Sold to the Devil

by Blair Denholm

  ‘You can get a state-appointed lawyer.’

  ‘Don’t need one to talk to you. I’ve got nothing to say, anyway. Sorry you’ve wasted your time, officer.’

  Turrell squinted, suppressed a smile. Mercifully, this could be over quicker than he’d banked on. ‘What about for your trial? Peter Grieves would take your case pro bono. The notoriety would be irresistible.’

  ‘Nuh. I contacted him. He reckons I’m doomed. Juries hate cop killers. Even though I DIDN’T FUCKEN DO IT!’ Braswell reddened, purple veins on the side of his skull pulsated. Plenty of pluck left in the man.

  The guard stuck his head around the door. ‘You orright?’

  ‘He’s harmless. All piss and wind.’ Turrell waved the guard away, drew a squiggle in a note pad.

  ‘Yelling isn’t helpful, Mr Braswell. And by the way, it’s not all juries. Some people out there, believe it or not, don’t look kindly upon the police. Grieves is a smart cookie. There’s a chance – a remote one – you’d be acquitted. Or get a reduced sentence. I’m amazed he refused.’

  ‘There was another reason he said no.’

  Turrell’s curiosity sparked. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Reckons the prosecutors will hammer home the fact I abandoned my wife in a coma. Make me out to be an absolute cunt.’

  ‘Yep.’ Turrell pulled on his top lip. ‘That might do it.’

  ‘And if Grieves reckons I’ve got no hope, then I’m fucked with any other lawyer.’

  ‘So, what’s your plan? Defend yourself?’

  ‘Fuck no. I’m not that stupid. I’ve got six months to figure something out before the trial. They’ve got me in isolation for now, but I’m going into general population in three weeks. More freedom, more access to information. I’ve got a good mate on the outside who can help me. Smart as a whip, he is. I might look like a bag of shit, but I ain’t given up all hope.’

  ‘You can’t be serious. There’s more evidence piled up against you than Al Capone.’

  ‘So what? They let him out eventually.’

  ‘You got me there.’

  ‘You cops aren’t so smart. If there’s one thing I know, it’s Gary Braswell always comes up smelling of roses.’

  ‘Not this time.’

  ‘Let’s just see about that,’ Gary sneered.

  ‘So, want to know the reason I’m here?’

  ‘Pretty obvious, innit? You want me to confess to murdering Ed Hurst. You and that pompous partner of yours think I did it.’

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘What do you reckon?’

  ‘I know you did it.’

  The manacles under the desk clanked and rattled as Gary rocked from side to side, laughed hysterically. ‘Prove it then, ya dickheads.’

  ‘Oh, we will, don’t worry. Blaming Tracey for killing Simon Bennett was a dumb move. You’ve pissed her off, sunshine. After she stood by you for so long. Some gratitude. She’s going to burn you alive in our quaint little Hobart trial. A trial the world will be watching.’

  Braswell cocked his head like a curious dog. ‘Oh really? And when I’m acquitted of the Bennett and Romashkin murders, Tracey’s bullshit testimony won’t stack up.’

  ‘Tasmania Police disagrees. The probability of you receiving a guilty verdict for killing Bennett and the Russian is a foregone conclusion. Cooperating is in your best interest. Maybe we can cut a deal with the Feds. Get your sentence reduced a wee bit.’

  ‘Bullshit. The Feds want me in for life, never to be released. So stick your worthless offer up your arse.’

  ‘Fair enough. Doesn’t surprise me it turned out like this.’ Turrell gathered his things, pushed his chair back.

  ‘But I will tell you one thing.’ Braswell hissed. ‘I’m fucken glad Ed Hurst’s dead.’

  ‘Why? That’s a bit harsh. You claimed he was just a passing acquaintance.’

  ‘Even a passing acquaintance can rape you, Detective.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Turrell’s eyebrows elevated.

  ‘You heard me. Now fuck off back to Hobart. I’m done talking.’

  Chapter 50

  His chest heaved, the effort draining every gram of energy from his body. One more rep on quaking arms. All the way to the top, you can do it. Seventy-five push-ups in a row. A record. No mean feat for a bloke who could barely manage ten when they’d slammed the solitary confinement door shut on him. Gary wiped perspiration from his torso with a sock. A defined six-pack sat snugly in the middle of a stomach once covered in rolls of flab. Pectoral muscles popped, biceps bloomed, shoulders swelled. Vigorous calisthenics contributed greatly to his new physique. Meagre, calorie-poor prison rations – almost as much.

  Harrison Devlin sprawled across Gary’s pancake-thin pillow like he owned it. A runny brown liquid dripped from the marsupial’s whiskers. He gripped a paw around an enamel cup and slurped the contents.

  ‘What’s this stuff? Rather delicious.’

  ‘Nicotea. Super strong tea mixed with crushed nicotine lozenges. A few of the prisoners drink it. A Russian inmate passed on the idea a few years ago before–’

  ‘Before what?’

  ‘Before he got shivved in the shower block.’

  ‘Oh, the irony,’ Devlin chuckled.

  ‘Shut the hell up, will ya!’

  ‘Sorry. Couldn’t resist.’

  ‘Anyway, that tea is my only comfort in here. Make sure you leave me some, okay?’

  ‘How’d you get your hands on it? Must be tough for you in isolation.’

  ‘As it happens, one of the guards is a wannabe crime writer. He sneaks me the stuff in exchange for the pleasure of listening to my tales of life on the lam in Tasmania. An easy trade for a natural-born bullshitter like me.’

  ‘Stop talking and get back to those push-ups. You can get to 100 reps easy. Another week of training and you’ll be bashing down the cell door. How about I sit on your back to make it more challenging?’

  ‘Don’t push your luck.’

  ‘I’m serious. Why stop there? You’ve come a long way in a short time. The prison hasn’t bent you to its will like it has others. You’re stronger than anyone here.’

  ‘Thanks for the pep talk, coach. But I can’t help feeling I’m only in this hellhole because of you. You and your lousy advice have destroyed my life.’

  ‘What have I told you about that victim mentality? You have to do what?’

  ‘Own my shit.’

  ‘Louder.’

  ‘OWN MY SHIT.’

  ‘That’s better. Again.’

  ‘FUCK THIS SHIT.’

  ‘Hey. No need for that. I’m just here to—’

  ‘Just shut up, will you. Shut up!’

  Devlin wiped his mouth with a pair of prison-issue underpants. ‘I’m prepared to put your churlish behaviour down to the nicotea,’ he said. ‘But you do understand you’ll never get your freedom with a defeatist attitude like that, don’t you?’

  Gary looked Devlin square in the eye. ‘If you want to make yourself useful, how about organising me some music. I’d like to request, oh, I dunno, Jail Break by AC/DC.’

  The devil clapped his paws. ‘That’s what I love about you. No matter the situation, you’ve always got that wicked sense of humour. Unfortunately, I can only offer to sing it due to the lack of a stereo system. Ready? Dah dah-dah dah-dah, dah-dah dah dah.’

  Gary put hands to his ears. ‘STOP IT! Your voice sucks. Why don’t you just piss off and never come back, huh? In fact, how the hell did you even get here from Tasmania? On second thoughts, don’t bother answering that.’

  A tap on the door. ‘Hello? Are you okay?’

  The guard.

  ‘Yeah, fine.’ Gary walked over to where Devlin sat, pulled the bed sheet over him. The devil lay still under the covers. ‘Don’t wriggle,’ Gary whispered. ‘They probably saw you on the camera. Hopefully not. If you’re caught, the governor will have you euthanised. Remember what happened to Mr Jingles. And he was only a sweet little mouse. You’re a…fuck knows what you are
.’

  ‘I heard shouting.’ The guard rattled the door. ‘Like you’re talking to someone.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mr Jingles.’

  Silence. ‘Okay, Gary. I understand. Long as you’re okay.’

  ‘Yeah, all good.’

  The spot Devlin had occupied under the sheet was flat. Gary jumped up, pulled the sheet back in a panic. Looked under the bed, behind the toilet bowl.

  Devlin was gone.

  Gary crawled back into bed, shivering.

  ‘Please come back, Harrison,’ he whimpered. ‘I’m sorry.’

  The next day, a new guard appeared, a stickler for the rules, everything by the book. He wasn’t an aspiring writer, had no interest in bringing Australia’s most notorious prisoner nicotea or listening to his far-fetched stories.

  Every night before going to sleep, Gary quietly called out to Harrison Devlin. But the Tasmanian devil must have grown tired of dealing with Gary and didn’t return. Not until the eve of Gary’s trial.

  About the Author

  Want to know what happened to Gary before Chapter one?

  Click here for an exclusive prologue to this book.

  https://bit.ly/2KLyRie

  This bonus chapter is not available anywhere else.

  Stay in touch

  Nothing makes me happier than hearing from my readers. Please contact me by email: blair@blairdenholm.com

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  A bit about me

  BLAIR DENHOLM is an Australian fiction writer and translator who has lived and worked in New York, Moscow, Munich, Abu Dhabi and Australia. He once voted in a foreign election despite having no eligibility to do so, was almost lost at sea on a Russian fishing boat, and was detained by machine-gun toting soldiers in the Middle East.

  When not writing novels, he works as a Russian language specialist for an international conservation organisation. Indeed, fans will notice Russian characters and settings feature strongly in his work. And not always as the bad guys.

  He currently resides in the wilds of Tasmania with his partner, Sandra, and two crazy canines Max and Bruno.

  You can connect with me on:

  https://blairdenholm.com

  https://twitter.com/blairdenholm

  https://www.facebook.com/blairdenholm

  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16940478.Blair_Denholm

  Also by Blair Denholm

  Be sure to check out the first Gary Braswell novel, SOLD. Long listed for movie adaptation, it’s a heart-stopping thriller with a twist at the end you never saw coming

  I’ve also written a novel for the little criminals in your life - the kids. And if that’s not enough, I’ve put together an illustrated book of daily tweets featuring two hilarious NYPD cops.

  SOLD

  https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B0882Q64XJ

  Pay up or die!

  Used-car salesman Gary Braswell owes thousands to a violent loan shark. Desperate to save his skin, he joins forces with a ruthless Russian crime syndicate that doesn’t take too kindly to being double-crossed. As his life spirals further out of control, Gary’s inflated ego can only land him in more trouble.

  Escape from Passing Winds

  https://www.amazon.com/Boyd-Sarge-NYPD-Law-Disorder-ebook/dp/B082RW3S59

  Help! Granny’s locked up in a nursing home. Only one brave girl can set her free

  When Catherine Brewer busts Olga out of the home, our two unlikely heroes set off a chain of events you never saw coming

  If there’s one thing Catherine Brewer hates, it’s boring school excursions with her miserable classmates. She’ll try all kinds of stunts to avoid them. But today - no dice! Mom says she has to go. A visit to an old people’s home quickly turns into a crazy day out. When Catherine and Olga stage a daring escape from Passing Winds, all hell breaks loose!

  Boyd and Sarge: NYPD Law and Disorder

  https://www.amazon.com/Boyd-Sarge-NYPD-Law-Disorder-ebook/dp/B082RW3S59

  These two cops will have you roaring with laughter

  Officer Boyd and the Sarge are the dumbest cops around. DO NOT call them in an emergency

  Incompetent yet lovable, hapless Boyd and long-suffering Sarge have become a huge hit online.

  Their legion of loyal fans eagerly await daily episodes full of ridiculous humor.

  Find out why Twitter goes crazy every day over their antics.