To his relief, there was no smoke up the hill this time around. He had checked far enough ahead just in case the stupid kid had torched another vehicle. If so, he’d take another route, probably turn off the main road and take the Old Willunga Hill road around the back to Myponga and hit the A131 from that angle. He had never been in the scouts as a kid, but hey, this time he was fuck’n prepared.
In two hours’ time, though, he’d be eating his stupid words. He’d be telling himself he was a moron to ever think he could prepare himself for anything, that he was a dipshit and a drunk and a fucked up lover to boot. That he deserved to be thrown in jail and have the fuck’n key thrown away. Hell, that he deserved the fuck’n death penalty; firing squad, electrocution, fatal injection; whatever the fuck it took to end his miserable days on this miserable fuck’n planet. He’d lament ever telling Lorraine to get out of the house, that he didn’t love her anymore (even though he damn well loved her more than any woman he’d ever known and probably ever would), and that he’d been the biggest fool in the whole fucked up world to ever let a woman like her go.
Nah, not the whole world.
The whole fuck’n history of mankind.
From the first sight of the girl he hadn’t thought much of anything, too busy keeping an eye out for burning vehicles left by the roadside and telling himself he wasn’t gonna stop for noth’n and no one this time. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. No sir-ee, he was going to the humpy with his BFF and they were going to have themselves a private party in the good old Aussie bush. End of fuck’n story.
But the girl did something he hadn’t seen for quite some while—she gave the sign.
He had just turned the upward bend and seen her convertible BMW parked in the pull out area just near the crest of the hill, barely five hundred metres up from where he’d been flattened by the explosion of the burning wreck. The soft top roof was down and the hood was up, steam rising from the engine and drifting inland with the breeze off the nearby sea. For a ghastly moment he had mistaken the billowing steam for smoke, but then realised his mistake. He figured the engine must have only just blown a few minutes ago as the steam was still thick as fog and he hadn’t noticed anything at the base of the hill when he began the climb. The girl was staring under the hood, trying to figure out what was the cause of the overheat, and had looked up at the sound of his approaching vehicle. It was then she had given the sign.
Unmistakable. Even from two hundred metres away he could make out what was happening. She had looked straight into his eyes, asking—Nah, fuck’n begging—for him to do what he had to do. Even with the amount of alcohol flooding through his veins, the reaction in his pants was instantaneous. The tingling was sharp and intense, two hundred and forty volts of pure fuck’n electricity.
The world is full of fuck’n surprises, ain’t it Maxy boy?
He grinned at the familiar surge as he pulled up next to the steaming BMW. He was about to wind down the passenger window and say something when a huge jolt of doubt coursed down his spine, withering the hardness in his pants like a sudden burst of frigid air.
Are you sure you want to be doing this?
It wasn’t his voice that had questioned him. It wasn’t even his fuck’n ex’s. It was Lorraine’s, and there was something about the despair in her tone that caused him to think twice. Did he really want to do this? Could he get away with it again? He’d managed to evade the coppers this long, why jeopardise it now? It was best he just ignored what he’d seen and leave the girl alone.
He was about to stick the car in gear and drive on when it happened again. She had stepped toward the passenger window, leaned down, smiled, and looked straight into his eyes. The tingling in his pants resurged like a dildo with fresh batteries, buzzing back to life just as eager as before.
Are you sure, Max? Lorraine’s voice asked again.
Damned fuck’n sure, Max said back. The bitch is begging for it.
I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret, her voice said. I know you don’t love me anymore, Max, but I still love you. I need you.
Don’t worry about me. I know what I’m doing. Hell, I’m a fuck’n expert at this. Haven’t you read the papers?
He now felt hard and ready as ever. Ignoring the doubts in his head, he wound down the passenger window and said, “Hav’n trouble?”
“Yeah, kind of,” she said, flicking her head in the direction of the BMW. “Not sure what’s the problem. Can you take a look?”
Max caught her wry smile, thinking she was a real looker. Bobbed pitch black hair that framed her round face like a Lego doll, her age was difficult to guess. The thick make-up and ruby lipstick (Whore’s lipstick) was the problem. Could be anywhere between twenty and thirty-five, he reckoned, or just another dirty teenage slut thinking she was all grown up and worldly wise. Though one thing he had no doubts, that was for sure; she was another rich-bitch daddy’s girl that’d been given everything she’d ever fuck’n wanted on a silver platter from the day she was born. The convertible BMW said as much, as did the houndstooth jacket buttoning up her pricey tits and the Chanel handbag slung over her slinky shoulder.
Life’s all just peaches and fuck’n roses for you, isn’t it?
He couldn’t wait to show her what the real world was all about, the world the rest of us were born into and were stuck with for the rest of our fuck’n lives. He glanced at the steaming engine behind her. “Looks like a head gasket. Noth’n I can do here to fix it. You’ll need a tow,” he said, then nodded to the passenger seat. “Get in. There’s a servo in Aldinga. I know the mechanic there.”
The girl reached for the door handle but then stopped when she caught a glimpse of the Remy in the backseat. “No, it’s all right,” she said, stepping back like she’d just seen a snake, cautious but alert and vigilant. Her face had suddenly turned ashen. “I’ll call my dad.”
As she rummaged for her mobile in her handbag, Max snatched the Remy from the back of the car and thrust it through the open passenger window. It wasn’t loaded, but she didn’t know that.
“Give me the phone and get in the fuck’n car!” he said.
Less than half an hour later, Max pulled up to the clearing behind the old Johnson farm, navigating through the mud puddles and high grass and coming to a sliding halt next to the humpy. He was grinning with anticipation at what was about to transpire, and was as steely hard as the barrel of the Remy thrust into the bitch’s mouth.
The lippy slut had given him all the grief in the world when he forced her into the Cherokee. The bitch wouldn’t shut the fuck up, mouthing on and on about how her daddy was a fuck’n high court judge and just how the fuck did he think he’d get away with what he was going to do? So he pushed her into the space under the dashboard on the passenger side and shoved the barrel of the Remy into her mouth, cocking the trigger to make her realise he wasn’t fuck’n joking. He hadn’t needed to tell her to shut the fuck up; she’d taken the warning straight up and fallen as silent as roadkill.
In fact it’d been easier than he’d thought. He thought she’d put up all kinds of fuck’n fuss, but she didn’t say boo. Didn’t do a fuck’n thing except stare daggers at him while he drove. Even when he got out to open the gate to the farmstead she didn’t do anything, just hunkered up and pulled her knees to her chest, most probably biding her time thinking of ways to escape and waiting for a better opportunity to make a dash for safety. She didn’t know how soon that might be. He’d concocted his own plan for having a bit of fun with the uppity slut. Draw out the pleasure, so to speak. Just to put a bullet in the back of her head wouldn’t be any fun at all.
Nah, he was gonna make the rich bitch know the true meaning of fear. Before the kookaburra gave its dusk-time cackle she’d know what it felt like to think you were never gonna wake up the next morning. She had to know. All the rich bitches had to know, just had to, every single fuck’n one of them. Life was shit and you couldn’t escape it no matter how much fuck’n money your daddy had
.
Nah, no fuck’n way he was gonna let her daddy buy her out of this predicament. He’d caught his goose and he was gonna pluck it. He was gonna make damn sure she knew what it was like for the rest of us out here in the real world, to think it would actually be better if you were put out of your misery so you didn’t have to go through the whole thing again the next time your old man got drunk and took out all his frustrations on your pathetic, frail body. He was gonna make damn sure she knew exactly what it was like to lie awake in bed fearing the creaking of the floorboards as your old man’s drinking buddy crept down the hallway to pay you another visit in the middle of the night, just another secret ‘get to know you session’ before the old man sobered up and realised just what fuck’n abominations were happening in his own house.
He killed the engine and put his finger to his lips to tell her to keep as silent as she had. To his disappointment, she acquiesced immediately. She seemed deflated, resigned to what was going to happen.
“When I remove the barrel of this gun from your mouth you’re gonna keep nice and fuck’n quiet, aren’t you?” he said, to which she nodded. “There’s no use scream’n, anyhow. We’re in the middle of the bush. There’s nobody within cooee of here. You got me?”
She nodded again.
“Good, coz then we’re gonna play a little game.”
Her eyes widened, and he knew what she was thinking, which annoyed him.
“Now I’m gonna take the rifle out, okay?” he said, then withdrew the Remy’s barrel from her mouth and pressed it against her left breast.
“Please let me go,” she said in a hoarse whisper.
“I said quiet!” he growled, but silently glad she’d found her spirit. It’d make the game more fun.
“I won’t tell anybody.”
“Makes two of us.” He nodded his head, gesturing to the door. “Open it!”
Unsure at first, she put her hand on the door handle. “My dad has money,” she said. “He’ll pay. Whatever you want.”
Max sniggered. “Daddy’s cash can’t buy you out of this one darlin’. It’s the reason you’re in this predicament.”
He saw the flash of fear in her eyes as she realised he wasn’t going to be bought, not with money anyhow. “What do you want, then?” she asked.
She reached up and started to unbutton her houndstooth jacket. He caught a glimpse of her cleavage, but her unexpected action had taken him off guard. “Not that. What do you think I am?” he said.
“Then what?”
“Open the door.”
She did as he said, still perplexed, still showing her cleavage.
“You’ve got five minutes.”
“What?”
Max grabbed her Chanel handbag off the backseat and tossed it out of the car through the open door. It landed in a mud puddle with a splosh. “Run! You’re time’s tick’n.”
With surprising agility, the girl leapt from the Cherokee. Her ankle twisted in the mud as she bent down to pick up her handbag, so she kicked off her high heels with two perfectly practiced flicks of her feet, and darted down the hill into the valley.
Max casually got out of the car and watched her run down toward the crest of eucalypts, holstering the Remy across his shoulder and leaning against the side of the Cherokee. He’d give her some extra time. She wasn’t going to get far without shoes.
For some reason he had the overwhelming urge to light up a cigarette and draw nice and deep on the nicotine-laced smoke, feel the warmth worm into his lungs, then course through his body and into his brain, something he hadn’t done for ages. Although he’d taken up the habit at the age of eleven, stealing Camels from the old fucker’s packet when he was out cold in a drunken stupor (and occasional mint Alpines from his hooker girlfriends’ handbags when they weren’t looking), or snatching the smouldering stubs from the ashtray and smoking the last flakes of tobacco down to the filter, he’d given up on the habit a long time ago when he’d seen what those death sticks were capable of doing. A slow death riddled with cancer didn’t appeal to him at all; when it did happen, and who the fuck knew when it would?, it’d be quick.
Very fuck’n quick.
He glanced up and saw the top of the girl’s head disappear below the crest line. She seemed to be heading in the direction of the billabong. Which was just perfect. This whole thing had come full circle, hadn’t it? The two brats had stumbled on his humpy after rock climbing along the gorge at the base of the dam. He’d taken the stupid German backpacker to his favourite fishing spot at the billabong. And now he was going to end her privileged, silver spoon days there. Maybe drown her, nice and slow, hold her head under the water, like he’d drown a feral cat in a tub of water.
Unwilling to prevent the huge grin breaking across his face, he congratulated himself on his flash of synchronicity. This was gonna be one hell of a hunt.
Less than thirty minutes later, Max’s eyes were burning in searing agony. His nostrils and throat stung with barbed needles and his mind was whirring out of control. He’d been ambushed, smacked in the face with a sickening spray of jalapeno peppers and fly killer.
“Ahhh!” he screamed, as the burning intensified. “Ahhh!”
Desperate to hang onto his hunting knife for fear it would end up wedged between his shoulder blades, he covered his eyes with his forearm, protecting them from another acidic spray, hoping like hell the pain was only temporary, hoping to God it was only for a few seconds. Nothing his old man had put him through as a kid had seemed as agonising as this—the whipping, the cigarette burns, the punches to the head and stomach, the deliberate starvation—nothing at all. Nothing as sudden. Nothing as grotesque. Or had the sands of time just eroded his memory?
Unbelievably, the burning intensified still further. He had a horror vision of an army of bush ants devouring his eyeballs, then gnawing through the back of his eye sockets and into the raw nerves of his brain.
“I can’t see! I can’t see!” he screamed. He could still hear, because somewhere in the treetops he heard a kookaburra laughing.
“Capsicum spray, arsehole!” he then heard her shout. She was so close he could feel spittle across the bare skin of his checks not protected by his forearm.
Max fell to his knees, still screaming and cursing that he couldn’t see. Suddenly, like his unexpected blindness and scorching eyes, his testicles erupted in gut-wrenching torture.
“Ahhh!” he screamed again.
All strength was sucked out of his body in an instant. In the vacuous shell, shrieking pain tore up through his belly, scolding his innards in bursts of super-heated steam, ripping apart his intestines and kidneys as it seared through to his chest and took final lodging in his throat, gripping his larynx in a vice-like chokehold. Even the explosion of the flaming wreck hadn’t been this bad. He had simply blacked out and then woken up in hospital. This was like being immersed up to his waste in a vat of boiling chip fat.
“Ahhh!” he screamed again, but this time it sounded like the hoarse whimpering of a dying man.
There was not an ounce of energy left in his body, and this time he did drop the knife. Moaning, he collapsed forward into a foetal position, his forearm still covering his burning eyes, the other hand groping under his body for his scrotum, which by now he was convinced had been torn from his groin with the severity of the girl’s blow. His brow now felt clammy and moist, and the urge to retch was almost as engulfing as the pain in the place where his balls used to be.
“Think you’re the only fucking predator a girl has to deal with?” he heard her shout down to him.
He could sense how close she was. Her words had heat he could actually feel, like a blow torch. He could only see blackness, still unable to open his eyes, but he knew that he was fast running out of chances to get out of this in one piece and that he had to do something quickly, a shock attack of some sorts while she felt she was on top of things and in control. Maybe if he flung out his hand he could grab her ankle and trip her over. Maybe something like that.
But before he could even move a muscle, she lashed out again and stomped him in the face with the heel of her bare foot, snapping back his head with a sickening crunch!
“Ahhh!” he screamed, pretty sure she had just broken his cheek bone.
“You fucking bastard!” she shouted, and stomped him in the head again.
This kick didn’t find its mark, but it did connect with his forearm. Realising this was his chance, he snatched blindly for her foot or ankle or any part of her leg he could grab. Despite the pain riddling his body from head to toe, he surprised himself, and the girl, with his speed. He grabbed something that felt like her calf, his forefinger catching in a hole of her torn stockings. She tried to pull her leg free, but he held on despite tearing back a fingernail, determined not to let go at all costs. With what limited strength he could muster, he jerked his arm, pulling her leg toward him and out from under her.
He felt her teeter off balance. Sensing the fight had suddenly swung back in his favour, a surge of adrenaline swept through his body, numbing the pain that only a moment ago had threatened to blackout his consciousness. He dared to open his searing eyes and, although blurred through watery tears, he could just make out her fuzzy outline looming above him. He had to act now. He had to act fast if he were to make the most of the situation.
His victory, however, was short-lived. In his desperation to take her down, he had made himself vulnerable to another attack. His face was now open, which she used to her advantage. Within that split second of thinking she was about to teeter and fall to the ground, she had thrust the capsicum spray into his face and emptied the remaining contents of the can into his unprotected eyes. A second after the spray came the nauseating scent of spicy fly killer again.
“Ahhh!” he screamed, wailing in agony and releasing his grip on her leg to shield his eyes. “You fuck’n bitch!”
She said nothing, but in the blind darkness and pain he heard her stumble through the bush. Thinking she was making a break for it, he tried to raise himself off the ground but the numbing effects of the recent adrenaline surge had worn off as quickly as it had worked and his entire body seized with screeching pain. Then, to his surprise, he heard her stumbling footsteps approaching again. She seemed to stop a little further away from him this time, more than an arm’s length he guessed, obviously wary of another sudden attack.
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