Sold to the Devil

by Blair Denholm

  ‘Hey, calm down. Your secret’s safe with us. Selina and I have no interest in destroying other people’s lives. It’s all good.’ Ed proceeded to explain how he had his own business so also needed to be circumspect. He’d hardly be a tattle-tale himself when discretion was paramount to him, too, now would he?

  ‘Okay. So where to from here?’

  ‘What kind of question is that?’ asked Selina, hero adoration glowing in her eyes. ‘You’re welcome to party with us as long as you like. Right babe?’

  ‘Yeah, sure,’ said Ed, emotionless. ‘Whatever. Anyway, time for us to go. We’ll be in touch.’

  Pulling into his driveway, Turrell squinted in the bright porch light. Switched off the engine and sighed heavily. Banged the heels of his palms against the steering wheel a couple of times. He wouldn’t be seeing Selina again. At least in an intimate setting. Might run into her on the street, pull her over for a breatho test. But the good times were over. And all because of those stupid gallant feats of yesterday. Like they say, no good deed goes unpunished. Only for him, the punishment was ongoing. Suspension from duty back then, sacked as the invited third wheel now.

  He figured Ed for an alpha male with a weird cuckold twist. Happy when someone else was loving up his woman, but strictly on Ed’s terms. And that included Ed having a higher status than the bit players. Being the hero was supposed to open doors, not shut them. Why did every good thing have to end so quickly? And the bad shit never went away.

  The radio crackled. Police frequency band.

  All units in the vicinity of Seaview Avenue. Three streets away. Suspected burglary in progress. Neighbour spotted a person breaking into a house across the road. Suspect wearing a black hoodie, black pants. Slight build, no accomplices visible. Witness noticed torchlight flashing across curtains inside the house. Any units available to attend?

  He could be there in minutes. Apprehend the villain and drag him down to the station.

  Nah, fuck it. He was off duty.

  Let someone else be the hero tonight.

  Chapter 29

  ‘We’ve waited long enough. I think you ought to make that call now, my dear.’ Beverley’s languorous voice came from behind Ed’s sweat-lathered back.

  Ed grabbed his cotton boxers off the floor, wriggled them up over bulging thighs. Was he imagining it, or had his legs grown thicker over the last two weeks? He was sure his undies used to slide on more easily. But there’d been no extra leg work in the gym, he’d given up the ‘roids. Only Taspep. Daily. Puffed-up pecs and deltoids turned the simple act of getting his T-shirt on into a struggle, too. Muscle-building must be another of the drug’s benefits. Unexpected bonus.

  ‘Yep. I’ll do it later today. Once Wagner’s home from work. In a relaxed frame of mind.’

  ‘Fine. And I forgot to thank you for finding that student.’

  ‘No thanks required. Wasn’t hard. I’ve got plenty of useful contacts at UTAS. This bloke’s top of his chemistry class, graduating next year. Keen to make a quid. Apparently he’s skint. Mummy and daddy in Hong Kong lavish their money on his little brother and Zhang Yong gets stuff all.’

  ‘I like it when my staff are motivated.’

  You don’t have to tell me.

  ‘If this fellow’s good,’ Beverley continued. ‘I’ll see about sponsoring him for permanent residency.’

  ‘That’ll motivate him even more. He’ll churn out the stuff for you day and night. Zhang’s got lots of friends to help out on the assembly line. Confidentiality guaranteed with these guys.’

  ‘Perfect.’

  Ed raised an eyebrow, put on his serious business face. ‘But before Dylan does the job, I want to confirm something.’ He slipped on a loafer and stood, fully dressed. ‘Are you absolutely sure you want to take this drastic step? Killing someone’s kind of a big deal.’

  ‘Yes, I know. And my reply to that is “big deal”.’ Beverley laughed. ‘How do you know I’ve not been down this path before?’

  Ed shivered. The woman’s cold-bloodedness was something to behold.

  Ed preferred to make his phone calls in the car. It afforded absolute privacy; no eavesdropping was possible when the windows were up. His own cone of silence. Even better when the car was hurtling down the highway at 120 km per hour like it was now.

  Tasmania had entered the fifth day of climatological bliss. The nightmare was over. Social media was bursting with feel-good posts. Smileys, emojis. People in their backyards, on the sporting fields. The tail end of winter meant bulbs were beginning to bloom. Spring star flowers, anemones, daffodils. A few cheeky ones shooting up as he drove through Hobart’s inner suburbs earlier in the day. He glanced out the window and smiled. This universal mood of joy must be how it felt in 1945 when WWII ended.

  The sky had turned from its semi-permanent gunmetal grey to azure, clouds from heavy and thick to light and feathery. The snow was gone, only stubborn patches huddled in shaded laneways and under brooding trees. Best of all, no black ice so he was now able to gun the engine of his prized Renault Megane RS 280. Polished silver, its glimmering streamlined form sizzled down the highway like a jet plane preparing for take-off. The powerful hot hatch scorched the Brooker Highway, zipping past every other vehicle.

  ‘Heading back to Hobart now, babe. I told that dickhead supplier in Montrose his quote for ready-made salads was a joke.’

  ‘I hope you told him to pull his head in.’ Selina was supportive as ever. Automated responses of encouragement, even if she was Facebooking a friend or filing her nails as she spoke. He didn’t care. She was his day-to-day sounding board and he loved her for that.

  ‘I sure did. Next time…Hang on, I’ve got a call coming in. Ring you back?’

  Ed felt his eyes bulge. What the fuck?

  Dylan Wagner.

  ‘Hey. I thought I told you to wait for my call, which, incidentally, I was going to make shortly. You telepathic or something?’

  ‘Listen. Ed. I…’ The voice faded in and out. ‘You need to get down here. Now.’

  ‘Why? What’s happened?’ Ed ran jittery fingers through his hair.

  ‘It’s Nugget.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘I’ve – puff puff – done what you asked.’

  A lump lodged in Ed’s throat. He could feel his blood pressure rise, his pulse quicken. This wasn’t the plan. No, no, no.

  ‘You were supposed to wait for me to give the signal, dammit.’ The words barely came out. ‘Why didn’t you wait?’

  Silence.

  ‘Are you there?’

  Ragged sounds like an asthmatic fighting to breathe.

  ‘Dylan, for fuck’s sake, speak to me. I need to tell Beverley what’s going on. I hope you’re not bullshitting me.’

  ‘No bullshit. Oh, god. It’s horrible. I can’t…’

  ‘We can’t talk about this over the phone,’ Ed hissed. ‘Where are you? At the…spot?’

  ‘No,’ Gary croaked. ‘Back at my place. You know where it is?’

  ‘No fucking idea. Text me the address.’

  ‘Hang on.’

  Ed ended the call. Within seconds a message popped up. Christ. Wattle Hill? He wasn’t sure he’d even heard of it. He tapped the address into the GPS. Yes. There it was. A left onto Nugent Road a couple of kilometres after Sorell. The dulcet tones of GPS lady would keep him company for the next 35 minutes until he reached the chequered flag. Bullshit. Make that 20 minutes. He had to see the body for himself. Take a photo to show Beverley. He could already envision her in the lawyer’s office, making Ed sole heir to a vast fortune.

  But first, confirm the kill.

  Turn left in 100 metres. He scanned the screen. Dylan’s house was close now. Runoff water from snow melt pooled across the dirt road. Ed slowed to negotiate a wide puddle when flailing arms in a lumber jacket caught his eye. It was Dylan, waiting beside a dented steel farm gate. He hopped from one foot to the other, puffing furiously on a cigarette. Ed had never seen him so agitated. Even when Dylan
spat the dummy at Ed’s house. Then again, the bloke had murdered someone in cold blood.

  Ed nosed the car into the driveway, but Gary blocked his path. Leaned over the car and sprawled hands across the bonnet.

  Gary scrambled around to the passenger door. He leapt in and slammed the door shut. Ed screwed up his face. Gary’s boots were caked in thick black mud rubbing off onto the protective mat. Normally he’d be fuming over the mess, but he said nothing. The mats were due for replacing anyway.

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Wielangta Forest.’

  Chapter 30

  The Arsehole had taken the bait. Tracey guessed correctly – Ed failed to check, to ring Nugget’s number. The adrenaline told him Go and see! Gary snuck a sideways look at Ed as the Megane bumped over deep ruts it wasn’t designed to cope with. Ed gripped the wheel, knuckles white, teeth clenched. The going was a lot slower than in Steve’s Land Rover, but Gary didn’t give a shit. Let the Arsehole agonise over damage to the chassis, chips in the duco, cracks in the exhaust pipe. It’d be the last of his worries in about ten minutes.

  ‘Jesus Christ. Why didn’t you tell me the road was … damn, it’s barely a track. Is it much further?’

  Gary strained to see the sign Jordie promised to leave by the roadside. His accomplice should already be hiding in the bush, rifle primed, ready to take Ed down. Then he saw it. A wattle sapling tied with a red ribbon.

  ‘Nah. Stop here.’ Thankfully, no vehicles had passed them on the dirt forest road. Back on the sealed highway, the oncoming Wicked Campers rental van didn’t pay a blind bit of notice; the nervous-looking driver was focused on staying on the unaccustomed left-hand side of the road. Bloody tourists.

  ‘Bout time. Now, show me Nugget.’

  ‘Follow me.’

  Last time Gary was here, the snow was up to his knees. Now there were only smears of white at the base of trees, around boulders. Not only had Jordie left the ribbon marker, he’d snapped bracken leaves along the path to the designated clearing. Unnecessary, since the track was already carved out by forest workers. Jordie was simply making extra sure. They only had one chance to get this right.

  He could hear Ed’s laboured breathing behind him. The terrain started to ascend, and the Arsehole was struggling. Too many performance enhancing drugs, too many weights, not enough cardio. Gary smoked like a chimney, but knew the muscle-bound brute was finding the climb tougher than he was. Or the bloke was nervous. Surely he didn’t suspect something was amiss. Gary’s own heart pounded like a hammer on an anvil. Bashed insistently against his ribcage. The enormity of what was to come was dawning on him. Just don’t faint.

  ‘See that pile of branches over there? He’s under that.’ Gary pointed a shaky index finger at a mound, a crude job of stacked branches and bracken leaves. At a glance you might think there was a body under it. Especially if that’s what you were hoping for.

  ‘How’d you do it?’

  Bugger. He hadn’t thought of that. Quick, make some shit up.

  ‘Poisoned him.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Poppy juice with Roundup. Told Nugget it was billy tea. Special blend of gum leaves and moss. Dumb bastard swallowed it. Dropped dead on the spot.’

  Ed nodded. He’d swallowed it too. ‘Creative. I like that.’

  Gary pulled at a loose thread on his jacket. ‘So, wanna take a peek at him?’

  Ed didn’t answer, marched toward the pile, taking deep breaths as he went. Almost hyperventilating. Fear. The bloke was 80 percent bluff.

  A crude ‘X’ scuffed on the ground indicated where Gary was to stand to avoid the bullet. He found it easily and took up his position on the cross. No bloody idea where Jordie was hiding. True to his word, the little bloke was a ninja.

  Ed went at the pile like a dog digging up a tasty bone. Branches started flying left and right. Wouldn’t be long before he realised there was nothing under the foliage.

  And then, it happened.

  The man’s back stiffened. Ed stood slowly, turned around. His face contorted, bewilderment overlapped anger. Appropriate for someone deceived into organising their own death.

  BANG!

  The shot was louder than anything Gary had heard in his life.

  But to his horror, Ed didn’t fall down dead. Instead, the man grabbed at a spot where most of his shoulder used to be, muscle and flesh shredded. Blood gushed in a torrent. An artery, maybe? Ed tried to stem the bleeding with his hand. Useless. A river of crimson flowed between his fingers.

  Hopefully, the Arsehole would bleed out where he lay. But maybe he wouldn’t.

  ‘Dylan, you bastard! What have you done?’ Ed dropped to his knees, rolled onto one side. Rocking back and forth, he screamed, ‘Why?’

  Gary stared transfixed. What a dumb question. The Arsehole was still alive, but a strange, warm joy radiated in the pit of Gary’s stomach to see the man in agony, scared for his life.

  Gary spun around to confront the errant shooter. Jordie’s face, white as milk, peered around the trunk of an ancient eucalypt. ‘You were supposed to kill him with one shot,’ yelled Gary. ‘Time to complete the job, son.’

  Tears streamed down Jordie’s face. He shook his head. ‘I knew I shoulda said no to this.’

  ‘C’mon, get over here. You have to complete the job.’

  ‘No,’ Jordie bawled. ‘It was a mistake.’

  Ed screamed louder and louder, pressed his palm against the gory goulash of raw meat, bone and cartilage.

  ‘Listen to him. He’s in awful pain,’ Gary reasoned. ‘You wouldn’t let an animal suffer like that would you? You’d put it out of its misery.’

  ‘But he’s not an animal. He’s a yuman bean. We have to take ‘im to the hostible. That wound can be fixed.’

  Dammit. The little cry baby was going to ruin everything. The unwavering loyalty gone to shit in a crisis.

  ‘No way.’ Gary stomped over to Jordie. The man’s childish sobbs a hideous counterpoint to Ed’s pitiful moans. He grabbed Jordie by the upper arm, squeezed hard, shook. ‘Have you forgotten what I told you? He stole my money. Harassed Tracey. Raped me, for fuck’s sake. I thought you understood what needed to be done. To make the world a better place.’

  ‘But killin’s wrong. Sorry, Dylan, but I don’t want nuffin more to do wiff this.’ Jordie wrested his arm from Gary’s grip. He threw the rifle to the ground as if it was crawling with spiders. Took off along the path. He stumbled and fell a few times among the flittering ferns. Got up and kept going. Soon, he was gone.

  The rifle lay flat, begging to be used. But Gary had no clue what to do with the bloody thing. To him, the weapon was a black tube with a reddish-brown handle. Were there more bullets inside? Safety catches to flick off before he could fire it? A thought flashed into his mind. Pick up the barrel and belt Ed over the head with the stock. But no. He might injure himself. Guns backfire.

  ‘Pick it up, go on.’ A familiar voice. Not Jordie.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me. Surprised?’

  The rancid black-and-white monster, haunting him again. Whiskers a-twitch, eyes afire.

  ‘That’s an understatement. Why the hell are you here? I haven’t drunk any poppy juice.’

  Devlin shook his mangy head, dirt flew from his fur. ‘Are you that stupid? I know when you need me. Your brain is so frazzled, no need to be off your face to summon me. I’m your only hope. Look at the mess you’ve created.’

  ‘That’s another fucken understatement! What the hell do I do now? This was okay in theory, now it’s…Jesus.’ It was hard to breathe, he blinked away stinging tears. There was a crushing pressure in his chest like a truck had driven over him. A headache hammered behind his aching eyes and his hands trembled.

  ‘Who are you talking to?’ Ed’s voice. Croaky. Weak. Barely audible in the still of the bush. ‘There’s no one there, you idiot. Get help, for Christ’s sake! I’m going to bleed out.’

  Ed had somehow found the strength to struggl
e to his knees. He was sweating. Blood dripped from his wound into the mud. The man’s body shook like he had pneumonia. To Gary’s horror, Ed clambered to his feet. Like something from a zombie apocalypse movie, he staggered towards Gary, clutching at his destroyed shoulder, hollering obscenities.

  ‘He’s getting closer. Finish him off. Pick up the gun and shoot him.’ Devlin’s voice was devoid of intonation.

  ‘Fuck no, I’m outta here.’ Gary staggered backwards, turned and tried to run for the edge of the clearing. His right leg wouldn’t budge. He looked down. Devlin’s claws dug into the bottom of his jeans. The animal’s face twisted in a sneer.

  ‘If you run and he survives, you’re as good as dead. He’ll call the old lady. She won’t let you get away. Look, he’s reaching for his mobile now.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter if they find him, dead or alive. She’ll figure out it was me anyway.’

  ‘No she won’t.’ Was that smoke coming out of Devlin’s nostrils? ‘Hurry up. He’s about to make the call.’

  Ed’s injured arm hung limp by his side, the hand of his good arm gripped an iPhone. Large, shaking fingers hovered over the screen. He fumbled. The phone dropped in the mud with a splat. Gary snatched at the rifle, jammed the butt against his shoulder.

  ‘Good boy,’ Devlin rasped. ‘Like someone said in a famous movie, “use the force”.’

  Gary blinked. The bleeding wreck of a man slowly bent to pick up the mobile.

  ‘What’s wrong with you? Need I remind you of how the evil bastard defiled you? How he–’

  BANG! A flash of fire at the business end of the gun. But the shot flew wide. Jordie must have missed on purpose, pulled wide at the last second. Gary’s failure was an honest mistake. He’d aimed for the head but pulled the trigger too hard. The .308 tore into Ed’s thigh.

  Devlin crawled up Gary’s body, perched on his shoulder. ‘Shoot again, soldier.’

  Gary squeezed the trigger.