," Blaise suggested.

  "You kidding? The guy who owns this heap of junk hasn't washed that window for a thousand years!"

  "Too bad. You'll have to wait 'til we stop. Alternatively I can let you off now and you can walk the rest of the way."

  "Fuck off,” Jess retorted succinctly.

  "It's not far," Corey added helpfully.

  "So, Lee," Melissa addressed Lee. "Are you rich too?"

  "No!" Lee replied very quickly. "I'm a pauper. I live in the poor part of town."

  "Ha, too bad Tash," Blaise said. "Looks like you lose."

  "Lose what? I don't care about money."

  "You would if you saw these houses."

  "Well I can't so I don't."

  "You will soon enough. Hey Melissa are you looking for house numbers here? Help me out a bit."

  "I'm sure Corey knows where he lives," was Melissa's comeback.

  "One could only hope."

  "Here's thirty," Melissa announced. "What were you Corey?"

  "Thirty four. Not the next one, the one after."

  "Alright," Blaise enthused as she brought the van to a screeching halt on the street outside number thirty four Grandview Parade.

  The variety of thumps and howling chorus of aggrieved yells from the back indicated that at least some of the passengers were far from ready for the vehicles abrupt cessation of movement.

  "We're here!" Blaise announced belatedly.

  "Bit of warning wouldn't have gone astray," Jess shot back.

  "Pull up in the driveway," Corey suggested and Blaise complied, swinging the van in a sharp turn which hauled the vehicle up into the driveway.

  Corey's house was one of those which was well shielded from the road by a tall hedge structure which marched along the fore of the abode and then carried on up either side of the building barricading it from the neighbours left and right.

  While the upper stories of the house were visible from the street the lower was well hidden between the two metre hedge.

  Like many of the others in the street and surrounding areas the house was set way back from the street and as such the driveway, situated on the right hand side, was quite a lengthy one.

  Aside from the hedge surrounding the place, stopping at the driveway and then continuing on the other side, there were no front fences or security gates like many of the others.

  Blaise pulled the van right up the driveway to the entrance of a double garage.

  Though it gave the impression that it housed only two motor vehicles the double door automobile storage unit actually had the capacity to fit four standard sized cars, a fact only Corey and Lee would have known.

  A set of twin roller-doors identical to the two at the fore of the garage existed on the other side, for the obvious reason of allowing the first two vehicles in to exit without much trouble in the event the unit was filled with maximum cars.

  So that they weren't driving through Corey's back yard to exit the property a back driveway lead off from these back doors to a lane which connected to the street behind Corey's house.

  Very rarely had the garage been home to four cars at the same time, but it was still a rather handy construction were the occasion ever to arise.

  "You have company," Melissa announced as Blaise killed the ignition and put the van in first, wrenching up the park brake.

  CHAPTER 20

  Corey glanced to his left and saw that she was correct.

  A long verandah type affair ran the entire length of the front of the house, upon which sat a family of deck chairs and a picnic table.

  Two of these chairs were currently occupied; their patrons sprawled haphazardly in them, trailing arms and legs over sides.

  As the van roared up the driveway and came to a stop, the noise of the engine spluttering and then cutting out as Blaise switched it off drew the attention of the two unexpected guests.

  A pair of heads popped simultaneously from their respective chairs.

  "Friends of yours?" Melissa queried warily, her hand hovering dangerously close to her shotgun.

  "Yeah, these two are," Corey said, feeling a warm rush of joy buzz through him as he recognised the disheveled twosome, both of them now sitting upright in their deckchairs, puzzled expressions adorning their features.

  Indeed they may well have been within their rights to look puzzled for although they might have acknowledged the van as belonging to one of their enemies they wouldn't have recognised the attractive but hard faced brunette woman with a black star tattooed around her eye sitting in the passenger seat.

  They recognised Corey though, as soon as he leaned forward around Melissa and raised a hand in greeting.

  Smiles of acknowledgement cracked their respective faces though the guy nearest looked as though doing much of anything was quite an effort.

  This fellow was Peter Molina, last night’s birthday boy.

  He seemed to be a little worse for wear, his long black hair hanging lankly in his face, his eyes bleary and bloodshot.

  He groaned as he slowly hauled his thin frame up into a standing position.

  His partner was Ryan Richards, a stocky well built lad with a rippling muscular physique, boyish good looks and blonde curls.

  The pair of them were exactly what they looked like; Peter an alternative grungy musician and Ryan a lackadaisical surfer bum.

  Gazing upon his friends Corey felt simultaneous jolts of emotion blast him.

  Joy at merely seeing this hung-over couple alive and well and terrible guilty sadness as he recalled that their other good mate Tim Hayworth wasn't here in the van, he was sprawled up in the woods with a spear driven through his skull.

  Explanations were going to be difficult and a solid lump seemed to lodge itself painfully in Corey's throat.

  Blaise leaned forward and caught her first glimpse of Ryan, strolling down the verandah, a goofy grin on his face.

  "Hello, what do we have here?" She murmured, her interest well and truly piqued.

  Peter followed Ryan at a more sedate pace, groaning all the while and massaging his temples.

  "Corey fucking Summertime," Ryan grinned. "What the fuck have you been up to?"

  "Wouldn't you like to know," Corey responded as Melissa opened her door and stepped out, giving the two on the verandah a good stare at her bare thighs.

  "Yes I certainly would," Ryan said then the smile froze in place when he saw the shotgun held in Melissa's hand.

  He stopped walking towards them too and Peter who hadn't, thumped into the back of him.

  Corey hauled himself out after Melissa, Blaise's pump action shotgun in his hand, the handle of his own pistol jutting out at his hip.

  "Relax boys," he addressed the nervous pair on the verandah. "The girls are with us."

  "HEY!" A strident voice bellowed from the b
ack of the van. "If the reason we've stopped is 'cause we're here, somebody let us out. This door is fucked!"

  Melissa hastened to let the restless crew out.

  Ryan and Peter were still staring in consternation.

  Besides the fact that Corey's blood spattered clothing made him look like something out of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre they seemed to recognise the van.

  Ryan pointed at it as Melissa slid the side door open to release those inside.

  "Hey, that van...isn't it...?

  "Errol Haskell's? Yep." Corey finished for him. "He was kind enough to lend it to us."

  Ryan and Peter exchanged curious looks of bemusement and shrugged together as one entity.

  When the rest of the party began scrambling out of the back of the van, complaining of aching muscles and the stench of blood, Peter looked as though he was wondering whether he was still badly drunk or if somebody might have slipped him a hallucinogen.

  "What the fuck did you guys do?" Ryan wanted to know. "Where did you go? Where did all these chicks come from? And guns...what the fuck is going on?"

  He lapsed into silence, hands spread wide in a querying pose while Pete who'd remained quiet the whole time stayed that way, eyes wide with astonishment.

  "Long story," Corey said. "I'll tell you inside. How long have you guys been here?"

  "Too long," Peter finally spoke. "We figured you guys had come back here. Boy, were we wrong. Looks like you had a sensational night."

  Corey exchanged glances with Lee who was quietly getting out of the back, extending a hand of support to Tasha.

  "Not exactly," Corey said vaguely.

  He needn't have elaborated and didn't, since the attentions of Peter and Ryan were now drawn to Desiree, the last member to exit the van.

  Ryan gazed with much interest at Desiree, then Melissa, then to Blaise walking around the front of the van, back to Desiree, finally to Corey.

  "Jesus Corey, you've done well. These babes are hotter than the strippers at the Golden Thong," he rambled, apparently oblivious to the fact that none of the women had hearing disabilities. "Are they strippers? I mean, the outfits are cool and those guns sure look real."

  Melissa fixed him with a withering look which could have wilted flowers.

  "No, we're not strippers, idiot. And as for the guns they are real."

  "Shit," Ryan backed up a few steps, eyes dancing from Melissa back to Corey. "What's going on here?"

  Corey observed that everyone was out as Desiree slammed the van door shut.

  "We better go inside," he said and stooping beside a potted cactus plant on the verandah, lifted up the pot.

  Underneath the pit was a small recess in the verandah from which Corey withdrew a set of house keys.

  Ryan gazed at him in sheer disbelief.

  "Are those the keys to the house? Fuck, Pete we could have been inside instead of sitting out here for hours! Christ almighty!"

  Peter shrugged. He was glancing around at the various faces assembled at the foot of the stairs to the verandah, most of them unfamiliar to him.

  Evidently he noticed something amiss for he frowned intently and Corey's heart skipped a beat or two.

  Here was the dreaded question he'd been fearing, and knowing would come.

  "Hey Corey, where's the big Haymaker?"

  Corey made a choking kind of noise as he searched for the right words.

  Lee beat him to the punch with cold blatant honesty.

  "He’s dead," Lee said bluntly.

  Ryan continued to grin stupidly as if he were waiting for the punch line to the joke, while most of the girls shifted uncomfortably.

  "No joke Ry," Lee said. "Tim's not with us. He's dead."

  The grin fell right off Ryan's face, replaced instead by an open mouthed slack jawed expression.

  He looked to Corey for confirmation.

  Corey could barely meet his eyes. He fumbled with his keys.

  "That's right. Some bad shit went down last night, real bad. Tim didn't make it through."

  "What the fuck?" Agitated Ryan flung up his hands, hurling rapid questioning glances from Corey to Lee to Peter. "What bad shit? What do you mean? Fucking how? What do you mean Tim's dead? How can he be dead?"

  "He was alright last night when you three left," Peter murmured, though he did so with the air of someone who knew that it had nothing to do with how Tim may have been after leaving them which resulted in his alleged death.

  "He's not now," Lee said emphatically. "He died last night."

  "What the fuck?" Ryan seemed to have a limited repertoire of words in his vocabulary. "How? How can that be?"

  Corey placed a gentle but firm hand, the one still with his keys in it on Ryan's shoulder, attempting to turn him back around.

  "Come on, let's just go inside. We'll explain in there."

  "Who are these chicks? Did they kill Tim?"

  "Don't be stupid Ry. Inside. These girls are friends. They need hot showers, food and then we all need sleep, you two included."

  "I can't believe this shit. Pete, can you?"

  Peter shook his head, remaining quiet.

  "Come on, let's go in."

  Corey edged past Ryan and Peter, carrying his keys in one hand, Blaise's shotgun in the other.

  As Melissa and Blaise ushered Lee and the rest of the women up the steps and onto the verandah, Desiree skipped up alongside Corey to take the shotgun from him and free up his hands to unlock the door.

  Though Corey's house was one of the few in the street which didn't boast elaborate security systems -it didn't possess an alarm but turning it on and off was a pain in the ass so mostly it remained off- it was comprehensively locked.

  The outside screen door was fitted with one key lock which was infrequently locked while the heavy oak front door featured two heavy duty dead bolts and a key lock in the door handle.

  The door was also fitted with a snarling wolf's head door knocker (a present to Corey from an ex-girlfriend) while to the left was a buzzer for guests to announce their presence should the screen door be locked preventing access to the knocker.

  Originally the buzzer chimed an inane tinkling bell tune when pressed, but after one of Corey's technically minded friends tinkered with it, it now sounded Deep Purple's classic guitar riff from 'Smoke on the Water'.

  On any other occasion Lee would have pressed the buzzer just to play the tune regardless of whether Corey was inside or with him.

  This time he didn't, but Blaise couldn't help herself. She both pushed the button, marveling as Ritchie Blackmore's riff regaled them, and then lifted the wolf head and knocked with it once Corey had the screen door unlocked and open.

  "Knock it off Blaise," Melissa cautioned.

  "Did Errol Haskell kill Tim?" Ryan persisted as Corey struggled to unlock the variety of locks. "He did, didn't he? Fucking Haskell."

  It would probably have been easier to say yes, Haskell had killed Tim, but Corey shook his head as he turned the key in the knob and twisted, opening the door.

  "Nope." Lee said. "But Haskell did kill somebody."

  Corey pushed the door open and held it, stepping inside so the troops could trail in.

  "Welcome to my humble home," He said, sounding like a third rate butler.

  "Should we take our shoes off?" Queried Desiree, having spotted the rather plush carpet blanketing the floor beyond a tiled section just inside the door.

  "No, Corey doesn't care what happens to the carpet," Lee answered, a slight hint of the old mischievous Lee creeping back into his voice.

  "Not true," said Corey. "But no, don't worry about taking your shoes off."

  Desiree wandered in first like some prospective tenant, albeit one armed with a shotgun, then the others began to file in.

  Last in was Melissa who pulled the screen door shut and then Corey let the oak door close with a solid thump.

  The whole crew bar Peter stood in a tight little knot on the tiled area and just beyond it, taking in the scenery inside Core
y's humble home.

  The front door lead straight into a massive lounge room area, furnished with four three seater leather sofas, a couple of big single leather recliners, a long low glass topped coffee table and a comprehensive entertainment system boasting a giant flat screen television, DVD/video player, PlayStation 3 game console and a five CD stereo system with towering black speakers either side.

  This system was located in the left hand corner of the massive lounge room on a slight angle so the television could be viewed from any of the lounge chairs which bordered the room.

  To the right of the system stood an enormous staircase with carpeted stairs leading from ground floor up to the second story of the house.

  There was no ceiling in the lounge room so that one could be standing above on the second floor gazing over the railing which bordered the internal balconies, down into the lounge room.

  A number of closed doors were visible up on this second level, obviously leading to more rooms while a shorter flight of stairs to the far right of this open plan level indicated a third story featuring more rooms was accessible.

  There were two other doors on the lounge room floor, one in the corner adjacent to the entry door and anther underneath the stairwell.

  Both these doors were closed.

  There were a variety of pictures and paintings hanging on walls throughout the room, a curious mix.

  None of them were originals, but among them were Salvador Dali's melting clock masterpiece 'The Persistence of Memory', a couple of disturbing H.R Giger prints, a nature shot featuring a mother wolf and her cute cuddly pup as well as M.C. Escher's twisted stair design 'Relativity'.

  As everybody stood around, Peter made a beeline for one of the single recliners and hauled himself into it, sprawling back until he was virtually laying in it.

  "Go ahead, take a seat," Corey invited the hordes. "We'll get food, and showers and all of that sorted in a sec."

  Something else occurred to him and he fumbled with the words trying to broach the subject.

  "On the topic of showers," he started. "I...um...well...we don't really have much in the way of women's clothes if you know what I mean."

  Had he been more like Tim he may have added a crack along the lines of 'so you might all have to run around naked', but as he wasn't, he didn't.