Sold to the Devil

by Blair Denholm

  ‘Fair enough.’

  Jordie began packing up. He grabbed a pair of tongs, put them in a Tupperware container. ‘Reckon we oughta head back home before it gets dark.’

  The trip would only take half an hour. Might not be enough time. Best do as Devlin said, cut to the chase. ‘Jordie. You and me. We’re good mates, right?’

  ‘Sure, Dylan. The best. I never had a friend like you, ‘cept me bruvver Steve. Most people make fun of me. Bullies ‘n that. You’ve seen ‘em at the oyster farm. Reckon I’m dumb.’

  ‘Here mate, have a smoke.’ Gary had pinched a packet of Tracey’s tailor-mades. Someone at the pub must be buying them for her; she sure as hell couldn’t afford them.

  ‘Cheers.’ Jordie’s face brightened. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’

  ‘Now, you know I’d do anything to help you out in a jam, right? I got you the little job with Nugget, didn’t I?’ He prayed Jordie would see it that way, not remember it was the other way round, that the two of them had been approached by Nugget.

  ‘You sure did.’ The simpleton’s smile broadened. ‘And it helped me get this rifle.’ He patted the gun resting against the picnic table, already in its canvas bag.

  ‘I’m going to admit something to you. I wasn’t being totally honest about my shooting prowess.’

  ‘Wassat? One of them German semi-autos? Like a Mauser?’

  ‘No. I meant my skill level. I was embarrassed to admit it before. I used to be a crack shot, now I’m rubbish.’ Time to pull out the big lie. It was a ripper, helped him sell a house on the Gold Coast not too long ago. ‘I don’t tell many people this, so count yourself among the privileged few.’ He paused, looked up at the sky, cursed himself for using fancy words again. ‘I did a tour of duty in Afghanistan in my early twenties. Fifth RAR. One day, me and my comrades got into a spot of bother on a lonely mountain road. A terrorist disguised as a farmer bailed up our armoured vehicle. He was going to lob a grenade at us, so I pulled out my assault rifle in the nick of time and blew the bugger’s brains out. Haven’t been able to shoot since. Can’t sleep. It’s why I drink so much. And gamble. It affects everything. My relationship with Tracey. I can barely hold it together.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Dylan. That’s awful.’

  ‘Not as awful as the trouble I’m in now.’

  ‘What? How could it be worse?’

  A gust of wind blew fat snowflakes across the picnic table. One landed in Gary’s eye, made it water in the corner. With the saddest expression he could muster, he turned to face Jordie. Blinked to expel the water from his eye. He hoped it look like a genuine tear.

  ‘It’s worse because it’s affecting Tracey. It’s something horrible and I need it to go away. To make sure Tracey’s safe when she’s alone during the day when I’m at work.’

  ‘C’mon, Dylan. Don’t beat around the bush. What the fuck is it?’

  ‘Remember when we delivered that bottle of stuff for Nugget?’

  ‘Yeah. Is it him? Is he the problem? I hope not, ‘cos he gave me $200.’ A conflicted look crept across Jordie’s face.

  ‘No, mate. Not Nugget. He’s okay. It’s the guy we took the package to. Ed’s his name. He’s taken a fancy to Tracey and won’t leave her alone. Threatened to kill both of us. Mad as a cut snake, he is. I heard he beats up prostitutes for fun and pays them to keep quiet. In short, he’s an absolute cunt.’

  ‘Why don’t you call the cops? Get a strainin’ order against him. That’s what me cousin Kaylene done when her husband got all abusive on her.’

  Again, Jordie proved his brain functioned above a basic biological level. Clever footwork was required.

  ‘Yeah. Look, this is also embarrassing to admit.’ Gary stared at the ground, scraped the toe of a boot against a rock. ‘Back in Melbourne, I got into a bit of trouble with the law. Bunch of parking infringements that got out of hand. Ended up with the city council on my back for unpaid fines. If I make a complaint, all that shit’s gonna surface and I could be in heaps of trouble. Maybe taken back to Victoria in handcuffs to face charges. You wouldn’t want to see that happen to me, would ya Jordie?’

  ‘Fuck no. So what have you got in mind for this bloke?’

  ‘I’m gonna kill him. And I need your help. You with me?’

  Jordie’s mouth opened and closed like a fish suffering oxygen deprivation. His hands fell to his sides and he started to wobble from the waist up. Gary thought the poor fellow was going to face plant into the snow.

  ‘Nah, sorry. I can’t do that. Not killin’ a yuman bean.’

  ‘Why the fuck not? You killed that poor, innocent wallaby, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, but it was a dumb animal. And we ate him, so it’s not an immoral act. That’s what Steve reckons, anyways.’

  Think, Braswell, think.

  ‘Okay, but did that wallaby do anything to you? Did it send abusive text messages and dick pics to Tracey telling her he’d rearrange her pretty face if she didn’t have sex with him? And if she doesn’t, he’s gonna kill her. And me. We should get in first before he catches us on the hop.’ Gary flipped the lid of the esky, pulled out a can of premix booze and drained it in seconds. The cold burned his oesophagus on the way down, but it didn’t matter. He needed fortification. He had to convince Jordie to do the wrong thing in order to do the right thing.

  ‘I dunno. What if we get caught? I don’t wanna go to jail.’

  ‘Don’t worry. If anything goes wrong, I’ll take the blame. I don’t care if I have to do time for this bastard. But nothing will go wrong. I always seem to dodge the bullet. But sure as eggs Ed won’t if you’re on board as my sniper.’

  ‘Lemme think about it on the drive home.’

  ‘I need your answer now.’ It could easily wait, but one thing Gary knew from his former life as an ace car and real estate salesman, nothing gets a buyer over the line like creating a bit of urgency. ‘As an incentive, there could be some money in it for you. This Ed stole a shitload of cash from me…and Tracey. It was for a deposit on a house. Took us years to save up. Years! So, that’s two good reasons to save the world from this prick. And when I get the money back, I’ll make sure you’re looked after.’

  ‘Um, how much would you, um, pay me?’ Guilt over the temerity to even ask the question was written all over Jordie’s face. Poor dolt.

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘Whether you can despatch Ed as efficiently as you did the wallaby.’

  ‘Wha’?’

  ‘If you can shoot the mongrel between the eyes.’

  ‘If he’s not moving, I sure can.’

  Low-ball it. See if he bites. ‘A grand.’

  ‘Wow. Okay. As long as you promise me he’s a bad man.’

  ‘The fucken worst.’

  ‘Only I’d hate to shoot him and then find out you weren’t tellin’ me the troof.’

  Gary had a flash of inspiration. Mentioning Ed’s act of sexual assault would surely seal the deal. Embarrassment was less of a factor with Jordie. He’d understand. And keep his mouth shut. ‘There’s one more thing I have to tell you about Ed. But you have to promise not to say anything to anyone about it. Ever. You promise me?’

  ‘Uh huh.’

  The news galvanised Jordie into action more than every other derogatory thing Gary said about Ed. Five minutes after the horrific revelation, Steve’s Land Rover was flying over the Wielangta Road ruts like they were on the smoothest of paved surfaces. Burned along Kellevie Road, through the tiny township of Nugent and into Wattle Hill in a time the best rally drivers in the world would be proud of.

  As they pulled up in front of the old farm house, tyres spitting gravel, snow and ice, Jordie placed a gentle hand on Gary’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, mate. That Ed bugger’s as good as dead.’

  Now all they had to do was come up with a foolproof plan.

  Chapter 25

  ‘Are you sure this Dylan Wagner chap is reliable?’ Beverley Cooke stretched out on her Norwegian-designed
couch. Pressed a button on the side and her scrawny vein-covered legs slowly rose into the air. She took a puff on an e-cigarette; twin jets of vapour poured from her nostrils. She used to be a two-pack a day smoker but switched to vaping last year. It had become a struggle to keep up in the gym. But after decades of the oral fixation and nicotine addiction, the appearance of these gadgets on the market was a godsend.

  Ed knew this, along with every other trite and boring detail of the woman’s life. At least when it came to trivial stuff. But it’d be worth having listened to the tedious minutiae when she left him a massive fortune in her will. But there was lots of work ahead before achieving that goal.

  ‘Positive. I offered him the $150,000 like you said. He jumped at it. Bloke’s so desperate he’d do in his own grandma for a bit of cash.’ Ed sipped a purple concoction of blended beetroot, carrot and herbs. A few drops of Taspep added for guaranteed performance in the sack post deliberations.

  ‘Have you devised a schedule for topping Buckpitt?’

  ‘I had to postpone the meeting with Wagner. Can’t get past Richmond due to the snow drifts. The short trip from my place to here is bad enough. I’m only going to discuss the matter with him in person from now on.’

  ‘Naturally. And how’s the deed going to be done. Figured that out yet?’

  ‘I’m leaving the method up to him. Whether he shoots, stabs or strangles the bloke, doesn’t matter. The less I know the better. My role’s limited to providing the opportunity. That bit will be easy. I’ll call Nugget and let him know Dylan’s gotta do another courier job for him. Nugget calls Dylan, Dylan persuades Nugget they have to meet somewhere, and bingo. No more Nugget.

  ‘They’re both out in the sticks, plenty of bush to hide a body. Wagner will know what to do. If he gets fingered for the crime later through his own carelessness, so be it. He’ll never be able to prove our involvement.’

  ‘What about phone calls you’ve made to him?’ Beverley narrowed her gaze.

  ‘Minimal so far. One final call when I tell him it’s time to make his move. He’ll be hard pressed to demonstrate a serious connection with me. My girlfriend and a mate of hers will swear on a stack of bibles we only know him on a casual basis. From drinking round the pubs ‘n that. If the police trace me though phone records, I’ll say I contacted Dylan about seeing a band or some shit. No dramas at all.’ Ed could hardly believe his own nonchalance. Hers, yes. She possessed a degree of ruthlessness he’d never seen before close up. Still, they were talking about murder, not a game of Cluedo.

  ‘Perfect. Now, I want your opinion on something.’ She unfolded a piece of paper. ‘Let me read you the letter I received from the laboratory in the USA.

  Dear Ms Cooke,

  Our analysis has demonstrated that the sample you sent us comprises a combination of inert chemicals and compounds. The presence of trimetazidine, however, would render the product ineligible for approval by the Food and Drug Administration of the United States. Were modifications to be made and trimetazidine replaced with another chemical, or excluded altogether, the chances of agency approval would increase dramatically. However, we cannot guarantee such an outcome as all applications are considered on a case-by-case basis. Here are the ingredients detected by our spectral analysis.

  ‘Then there’s a list of unpronounceable scientific names as long as your arm. Fabulous, because we can now manufacture the stuff without Buckpitt.’ Bev took a deep drag on her e-cigarette. ‘So, that leaves a couple of avenues open to us.’

  ‘Being?’

  ‘We call off the hit-job. Get Nugget to modify Taspep so the product meets FDA criteria.’

  ‘No.’ Ed shook his head. ‘I already checked like you asked me. It can take two and a half years to get approval, plus you need to submit masses of paperwork showing research results. But that’s only part of it. The process of trialling a drug can take 12 years to get the bloody thing on pharmacy shelves in America. And that’s where the big dollars are.’

  ‘Unacceptable. I might not even live that long. I want to make money from this product now, not when I’m 80 years old. Which is sad for Nugget, because that means he won’t be living much longer either.’

  ‘What’s the other avenue?’

  ‘We sell it on the sly, of course. Huge business potential. You can offload your token catering company and together we’ll clean up selling Taspep all over the country. And around the world.’

  Ed wouldn’t have been surprised if she steepled her fingers and let out an evil ‘mwa-ha-ha’.

  ‘Now, all this talk of business and eliminating pests has got me all frisky.’ She winked at Ed. He was already walking up the stairs to her bedroom, primed for action. This Taspep would make them both spectacularly rich if his spiking libido was anything to go by.

  Chapter 26

  ‘Come in, Jordie. Tracey needs to be sure you’re 100 percent on board.’

  A quizzical look. ‘On board what? A train?’

  Gary gritted his teeth. Luckily he had enough restraint not to yell at the thicko. ‘On board with getting rid of Ed.’ The sooner the job was done the better. He had no doubts about Jordie’s marksmanship, but the little guy’s ability to grasp an idea, to follow something through, that was another matter.

  ‘Oh, yeah. Course.’

  They kicked enough snow off their boots to fill a nine-litre bucket, stumbled into the kitchen. Hung jackets over the ratty old couch.

  ‘Tracey?’ Gary called. ‘You about?’ He immediately realised that was a stupid question. The Focus was still parked at the casino in Sandy Bay and there were no tyre tracks in the driveway other than the Land Rover’s. No footprints besides his and Jordie’s. She wouldn’t be venturing anywhere on foot.

  The lady of the house appeared in dressing gown and fluffy slippers. Shuffled her way to a crack-backed chair and slithered into it. ‘Man, what time is it? I was having a nap.’ Dark circles under her eyes. Pasty skin. Wobbly gait. Shooting up again? Gary slipped a sly glance along her arms. No new tracks. But she was a seasoned junkie. Knew all the tricks of hiding evidence of addiction. As did he. Supply wouldn’t be a problem. There was a glut of H around Tassie. A bag of blow for a quick blowie round the back of the bottle-o.

  ‘Hey. Guess what? Jordie’s agreed to help us knock off Ed.’

  All signs of tiredness evaporated as Tracey leapt from her chair and flung her arms around Jordie’s neck. Pressed her gaunt cheek into his chubby red one. ‘Oh my God. You’re a life saver, Jordie.’

  And a life taker, Gary couldn’t help thinking.

  ‘Don’t get too carried away. I ain’t done nuffin’ yet.’ Jordie half raised his arms, hesitant to hug her back. Finally he gave her a half-hearted pat on the back.

  ‘But you will, won’t you Jordie? You promised me, right?’ said Gary.

  A nod. ‘Yep. You’re me best mate aside from Steve. Gotta stick by your mates.’ The words somehow lacked the conviction Gary was hoping to hear. He exchanged a quick glance with Tracey. She was beaming. She had no doubts. The guy was solid.

  ‘That’s a great motto,’ said Tracey. ‘If everyone lived by it, the world would be a much better place. Right, Dylan?’

  ‘How about we organise a nice cup of tea for our guest, a couple of bikkies. Surely the three of us can nut out a foolproof plan. Rid the world of the scum that is Ed. And not get caught. High fives?’ Tracey and Jordie jumped in the air like the Toyota commercial, slapped palms with each other.

  ‘Woo hoo!’ yelled Gary, fist pumping like he’d won Wimbledon.

  ‘Oh-yeah!’ Jordie said, clicking his fingers rapper style.

  ‘All right!’ Tracey did a little shuffle dance.

  And just like that, the atmosphere turned from gloom to glee in the little wooden kitchen in the little wooden house in sleepy Wattle Hill.

  The tobacco cloud in the room hung thicker than custard. It mixed with sooty smoke leaking from the wood heater. Steve’s repair job failed to get the ancient contraption working to peak perfo
rmance. The burner was old and needed replacing. But Gary couldn’t care less. That would be a problem for the next tenants. Which would be soon after Ed was dead and the money returned to its rightful owner. Then they’d move into a decent place. Start life over.

  He scribbled on a sheet of A4, other scrunched-up pieces of paper lay scattered on the floor. ‘I was sure I had it there for a minute.’ He rubbed his forehead.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Tracey. ‘Looks like our boy genius is stuck.’

  ‘Ha ha. Good one.’ Gary scowled and scrawled random lines on of the cardboard coasters he’d pinched from the pub. Plans are great. Help you implement actions in a methodical way. Foss had demonstrated that time and again. Problem was, none were forming. ‘Killing a bloke needs clear thinking and a steely resolve. Might take hours to come up with the perfect plan.’

  The brimming ashtrays on the table were a testament to the stellar effort they’d been putting in. But that effort wasn’t being met with results. If they didn’t come up with at least half an idea, something to build on, their earlier enthusiasm would lose momentum and stall.

  ‘C’mon. Trace.’ Gary doodled elliptical shapes. ‘You’re cleverer than me. Not to mention Jordie. Surely you can propose a way forward. Something that’s got legs.’

  Stiletto-sharp elbows on the table, Tracey cradled her chin with skeletal fingers. She leaned forward, a hard-done-by expression narrowed her eyes.

  ‘See those bits of paper? All my suggestions.’ She pointed at the crumpled pieces of paper scattered on the floor, stubbed out a cigarette.

  ‘Yeah, but you canned them as soon as you made them.’ A muscled flickered in Gary’s cheek. ‘Dismissed without discussion.’ Fuck, Foss would know what to do. Plan and then implement actions in a methodical way.

  ‘At least it’s an attempt. What have you offered? Nothing. And, by the way, it’s your arse in a sling over this catastrophe.’