by Teagan Kade
“What did you tell them?”
“Not a damn thing, of course. Said I didn’t know anyone fitting the description, but I can’t guarantee others around here will be so willing to hide your identity. Best thing for you boys is to leave right now. I don’t know what kind of shit you’re mixed up in and, frankly, I don’t care, but we can’t have a war being waged in the middle of town.”
“How many?”
“Three, maybe.”
That’s not so bad. We could handle that. I place my hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Sarah, truly.”
“Any time. Lux with you?”
Lux pipes up from the table. “Hi, Sarah.”
She turns her attention back to me. “You make sure nothing happens to her, you hear. If it does, I’ll take great pleasure cutting off that famous cock of yours.”
“I bet.”
“Be safe.”
“We will.”
The door closes and I look to Razor. “It’s time. Get the gear.”
*
Razor dumps the stash on the breakfast table.
Lux looks on stunned. “Holy shit. What are you guys gearing up for? Armageddon?”
I pass over a Glock to her. “Here, take this.”
She picks up a mag and slots it in. I wonder if she feels comfortable holding a gun again.
“You ever use one, on the job?” I query.
Her cobalt eyes flick up to me. “No, funnily enough. Never. You really think this is necessary?”
I check the sight on a rifle, Razor busy stuffing his pockets with clips and ammo. “There’s a small town about an hour away, Port Arthur. There was a massacre there back in the nineties. A solo gunman killed thirty-five people. I’m not about to let another one happen on my watch. So, we take the fight away from town. We take it to them.”
Razor doesn’t look convinced. “And how do you propose we do that?”
I smile at him. “How do you feel about being the bait for once?”
*
Lux is looking out to the ocean as I come up beside her. A solid mass of black is building out on the horizon.
“Are you sure about this?” she says.
I check the rifle again, must be about the hundredth time I’ve done so now. “No, but we’re out of options. The bikers I fucked over in Millertown have no doubt sent a local Australian chapter to take care of me, but they won’t be expecting you.”
We’re high up on the cliffs a mile or so out of town. There’s a series of concrete battlements up here from the Second World War, a long bunker we’ll use to draw them in. The invasion never came back in the 1940s, but it will today.
I steel myself. This is it.
I hear something approaching in the distance. Fuck, the plan was to have Razor wait at home, lure them out here on his bike, but this is way too quick.
I pull Lux close. “We haven’t got much time. Can you hide up in the scrub to the right there, keep an eye on us?”
She holds the gun with both hands. “Okay.”
“Any trouble, you flank them, come in from the back. Yes? If we’re in danger, you pull that fucking trigger. Don’t think twice. Okay?”
“Yes.” She looks nervous, but I have a sense she’ll be okay. She’s trained for this, but even so, I don’t want her in the bunker where things could go pear-shaped. If she’s up in the scrub she’s at least got a chance of getting away.
I check the hill, but there’s no sign of Razor yet.
I want to kiss Lux, tell her everything will be okay, but I wave her on towards the scrub. I want to get her to safety as soon as possible.
When she’s gone, I head into the bunker. Inside, it’s damp and cool. Parts of the walls have decayed into holes, only concrete remaining, but there’s still only a single point of entry, one door at the front. They’ll be forced to come in single file through the bottleneck. That’s how we’ll take them down. It’s not the greatest plan, but my head’s a mess, a fucking blurry mish-mash of thoughts and emotion.
The sound of bikes lifts in the distance.
I move to what used to be one of the front windows and watch a sedan and two bikes swing down the road, one of them Razor’s, but it’s not Razor who’s on it.
He wasn’t quick enough.
They have him.
Fuck.
My grand plan is lost.
I retreat back into the center of the bunker, hear voices outside, a muffled grunting that has to be Razor.
Lux. Fuck. I can’t worry about her as well.
Razor’s the first one in, the others following behind his back.
It’s not good. He’s got duct tape over this mouth, forehead dripping blood, his right eye puffy and swollen. His hands are cable tied together behind his back.
The bikers fan out, weapons raised. There are three of them, just like Sarah said—a big guy in a blue wife-beater, a skinny cracker type, and another guy with his head shaved and denim jacket on. They’re locals, but there’s no doubting they’re here on behalf of my friends in Millertown.
The big one says as much when he introduces himself. “Well, well. What a fine little gathering we have here, matey. Deacon, is it now?”
I keep quiet, calm.
“How about you start by dropping those weapons of yours,” the big one continues.
I lift the rifle a little higher. “Like fucking hell.”
I want to look outside, to check on Lux, but I don’t want to give her position away either. The skinny one puts a gun to Razor’s head. “Better drop that boom-stick, sunny-boy, unless you want your brother’s brains all over the floor.”
I try to buy time. “Why are you looking for me? What do you want?”
The big one laughs. “You know full well why we’re here, son. You think this is some Point Break bullshit you’re playing at here, that someone wouldn’t clue onto you eventually? Then your dipshit brother had to get all gobbled up by a great white. Bad news, but it did reach our friends in the US, which is, ding ding, why we’re here.”
Razor blinks at me with one eye. If he’s trying to tell me something, it’s not making sense.
I grit my teeth, keeping the gun trained on the big one. “I’ll ask again. What do you want?”
He raises his voice. “I already said it once. I won’t say it again. Drop that fucking weapon. Do that and your brother here will go free. He won’t be harmed. You have my word.”
“Your word?” I laugh. “And that’s supposed to mean something?”
“Do it.”
I’ve got no choice.
I keep my eyes on Razor, lowering the rifle to the floor.
“Joey,” calls the big one, “sweep that shit up”.
The skinny guy comes forward, gun trained, and collects my rifle, tossing it into the corner.
The big one shoves Razor towards me. I push him behind me. “What now?”
I’m worried about the skinny guy with the sawn-off. He looks twitchy, like he’s on something. All he’d have to do is pull that trigger and we’d both be halved.
I put my hands up. “Easy now.”
The big guy takes a step forward. “You know, I don’t usually volunteer for mop-up duty like this, but you,” he wags his finger, “you fucking pig. You deserve special treatment”.
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Our brothers in the States said you might be a little feisty, but this isn’t the States. We know all about handling pests here in Australia.”
“I don’t have the fucking money,” I shout.
The big one nods. “Yes. Our Yankee brothers told us as much, said your deputy friend gave up all the goss before they fucked him up, said you took fucking pictures, fucking laughed while the money burned. Is that right, Damien, Deacon, whatever the fuck your name is, or maybe, just maybe, you didn’t burn it at all.”
I point. “You mean the pictures over on the windowsill there?”
The big one looks sideways, sees the Polaroids sitting on the window ledge. He motions for the third
guy to go get them.
I honestly can’t believe I’ve kept them all this time, but I knew one day I might need a record of what went down, proof that dirty cash went up in smoke. It’s all there—close-ups of the serial numbers, shots of the entire cube of money in fucking flames.
The big guy flicks through them, pockets each as he does so. “Motherfucker, and here I was hoping you’d been smart, that we could send you out easy, but I guess that ship’s sailed. Now you and your brothers are in for a whole world of hurt.” He lifts his gun, lines it up.
There’s a gunshot outside.
A hole opens up in the side of the skinny guy’s head. He gurgles and blubbers blood, the shotgun wavering. I turn and grab Razor, diving us sideways as it fires, the pellets hammering the wall behind us, dust raining over my head.
I look up and see Lux fly past the window outside. She stands in the doorway to the bunker behind the two bikers left, gun raised. “Drop them.”
They both turn, but the big guy’s still got his gun. He keeps it trained on us, the other guy with his rifle pointed at Lux.
The big one kicks the skinny guy on the floor, but he’s gone. “Joey? Joey?!”
I hate to tell him, but Joey ain’t coming back from a gunshot to the head.
I can see Lux breathing hard, but she’s keeping her cool. “I said fucking drop your weapons now.”
The two bikers stand back to back.
“We ain’t doing shit, love,” laughs the big guy. “It’s two on one. I bet a fine piece of ass like you knows all about that, don’t you?”
“Three on two,” I correct, even though I know Razor’s not going to be much help tied up.
“Ah,” the big guy laughs, “but we’ve got all the guns. You think your little girlfriend here is fast enough to get off two rounds before she’s cut down? I don’t fucking think so.”
My fists are clenched tight. I look to Lux. She’s ready, braced to fire, but it would mean suicide for one of us, maybe her. I’m not about to let that happen.
“Why don’t you just go?” I offer. “There doesn’t have to be any more bloodshed.”
The big one squeezes his revolver tighter. “Bullshit, Sherriff. If I don’t box up your head and airmail it over, it’ll be mine they come looking for next.”
This has gone on long enough. I put up my hands. “Fine. Take me and leave the others out of it.”
The two goons exchange a look.
It’s all the distraction Lux needs. ‘Down’, she mouths to me, firing once, the guy with the rifle’s head snapping back.
A second later another shot goes off, ricocheting off the roof. I see the muzzle of Lux’s firearm flash again, the big guy kicking forward to his knees, shot in the back, but he’s not going down easy.
He turns, squeezes off a round that comes torturously close to Lux’s head. She fires, gets him in the gut, fires again, the shoulder, but the guy just won’t fucking go down.
Lux goes to fire again, but she’s empty, only the ‘click, click’ of an empty mag echoing out.
The big guy laughs, lining his gun with her head. “Should have stayed home, sweetheart.”
He doesn’t get to fire. I wrestle the gun sideways, let him fire into the ground before pulling the revolver free and shooting him in the back of the head.
He slumps forward onto his face.
It’s done.
I drop the gun and run forward to Lux. I want nothing more than to take her in my arms and keep her safe.
I’m conscious of Razor getting to his feet, his hands still cable-tied together, but the duct tape starts to peel off his mouth.
“Deacon!” he screams.
That’s when I see it—another goon outside approaching Lux from behind with rifle raised.
I line up the shot, but he’s right behind her. I can’t take it. “Lux!” I scream. “Behind you!”
She turns, gun held high, but it’s too late. She’s out of bullets, options. There’s nothing I can do but watch her be blown away before my eyes.
“Lux!” I scream again at the same moment I hear the gunshot.
No.
I expect to see her fall, but it’s the goon outside who drops, rifle tumbling from his hands, a crater where his ear used to be.
What the hell?
Lux turns and I rush forward, sweeping her up and pushing her behind me as I look past the bunker door.
From the hill, Sergeant Wilson is standing up, a wisp of smoke coming from the end of his rifle.
He starts to approach us. “Fucking lucky I was here to save the day.”
I’ve never been happier to see him.
Lux is shaking in my arms.
“Thank you,” she calls to the sergeant. He stops to kick over the goon he shot and prods him with his rifle. “Check the others. I don’t want any Walking Dead reruns now.”
Clearly, I haven’t given the sergeant enough credit. He just killed a man and yet he’s walking around like it’s a church luncheon. He places the rifle on his shoulder, stands in front of us. “Big fucking mess, boys. Paperwork for days. Fucking weeks, most likely.”
“I’m sorry,” I offer.
Razor joins us. I pull the tape from his mouth.
The sergeant kneels down, looks over the skinny guy. “I know a scumbag when I see one. Fuck knows what they’re doing all the way over here, but I can guran-bloody-tee it wasn’t for tea and biscuits, am I right?”
I nod.
The sheriff stands, wiping his brow.
“I don’t know why they’re here, why they wanted to hurt you and your boy here, and, truthfully, I don’t really fucking care, but it’s done now. Everyone okay?”
We all nod in turn.
The sergeant shakes his head. “Fuck a duck, why is this such a problem?” He points at Razor and I. “I should haul you knobs in right now. I’ve been wanting to do it since the day you arrived.”
I approach him, place my hand on his shoulder just as I did with Sarah. “You’ve developed a soft spot for us, Bill. Admit it.”
He flicks his eyes to Lux. “For her, maybe. Not you fuck-knuckles. I’d tell you to piss off, go on the run, but it wouldn’t be worth it. You wouldn’t make it ten miles. I’ll put in a good word for you, let the authorities know you were in danger, but fuck me you better start talking.”
“How long before backup arrives?” I query.
He laughs, tapping the receiver by his collar. “The big city boys? By the time they put on their lippy and make-up, an hour, maybe more, during which time I want to hear every lurid little detail of your life.” He smiles. “Bugger it, maybe I’ll ask for a transfer too. I’m sick of the weather around here, so cold it could freeze the balls off a brass monkey.”
“Come to California,” Lux offers, still shaking. “I know a few beach babes who’d go for an Aussie stud like you.”
“Maybe I will,” he nods. “Maybe I will. Now, talk.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LUX
I’m working a shift at the pub, partly for nostalgia’s sake and partly to help out Sarah with the influx of new arrivals. Still, the usual suspects are here up the back, all four of them, the races showing on the old CRT television in the corner. Crazy as it sounds, I’m going to miss this place.
The door opens and in walks Sergeant Wilson, stepping up to the bar and placing his hat down. “A cold one, thanks, Lux. It’s hard work cleaning up this town.”
I pull him a beer and pass it across. “So I hear. Guess it will be even quieter when the boys and I leave.”
He shakes his head, holding his beer. “I’m going to miss those pricks. I really am. They did bring a bit of life to this town, even though I’ll be doing paperwork until kingdom comes thanks to our little run-in down at the bunker.”
“I heard they put you up for some kind of award.”
He shrugs it off. “Some bullshit I have to travel up to Sydney for.”
“You deserve it.”
He shakes his head. “Just doing my job
. Besides, I want to see you ride that wave everyone’s talking about.”
And there’s the problem. Since Bo’s shark attack and the press from the shootout, the tourist inflow into Finke has been slowly picking up. It started with a journalist from a surfing mag asking about the break, then a news crew, a couple of pro riders… Still, none of them have managed to ride it yet. They don’t know its intricacies like the boys and I do, even if I have yet to face it again.
The sergeant downs the last half of his beer in one go and readjusts his belt. “You know, if that boy ever does you wrong, pick up the phone and call me.” He pats his revolver. “Sure could do with some more target practice.”
“I don’t know. You seem like a pretty good shot.”
He tips his cap. “Well, you know where to find me if you need me.”
I can’t resist. “In the back room of the police station watching Days of Our Lives reruns.”
He nods. “That’s the one.” Then he’s walking out, the door flapping back open with a gust of wind.
Sarah slams it shut, locking the top and walking back to the bar. “Hell of a storm coming.”
“They’ve been saying that for weeks.”
Sarah leans against the bar on one elbow. “No, it’s coming this time for real. You live here long enough and you develop a sixth sense for these things, ain’t that right, Bilbo?”
One of the regulars pipes up from over near the slot machines. Poor guy must be in his nineties. He shakes his leg from the side of the machine. “Gonna be a big one. I can feel it in me lucky leg.”
“See?” says Sarah, smug.
I look out the windows where the clouds are gathering thick and grey. Maybe she’s right. Maybe the infamous once-in-a-century low is coming.
One last time. One last chance to surf the monster.
The aftermath from the shootout played out for days. When the US authorities found out who the Hunts were, they sent a representative over, a tough Texan by the name of Wilcox. He managed to smooth things over a little with the Australians, but it was inevitable they’d be deported, especially considering how they entered the country in the first place, not to mention the stockpile of weapons they’d managed to acquire.
Mercifully, they allowed the boys to remain week or two for Bo to heal up in the hospital for flying—more than enough time for us to settle everything and think towards the future.