Fern wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tossed the empty bottle on the floor.
‘Uh huh. But nothing’s gonna be happening tonight.’
Gary twisted the top off a fresh Boag’s Premium and handed it up to her, hand shaky. He shifted to a squatting position and focussed eyes on hers. Looping dreadies tumbled down either side of her face, a mop of matted hair sat on her scalp like an homage to Mount Wellington, or kunanyi as some local folk call it. But he could forgive that bird’s nest hairdo. In fact, he’d forgive her anything if she paid him attention.
‘You don’t sound too disappointed.’
‘Nah, I’m getting bored with this pair. Too up themselves. Selfish in bed, selfish in life. Ed’s nothing more than a predator. Time for me to find some new distractions. Anyway, I still don’t know your name, sunshine.’
‘I’m Ga…Dylan.’
‘Gadylan? What sort of name is that?’
Gary gulped. ‘Nah, just Dylan. I was choking off a hiccup.’
Fern shook her head. ‘Hiccups don’t come in ones. No one ever has an attack of the hiccup, singular.’
‘Well I do.’ Gary smiled.
Fern loosened sleeping Selina’s hand from her waist, and sat up on the bed. Her eyes fixed a steely gaze on Gary. ‘Nu-uh. There’s something weird about you. I mean, you’re still wearing that beanie and it’s warm enough in here. What’s that all about?’
A loud thump made them both snap their heads around. Ed’s seat was vacant. He was sprawled on the carpet, snoring like a farting elephant.
‘Don’t worry about Ed. He’s overdone it with the coke and booze and whatever other doggie treats he keeps in his pockets.’ Fern swung her head, the dreadies doing a snappy snake dance. ‘You know Gadylan, I find you fascinating, but I can’t put my finger on it. You’re odd looking, but weirdly attractive.’ She peered into Gary’s eyes and damned if he didn’t see her wink. Irena the Russian vamp all over again except this time in the guise of a tree hugger smelling of moth balls and hints of stale marijuana.
He was about to speak when a real hiccup leapt from Gary’s mouth. Karma. ‘Damn, I can’t…hic…there’s another one. Sorry.’
Fern slithered off the bed, nestled beside Gary on the floor. ‘I guess you’re the type of boy who can’t control himself, huh?’ She took his face in her hands.
‘I tried that once. Didn’t work. Speaking of which, there’s a wad of blow left in that baggie on the side table. Enough for two large serves. Shall we?’
Undulating coils of unwashed hair said yes, we shall. He’d sniffed a shitload of powder already, and his vital signs were probably edging towards the danger zone. But fuck it, this last blast would round off a perfect day.
Fern addressed her portion with a pierced nostril. Whoosh, gone. This chick was no wuss. Gary’s body trembled as he leaned down to consume his share, knocked the edge of the table with a knee and half the remaining coke spilled to the floor. Shitfuck.
‘Allow me,’ said Fern. She lay on her stomach, licked the spillage up sensuously, eyeing Gary off as she lapped. Not the most hygienic way to recover the product, but an effective one. A hard-on spontaneously sprouted in Gary’s boxer shorts as the licking continued. Carpet munching of the literal variety.
‘Wanna share?’ she asked in a throaty voice. ‘I’ve been getting turned on by those big, fat juicy lips of yours. Come have a taste of sugar.’
No second invitation needed; he planted his surgically enhanced mouth on hers and immediately felt the buzz of the cocaine. Another sensation, she began rubbing his cock through his pants, slow and rhythmic. Her confident hand bespoke of a keen familiarity with the male organ.
‘Wanna fuck me, Gadylan? Wanna see my map of Tassie?’
Gary snuck a quick look at Tracey to make sure she hadn’t woken up. Nope, all clear. Dead to the world. ‘Does beer have bubbles?’
‘I’ll take that as a “yes”.’
She slowly peeled the beanie off his head. Her lips formed a circle of surprise as she ran her hands over his mutilated ears. Gary opened his mouth to explain, but she pressed a finger to his lips. ‘Fun first, explanations later.’
The half hour of awkward, uncoordinated sex with Fern was the least satisfying and technically substandard he’d had in years, but he still came inside her with a vigorous thrust and a broad smile plastered across his face. The promised map of Tassie proved a testament to the Green movement – plenty of old-growth forest, untouched by razors or wax. Not what he was used to; nice change to find a rare natural woman among the preened and plucked. But even if the quality of copulation was below par, another notch on the proverbial belt was still a success to be celebrated.
As the vast quantities of cocaine and lager consumed over the night combined in his system to form a powerful post-coital soporific, Gary hoped Tracey hadn’t woken and heard or seen him rooting Fern. And if she had, well, what the hell. He’d deal with any repercussions in the morning.
Chapter 5
Mötley Crüe played an awful off-key rendition of Kick Start my Heart in Gary’s burned-out brain. The worst migraine, the kind that pulsates and pauses, gives hints of relief, then continues its merciless assault. Arcs of fire launched nerve-piercing pain down his right arm, an unseen wrench twisted his wrist and made him wince. He looked down at his fingers, cramped and clawing.
Where the fuck was he? An overpriced, pokey hotel room in the Happy Traveller, that’s where. Then – recollection. There’d been a party with some new friends. He rolled over onto his back, felt a stubby poke his spine. More bottles scattered on the floor, grains of cocaine sprinkled here and there. Did a narcotics fairy visit overnight? More zoned-out zombie party than high-intensity rave. The memory of an unexpected bonk with a hot stranger curled his lips into a lascivious smile. Still got it, Braswell. Even after all the shit you’ve been through.
His nose now twitched, crusty with last night’s blow ringing his nostrils. He wiped away the offending material and rubbed it under his top lip. Zip-zip. Tingly.
The headache maintained its unrelenting throb. He could think of no better antidote to the pain than jumping out the window. But like on the ferry, the hotel windows were sealed shut.
He swung his legs off the bed and began to crawl towards the bathroom. A nerve-shredding pain exploded in his arse. Bang in the middle of his anus. What the fuck was that? He halted mid-crawl, took a deep breath, squeezed core muscles. It helped a little, but only powerful medicine would kill it. Slowly, the burning agony reduced to a dull, achy throb.
The expected bodies on the floor were absent. Muscleman Ed and his two floozies had pissed off, left no trace. Had they even been there? Was Fern a figment of his altered consciousness? Tracey would have to confirm his shaky recollection of last night’s events. After he swallowed a fistful of aspirin.
Gary lined up the bathroom door with one eye, resumed his awkward crawl, head down like a baby on the charge. The effort of keeping it up to navigate was too painful – though not as painful as the insane throbbing and stabbing that again gripped his date. He winced, tucked his chin and ploughed forward. Another two metres, across the cold tiles and up on his feet. A quick riffle through his toiletry bag rendered good and bad news. Good – yes, pain killers. Bad – only two tabs when he needed four. He ripped open the foil and tossed the white tablets in a small glass. The aspirin effervesced and hissed, sounded like someone shushing him. Even over-the-counter medicine was telling him to shut up. Fuck you, Aspro Clear.
Recumbent Tracey made whistling noises through her nose; her hair spikes twisted into spirals like matted tubular sea shells. Gary shook her by the shoulder. Nothing. He shook her by both shoulders. Again, no reaction. Was she dead? One more shake.
‘What the fuck.’ She spat out a rough, hacking cough. ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s me, Gaz. You okay?’
She rolled over slowly and looked up at him. Her eyes were red, spider-veined. ‘Yeah. Give us a sec to wake up. Jesus, you
look like shit.’
‘Thanks.’
Tracey knew how to make a man feel good about himself.
Tracey’s recollection coincided with Gary’s, at least on a superficial level. Ed, Selina and Fern spent a few hours at the hotel room, sinking a carton of Cascade Premium beer between them, snorted some lines, with Tracey abstaining from the blow. Ed watched the television with unflinching attention and Gary sat on the floor chugging stubbies. Tracey fell asleep and woke up a few moments ago when Gary interrupted a perfectly nice dream starring herself and one of the Hemsworth brothers. She wasn’t sure which one and didn’t particularly care.
‘Right. All good then,’ said Gary. ‘I guess the next thing we need to do is figure out where we’re gonna be living. Here’s out of the question long-term, and that place at Glenorchy isn’t fit for human habitation. Let’s have a look… aarrgghh!’ He clutched his backside and jumped up and down on the spot.
‘What is it?’
‘Fucked if I know. Feels like I’ve been rogered by a bloody donkey.’ Didn’t Fern mention something about Ed’s sexual preferences? Had Ed…done it to him? If he had it was rape, pure and simple. He’d never give his consent to that. No way.
‘Bloody hell. You look like you’ve been told you’ve got a week to live. What’s going on?’
‘I think that Ed bastard took advantage of me while I was asleep.’
‘No way. You’d have woken up in the middle of that. How out of it were you?’
‘I dunno.’ Gary scratched his head. ‘Probably about as … aarrgghh … out of it as I’ve ever been. But I was pretty aware of things before I fell asleep.’ Best not mention having sex with Fern. ‘Dammit, if I’ve been interfered with, I’ll bring the full force of the law down upon his fucken head.’
‘Think again.’ Tracey counted out on her fingers. ‘You’re wanted for, lemme see now, involvement in two murders and stealing half a million dollars. The Feds want to arrest you and a gang of evil Russian dudes wants to execute you. I don’t think taking legal action is an option right now. Or ever.’
‘Jesus, you’re right. But what if I was molested against my will? I can’t let that go unpunished.’
‘Then you’ll either have to live with it or find another way to get your revenge. Anyway, if what you think happened happened, and that still remains to be proved, how can you be sure you didn’t agree to a bit of man-on-man fun? You yourself admit you were off your face before losing consciousness.’
‘I’d prefer to say fell into a deep sleep. Unless the dodgy fucker slipped me a roofie. Anyhow, I’ve never had sex with another bloke. In any way, shape or form. Not even curious.’ Gary sat on the chair gingerly, grimaced and leapt to his feet. He had been curious in the past, as an adolescent, but he wasn’t admitting it to Tracey. ‘Man, that hurts.’ His eyes watered like buggery.
‘My advice – see a doctor. Rule out the worst. Maybe it’s something natural, like piles. Have you even had a look, or a feel?’
‘Not yet. Um…would you mind…ah …please…’
‘Christ no. I’m not inspecting your ring.’
‘Please. A quick look wouldn’t kill you.’
‘For God’s sake. Anything to shut you up.’
Gary dropped his trousers and bent over in front of Tracey, pulled his cheeks apart with shaky hands. Through the gap between his legs he could see her upside down face twisted in disgust. Poor bitch. She rocked back, took a deep breath and leaned in for a closer look.
‘I don’t know how to tell you this,’ she wheezed between locked teeth.
‘What?’
‘There’s half a condom hanging out your arse.’
‘Noooooo!’
Chapter 6
‘Jesus, Trace. I had a horrible thought.’ Gary ripped the rubber sheath from his anus – snnnnap. He flung it in the rubbish bin, couldn’t bring himself to examine the condom. It probably contained incriminating DNA, but there was nothing he could do with it. Seeing Ed go down for rape might be appealing, but Gary sure didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of spending a 20-year stretch in prison as a trade-off.
Another thing nagged. He should be wailing, gnashing his teeth after such a heinous crime. But he couldn’t. Maybe he had been a willing participant. Eager even. Dammit, why couldn’t he remember?
Tracey’s eyebrows knitted in an arch of confusion. ‘What can be more horrible than Ed making you his unconscious bitch?’
A quick fumble and he yanked his boxers up, threw on a crumpled T-shirt. He dropped to a burpee position with the speed of a drill sergeant and thrust one hand under the bed.
‘I don’t like this whole situation. Feels like a fit-up.’ Gary dragged the duffel bag out from under the bed, jumped up and ripped the zipper open. He arched his back and let out a high-pitched scream. Tracey clapped hands to her ears. Gary hyperventilated for ten seconds then flopped on the floor, arms outstretched in a crucifixion pose. His chest rose and fell in waves as he fought to regain normal breathing. ‘The bastards have stolen our money, Trace! What are we gonna do now?’
‘How the hell would I know?’ She vigorously scratched her forearm along old track marks. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is a total shit storm. Our options are limited without the money.’
‘Limited? Holy shit. Our options are zero. We have to hunt that motherfucker down and get our cash back before he spends it all. And then I’m gonna kill him.’
‘How are you gonna to do that?’ Tracey stood and paced the room – three steps forward and three back covered its entire length. ‘We’re new kids in town, don’t know anybody, apart from the pricks who fleeced us. We’re totally rooted.’
‘C’mon, let’s think.’ Gary bent at the waist. It felt like broken glass was stabbing his internal organs. ‘Ed said he ran a business. Can you remember what it was? I fucken can’t, dammit.’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Something to do with food. Maybe if we go back to the pubs we visited. Ask around. Someone has to know him and Selina.’
‘That’s a start, I guess. Main thing is to stay calm. We’ll do the rounds of the pubs. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have to come up with another plan. I’ll have a quick look online. Do you remember his last name?’
Tracey bit her lower lip, shook her head. ‘Pretty sure it didn’t come up.’
‘Never mind.’ He yanked open the drawer of the bedside table, expecting the iPad to be gone. It wasn’t. He did a quick Internet search: Ed+food+Hobart. Lots of results, but nothing pointing to the suspect. He tried variations with Selina and Fern. Again, nothing. He tossed the tablet onto the bed. ‘Dammit. No good. If only we knew more about them. So frustrating.’
‘Pity your clever mate Foss isn’t here to come up with some bright ideas. Why don’t you get in touch with him. You could—’
‘No way. I’m not involving him in this mess. He’ll feel obliged to help, and then if we get caught, he’s gonna be in deep shit.’ He put a hand to his throbbing temple. ‘What about those Sydney fixers?’
‘Forget it. You’re lucky they haven’t dobbed you in for the million-dollar reward. I guess their business reputation is more valuable than a massive pay-off. They wouldn’t want to be known as snitches.’
‘Yeah. I guess I’m clutching at straws.’ A sudden pain shot through his rectum. He grabbed at his stomach.
‘Not the only thing you’re clutching at.’
‘You’re no support in a crisis.’ Gary grabbed his jeans from the floor and felt the back pocket. ‘I’ve still got my wallet.’ He flipped it open and counted $300 in fifties. Thank God he’d pulled the extra readies out of an ATM in Melbourne. A feel in his jacket pockets. Phone intact. Tracey checked too, and her belongings were untouched by thieving hands. Suitcases with combination locks also undamaged. Looked like the robbery had been opportunistic, not a fit-up. Gary himself probably blurted out the whole story of the bag full of loot under the bed when he was off his tits. You bloody moron, Braswell.
�
��Come on, let’s get out of here.’ Gary smiled wanly. ‘Staying at the hotel is pointless.’
‘But we don’t have to check out till 11am.’
‘I don’t fucken care. This place is giving me the shits.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Only one place we can go. Back to that festering dump in Glenorchy.’
‘Great.’
After rapid showers, Gary and Tracey marched out the door to flag down a taxi when something flashed by the window and caught Gary’s eye.
‘What’s all that stuff flying about outside? Looks like chook feathers.’
Tracey cupped her hands together like a pair of binoculars and peered into the gloom of Hobart’s morning cityscape.
‘Nope. It’s snowing, and the stuff’s thick on the ground. Must have been a dump overnight. Welcome to paradise.’
An eerie silence reigned as the snow fell heavier and heavier. The city of Hobart was ill-prepared for this freak weather event. Fat snowflakes bounced silently off the taxi’s windscreen. The driver crawled at a snail’s pace along the city’s main thoroughfare, every now and then fingering a string of worry beads wrapped around the rear vision mirror. Judging by his name tag and swarthy complexion, Gary thought the man would have grown up not knowing weather conditions like these. He doubted many native Tasmanians had either.
The corner of Macquarie and Murray Streets, in its faux winter mantle, was like a scene from a Dickensian yuletide drama. The huddle of Edwardian sandstone buildings covered in a blanket of snow would have made for a delightful postcard. Pity it was still summer. What the hell would winter be like when it arrived? Another Ice Age, probably.
The cab turned into the Brooker Highway at the bottom of Macquarie Street. A jerky fishtail slide, rear wheels spinning. Gary and Tracey jumped in their seats. Must be black ice. A short, sharp oath and a head wobble from the driver.
‘So sorry. Please forgive me.’
‘It’s okay,’ said Gary as calmly as he could, his palms damp with sweat as the taxi’s heater worked overtime. ‘Just get us there in one piece.’
Sold to the Devil Page 4