by A. D. Spicer
The trap is a fixed slicing blade with 360-degree spin that will cut through almost anything. The blade will be on the back of the chair that will have a timer connected to it. Once the timer goes off, the button will pop out and push a large marble down some tubing that will flick on the blade. Then, it will follow another lot of tubing down to the second switch that will enable the blade’s 360-degree rotation, sawing off anything in its way. Pretty snazzy, huh?
On top of that, I proceed back to Bunnings to get even more cement and call the men who dropped the last lot of bricks off to bring up six thousand more, and almost completed a five by five metre room for my next invention, using an old steel framing to help support it, one on each corner and one in the centre of each wall, also placing the left-over colour-bond as the roof and more inner wall protection.
So, the day ends on Friday the fifteenth of June 2018. It’s approximately 5.30 pm in the afternoon, and I’m pretty God damn happy with all the work I have done. So happy that I feel like celebrating! But before that, I think I’ll go and have a little look at my phone, and check those damn messages that I haven’t been able to make time for since I first turned on my phone for the first time in devil knows how long.
Taking a seat at the table, grabbing my packet of cigarettes, I pull out one and light it up whilst picking up my phone and unlocking it. Then touching the ‘messages’ app to watch all the ‘unread’ messages load.
Clicking on the first one I see, it’s from my boss asking me what the hell is going on and why I haven’t returned and all that mumbo jumbo. Getting out of that message, I go to the next and it’s from the backstabbing whore Amanda, saying, “Hi Dave, I’m sorry for everything I have done. I hope we can catch up soon… I miss you! Please get back to me.” How morbid of her to message me to say ‘she’s sorry’—fuck her.
Leaving the messages without any replies, I go to the next one, and it’s from Andrew. Opening it, I see a few messages, one saying, “Hey David, I know you are pissed at me. But I think we need to talk; I know something’s up and I need your help man.” Then, “Please answer your phone! We need to talk!” Then, “DAVID! Something really bad is going down man! I left you a voice message! Call me when you get this!” And the last one, “Something really bad has happened to Amanda. I can’t say much through message or by call… we need to meet up. Please! It’s urgent! She’s been hurt really bad!”
Sighting the message, giving me a little bit of a chill, I won’t lie, but Amanda did some nasty shit to me, so why the fuck should I care about her? Pushing all the bad bits aside for a second, I decide to give Andrew a call. The phone starts ringing. Following after three rings later;
Andrew: “Hey man! I’ve been trying to call you but your phone has been off (he starts panting a little). What the fuck is going on? We need to meet up, (he takes a pause) like right now!”
Me: (taking a deep breath) “What happened?”
Andrew: “I can’t tell you over the phone man! We need to meet up. Are you free tonight? I’ll come around to yours?”
Me: “I’m not home.”
Andrew: “Please man! It’s really important.”
Me: “I can be there at eight. Don’t be late.”
Andrew: “Cheers man. See you then.”
I hang up the phone, with a spun but worried look on my face. As if what am I to expect out of this? Is it a set up? A prank? Or is Andrew legitimately being serious?
I get up out of the chair and grab all of my gear. I am going down to Sydney anyway, so a quick chat with an old friend wouldn’t lead me astray. Or would it? Hopping into the car, I start it up and drive off out of the driveway and onto the main road.
A few hours fly by as I make my way down to my Sydney home to meet up with Andrew. Along the way, I decide to drop into a fast food restaurant for a quick feed, and then hit the road again to finish my short journey to my old but not forgotten house.
Reaching my house in Ashfield NSW, I pull into the driveway, which now has weeds and grass growing in the breaks of it. The grass hasn’t been mowed for so long, it’s a surprise you can see the footpath, or even the house for that matter.
I get out of my car with a can of Pepsi in my left hand, closing the door with my right hand; I make my way along the path to the front door. Jumbling through my keys with my right hand, I find the keys to the door of the house. Opening the door, I get surprised by the stench of my unwashed clothes from my bedroom. Blocking my nose and turning on the lounge room light, then placing my can of drink on the kitchen counter, I walk into my bedroom, turn on the light, remove all of the dirty clothes and place them into a basket. Taking the basket to the laundry, turning on all the lights along the way, I close the door.
On my way from the laundry, I stroll back into my bedroom and grab a can of deodorant from the top left-hand side draw to spray the room thoroughly with it, then I continue to spray the rest of the house with it. Going up and down the hallway and into the lounge room, just to make it smell a little nicer.
Grabbing my drink, I sit myself down on the lounge. Grabbing the TV remote and switching on the TV to see if there is anything good to watch whilst I wait for Andrew’s presence, I bore myself with the news and all the shit that seems to happen these days. Like gun shootings, terrorist taking people hostage then shooting or stabbing them. It is a good laugh for me.
It’s about five minutes to eight now. As a mild knock on the door sounds, I get up and go to open the door. Upon opening it, Andrew walks in, helping me open it, “Hey man! Fuck, it’s good to see your face again,” he says thrillingly as he gives me a bear hug. “I’ve missed your face, you know!” he says anxiously as he holds his hand up to his nose, he continues, “What is that smell?”
“Good to see you too,” I say simply. “Come and sit down on the lounge.”
Andrew states seriously, “Some bad shit has been happening since you haven’t been around man,” he continues after taking a breath, “Okay. Umm, where do I start?” Andrew shakes his head indefinitely as we both take a seat on the lounge.
“As you know, I and Amanda have a little thing,” he takes a breath and he brings both of his hands to his face and wipes his face with relief to tell someone else, then placing his hands back down on his lap he continues, “Okay, I am sorry for anything and everything I have done to you, umm… I honestly wish at this point that I could take it all back man.”
I stare at Andrew with a little satisfaction, “Go on,” I say insinuating Andrew to continue.
“So, I and, uh, Amanda, have a thing.” He takes a breath, “Umm. Amanda’s ex’s sister, uh, well, we know each other, and [takes a breath] Marnie created a plan and had me in on it to get rid of Amanda for good. And we were going to go through with it.”
I jump out of my seat, closing my right hand to form a fist and SMACK punching Andrew in the right side of his mouth. “DAVID, STOP!” Andrew screams out for mercy as he covers his face and protects his head as I throw another punch at his head then another into his ribs. Andrew continues, “DAVID, STOP! I DIDN’T—” then lowers his voice, “—do anything, I swear man!”
I sit back on the lounge, “Then WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?” I raise my voice for answers.
“I was trying to stop her and Cliff from doing it,” he takes a breath then continues, “But they shoved me away and continued beating her.” Andrew sighs, “Then they dragged her to the back of this farm they had her at and put her into a fucking, umm, shack thingy. Then they left, and I went to get her, then took her to my grandmother’s place. She’s resting in the guest room,” he finishes anxiously.
“You didn’t take her to the fucking hospital?” I shake my head in disappointment, “You’re a dumb cunt,” I continue absurdly.
“I KNOW! I know, I should’ve, but I didn’t.” I go to raise my voice again as Andrew cuts me off, “BUT she’s safe now man, she’s out of harm’s way.”
I put my hands to my head in stress. Shaking my head, “You should’ve taken her to the hospita
l. Just so you know, regardless of all the shit she has done, if she had have died, I would’ve killed you myself,” I screamed aggravated.
“I know man. That’s why I had to tell you. I left you voice messages, text messages. I was trying so hard to get in touch with you before any of this happened.” Andrew says to give me re-assurance that he is trying to do the right thing.
Nodding my head, I just agree. “Alright. I’m going to head out,” I say, insinuating Andrew to leave. “Don’t move her unless you tell me first,” I say directly to Andrew.
“Okay, it is great to catch up. See you man.” Andrew shakes my hand as we both get off the couch and make our way to the front door. Andrew jots out to his car as I pull the main door closed; Andrew had already hopped into his car, started it up and taken off.
Holding his hand up to the right side of his mouth, Andrew feels where I had punched him and left that side of his face swollen, saying, “Argh! Fuck, that hurts! Fuckin’ cunt!” as he continues to drive on.
Walking towards my car, I shuffle through my keys anxiously, getting the car key, I open the driver’s door and sit in the driver’s seat. Starting the car and shifting the gear stick to ‘reverse’, I pull out of the driveway and head into the city.
Parking the car where I parked it on Tuesday night, I get out and make my way to the Four Seasons Hotel to book a room for two nights. Liking the place from my previous stay, I manage to hire the same room. Then head up the escalator and set myself up.
After doing so, I leave the room to make my way down the escalator and Google map where ‘The Star’ is from The Four Seasons Hotel, then I set out to walk to the destination.
Upon arriving, there’s a little bit of a line, so I line up, casually overhearing what everybody’s talking about. One guy is like to his misses, “You’re not fucking drinking! You’re a fucking silly drunk.” Whilst another bunch of lads were yapping away about getting laid tonight by ‘one of the hot bar tenders’. Immediately I think of Gloria, as she is one glorious piece of art to have standing around copping sexual insults all night.
The line gets small as we all get closer to the doors to enter the joint. When one man, who is far too drunk to get in, causes a commotion with security about not letting him in. He ruffles about, calling them ‘dickheads’ and ‘wankers,’ as you could imagine, before he gets tossed aside to move along by one of the security offices. Not long after that, after a few minutes in fact, I end up at the doors to ‘The Star.’ As a security officer asks, “Can I see some ID?” The big fella is standing there with his arm out and a mean look on his face, awaiting me to present some ID.
Reaching into my pocket, I withdraw my wallet. Opening it up, I grab out my ID as some idiot behind me yells, “hurry up you slow fuck!” I turn to face him as I hand my driver’s licence to the security guard. Squinting my eyes directly at him, I shoot him an evil look as he yells again, “Yeah you! Hurry up mate! We all want to get in and get groovy with the babes.”
I smirk as I turn back to the security guard who gave my ID back and saying, “Enjoy your stay at ‘The Star’.”
Walking in, I lightly push past the crowd that’s lingering at the first bar and make my way to the toilets. Opening the door and entering, I find myself waiting for either the urinal or a cubical to become free. And presto! A cubical becomes free finally after waiting a few minutes. Who knew, what they were doing at the urinal for all this time.
Finishing up in the cubical, I make my way to the washing basin. Not only do I notice that the toilets are almost empty, but a guy that is peeing in the urinal adjusts himself as he puts it away, from what I can see in the mirror at the basin, and approaches the washing basin beside me and looks at me in the mirror and says, “Hey brah, you want some?” he whispers, with a smug look on his face, and cigarette hanging out of his mouth, as he pulls out a sati-bag or what looks like to be drugs.
I turn to look at him as I roll one hand over the other washing them under the warm water as I reply, “Nah man, I’m all good,” as I shook my head, rinsed my hands, turned off the tap and walk out of the toilets without drying my hands.
Letting the door close behind me and walking up the little hall way to the bar and dance floor, I peer over into the right corner and see what looks like Jasmine Dezikie sitting there with some fella that has his back turned towards me. My only guess is that it is Jacob King. But I’m not too sure.
So, I decide to go for a walk around the place to scout out a plan to which I want to follow, given I’ve never been on this side of the place before it is a little complex to wrap my head around what I want to do.
Given the photo on Facebook as evident enough to see what time they usually leave this joint, I have to make whatever plan I have set out happen rather quickly, otherwise I would miss the chance. Inevitably, I head back into the toilets to see if that guy is still there. After walking in I see that the guy has already left, so I go on a little hunt to find him.
Nearing the bar, I see on the other side near the entry doors of this place the guy sitting down at the bar chatting away to Gloria. Approaching him, trying to cover my face, I tap him on the shoulder as Gloria wanders off to grab whatever drink he ordered, as I say to him, “I’ll get some, what do you have?”
He responds, “Not here you idiot, I’ll meet you where I saw you, in five minutes,” he whispers secretly.
“Okay then, see you soon bud,” I reply intentionally. As Gloria comes back with his drink, I have made my sweet escape to dodge being caught by her.
Waiting around, I make my way back to the toilets. Then the guy barges in as I stand there like a gay dude wanting some. He makes his way back into the cubical. Getting the hint, I take the cubical next to him as another guy turns to me and says, “Hey mate! Wait your turn!” with a side of impatience.
Rudely, I respond, “You wait your turn,” as I take the cubical, and slam the door shut behind me. The guy places his hand under the wall dividing the cubical, at first, I didn’t know what he wanted, so I slap his hand. Then he says, “You dickhead! The cash!” he insinuates.
“Right, right!”
Pulling out my wallet, I grab a couple of hundred dollars out as he says, “What do you want?”
I reply, “Whatever you have got!”
Taking the money, he sticks his hand back under with a few sati-bags of what looks like two or three different drugs. Staying in the cubical a little longer, I mix the sati-bags of drugs all up in one. Not knowing exactly what this substance does, but it is worth a try, then I flush the toilet and open the cubical door to head straight out.
I peer over again to see where Mrs Dezikie and the guy have gone. Then I look across to the bar and bam! There they are standing right there looking over my way. I panic a little and duck. Then shuffle to the left a little, hiding behind some lady as a guy turns to me and says, “Urrrgghh, you pervert!” Immediately, I move to the dance floor and act busy by dancing.
Mrs Dezikie, and who I know is definitely Mr Kings, now head back over to their table. Then two other girls and three other blokes come over to their table. Heading to the bar, peering over the counter, is a bar mate apron. Reaching over, I snatch it, then ask the bartender for some water; after getting the water, I dunk my hand in and feed it through my hair to give it a groovy look and also add a little water to the drugs. Placing the apron over myself, I make it look like I work here. It also helps that I’m wearing dark blue jeans and a dark blue t-shirt.
Making my way over to the closest table, I begin collecting empty glasses and wiping tables down. After a few of them done, as I am also mooching up the water and drugs, I finally make it to the table where Mrs Dezikie and the rest of the crowd are drinking. Pacing myself to make it look like I do my job properly, I ask them if they want their table wiped down. One of the blokes say, “Nah mate. We are right!”
Mrs Dezikie speaks up and says, “Aww let the bary do his job,” sophisticatedly as she moves her head side to side.
One by one, I recog
nise all of their faces. And as I pick up each glass, I secretly drop a bit of the sati in each of them, apart from one, which belongs to Dennis English. Mr English is a joker. And not the funny type, he would make the most disgusting jokes and criticise someone down their spine just to get his kicks! He’s roughly 5ʹ8ʺ, always dresses casually, has a little muscle to him, but he is fairly slim with dark brunette hair and hazel eyes.
After cleaning the table and putting a little something in each glass, I grace them a good night. I walk off back to the bar, remove the apron as a bartender turns to say to me, “Hey! What were you doing with this?” he questions.
I reply, “I was doing your job,” in a sarcastic and rude manner as I walk towards the exit to leave the premises.
About an hour goes by, I start getting a little suspicious on what I was given, then out of nowhere, the entry door barges open as I sit behind a tree on a park-side bench and I overhear, “That beer has me shit faced, man!” then they all start yelling and carrying on, a bit of swearing here and there, so after a few minutes of letting them walk away, I get up and start following them.
I keep following them for about half an hour back to a building with units on what I recall the street sign being ‘Liverpool Street’. After I see the last one walk in, I place my shoe between the door and the frame to keep it from closing and locking on me.’ I then go and borrow a newish HiAce van from a mate not far down the road that owes me a favour from years ago. Parking it just outside the units, I make my way in, and scout out where they are. After walking up all the flights of stairs and searching every floor, I get to the top and right down the other end of the hallway is an open door.
I approach the opened door and there, a majority of them are scattered on the floor and the couch, passed out. Grabbing them one by one and dragging them down the stairs making sure no one is awake of course and placing each and every one of them in the van. Making sure the door didn’t close and lock on me. So, I could get in and out. Fast.