Without You I Have Nothing

by J A Scooter

  The phone rang again.

  “What? What did you say? Oh, no - say that again. The police are here. They want to speak to Jennifer. Bring them up here immediately.”

  Jennifer looked destroyed as if the sound of the feet on the stairs was the march of Cerberus, the hound from Hades.

  “Miss Blake - and you are?” A detective studied Andrew.

  “I’m Jennifer’s twin brother, Andrew Blake, here in Sydney on business.” Andrew pulled himself together.

  “What was the business?” The detective doggedly stuck to his questioning.

  “I came here to meet Peter O’Brien prior to his engagement to my sister. It was a kind of twin brother’s approval meeting. We met last night and had a wonderful Indian meal, then went to his apartment and came here so he could show me his workshop. I was most impressed. Then he drove off to deliver a truck to Bathurst.

  “We spent the night here as Jennifer was feeling too under the weather to drive and I had been drinking. Peter had been the designated driver for the night.”

  “Why was there a red-haired dummy in his cab?” The detective was suspicious of everything.

  “We’d been fooling around and I wouldn’t let my sister go with him in case he led her astray, so we dressed the dummy as a joke and told him he’d have to be satisfied with taking Jennifer Number Two.”

  Disgusted that he was getting nowhere, the detective turned his interest to Jennifer.

  “Do the names…’ and he rattled off the names of the three men, “mean anything to you?”

  Jennifer stared and was unable to answer so Andrew intervened.

  “Yes, they are the names of the three men I prevented from raping my sister years ago.” Andrew was furious that they were questioning Jennifer, who was so obviously distressed.

  “Mr. Blake we must ask you to remain quiet. Allow your sister to answer.”

  Andrew’s thoughts reflected his anger. ‘What a bastard this policeman is.’

  “Well, Miss Blake, I am waiting for an answer, or would you prefer to come down to the station and answer there?”

  “Although you believe I am a weak female, I am a lawyer so you are taking me nowhere unless you are charging me so I suggest you start again.” Jennifer was once again the ‘Ice Maiden’ and her eyes glittered in anger. “You heard my brother’s answer and I have nothing to add. Don’t come in here trying to browbeat information out of us else you will find yourselves in court on serious charges.”

  The policemen blanched as she continued. “I suggest you watch your tone and start again!”

  “Have any of the men been in contact with either of you?”

  “How could they? They’re in prison.” Jennifer stared through the police, daring them to contradict her.

  “No, - you’re wrong. They’re dead. They were incinerated in a car smash - or possibly murdered in a car smash - after an attempted truck hi-jacking.”

  “How can that be our concern?”

  Relentlessly the detective continued. “Well, the truck they attempted to hi-jack was the one driven out of here by Peter O’Brien.”

  “Peter, where’s Peter? Tell me, you bastard!” Jennifer dropped all pretence of lady-like behavior and jumped to her feet. “Is he alive - dead? Where is he?” Her voice rose to a shrill scream before she collapsed on her chair, sobbing piteously.

  The detective and his partner were shocked at her vehemence.

  “Haven’t you been told? We thought you knew.”

  Jennifer looked stricken as she waited for the trap door to open, allowing her to fall to her death at the end of the hangman’s noose.

  “Tell me. Tell me.” Her scream showed she was about to physically attack the man.

  “Last night, Peter was flown from the accident scene by helicopter. He’d lost a lot of blood as the hijackers had shot him. However, he disregarded his injuries and tried to put out the fire. He’s in intensive care at Royal North Shore Hospital. Only next-of-kin are allowed in, but I dare say if we escort you the ward sister will allow you to see Mr. O’Brien.”

  The detective, looking a little self-conscious now, seemed human at last.

  Jennifer would never remember the trip to the hospital, neither the blare of the siren, nor the speed at which they travelled - nothing. She couldn’t even remember being ushered into the elevator or walking into the ward.

  She did remember the pretty blonde bending over Peter, holding his hand as she wiped the perspiration from his forehead.

  She did remember shouting “Peter” as she ran to him.

  She did remember the loving look that passed over his face as the blonde-haired woman dropped his hand to walk quickly out of the ward.

  Her relief in finding Peter was short lived.

  The emotional trauma of the past few days and the torment of the questioning by the police blocked any rational thinking that her education as a lawyer would normally guide her in her responses to such a situation. She was an emotional mess, her mind full of pain. She slid into the blackness of depression for the second time in her life.

  Her voice sounded pleased but her heart was frozen.

  “Oh, God, Peter!”

  Her eyes flashed with self-righteous anger - all coherent thoughts smothered by the sight of the affection shown by both Peter and that woman for each other.

  Her voice was almost a high pitched, bitchy shriek as she allowed jealousy to overcome her. She was no longer a lawyer - she was a confused, depressed young woman.

  “Who was that woman and why is she allowed to see you when I’m not permitted near you without a police escort?”

  Peter ached all over. His leg felt as though it was falling off and the ache bit deep. Drugged with painkillers, he hardly knew where he was, let alone have the strength to answer these questions. He just wanted peace and quiet - peace and quiet to think where his life was heading.

  “That woman - as you so cattily put it.” He was tired, he was angry, and above all the inquisitiveness of the police unsettled him. They had already commenced inquiries with Interpol about his back - part of his history - which he had wanted to be far in his background.

  “That woman is your best friend. Yes, your best friend.”

  Jennifer turned as a nurse took her arm. “I am afraid you’re disturbing the patient, Miss Blake. I must ask you to leave.”

  Shrugging herself free, Jennifer continued.

  “Don’t worry, I’m leaving and I’ll never be back. Is that the woman you took to Bathurst? You tell me you love me yet you spent the weekend away with her.

  “Don’t bother denying your feelings for her and her feelings for you. I saw the two of you and I’m not a fool. Is that the woman you saved, then undressed and put to bed? By her actions, I see she really enjoyed your attentions. And you had the impertinence to profess your love for me.”

  The hatred in her voice shocked Peter as he lay still, gazing steadily at her. Quietly he whispered, “She’s your best friend, Jennifer. She’s our best friend.”

  In a voice laced with even more venom, she cut across his words. “I will not be treated like this. I will not be your plaything, not now, not ever. Goodbye, Peter. I am returning home to Melbourne. There’s nothing to keep me here in Sydney. Goodbye.”

  Ramrod stiff she fled the ward.

  Chapter 8 Mistaken Identity

  Joe looked around the workshop, particularly pleased at how he had kept it humming along. The hammering of metal and the screech of the grinders played a pleasing harmony for his ears and the smell of fresh enamel coming from the paint booth made him smile.

  In his usual discreet way, after warning the staff not to mention Jennifer, he had taken care to hide her car at the back of the workshop so Peter wouldn’t see it when he returned. Joe was pleased. His thoughtfulness was a kind action to protect Peter.

  His smile became broader as he watched one of the female apprentices scurrying to collect a buffing machine to finalize a paint job. The second apprentice was working with a m
echanic removing a radiator and had a smear of black grease across her youthful face.

  The only admission of their femininity was the cap each wore to protect her hair.

  His thoughts roamed back to when Peter and he had interviewed the girls and Peter had insisted on signing them up as new workers.

  ‘Ah, yes, Peter. How could he stop himself-destructing? The silly Bastardo!’ Shaking himself, Joe realized he mustn’t greet Peter with “Che Cazzo fai (What the fuck are you doing)?” He had slipped back into his native Italian and realized that would never do.

  Slowly he walked into the office to ask Mark if there was any news about Peter.

  Nights became days and days grew into weeks until late one Friday as the workshop was falling quiet after a day’s noise, Joe heard a shout from the main doorway.

  “Peter’s back!”

  One of the female apprentices, screeching her pleasure, rushed to hug him.

  “Peter, we’re all so glad to see you.”

  Joe just stood there with his arms folded, watching, his face beaming as Peter shook hands all round. He was aware that these warm handshakes expressed a depth of loyalty that Peter’s workers could never express in words.

  Belying his true feelings, casually he called out to Peter.

  “Yes, about time the boss did some work instead of lazing around chasing good looking nurses up and down corridors.”

  Peter looked across at him and smiled. He knew that was all the sympathy he could expect from Joe who’d already turned away to lead him on a tour of inspection.

  In his reliable way, Joe had repaired the truck from the attempted hijack, renewing his friendships with the Italians at the trucking company. There were only five trucks still awaiting delivery and then the contract - the miserable business - would be over.

  Joe began pushing Peter harder.

  “Three months until Christmas and we might get our bonus if the boss isn’t Scrooge. One truck is to go off tonight. Are you fit enough to deliver it? You know what they say about falling off a horse - the sooner you get back in the saddle the sooner you lose your fear.”

  Peter just laughed.

  “Wait until I get my welding gloves and my overalls. Then I’ll leave. It’s no problem and thank you all for putting up with me while I’ve been - well - away.”

  He paused and turned back.

  “Oh, and yes, Joe I’ve got the hint. The Christmas Bonus will be really special as a gesture of my thanks.”

  Later, Peter called Joe upstairs.

  “Joe, go and get your wife. The three of us will eat at the motel up the street before I head off into deepest, darkest Bathurst.”

  At the end of the day’s trading, an icy hand seemed to grip Peter’s heart. He remembered his last trip and Jennifer’s visit to the hospital. Shrugging, he turned towards the setting sun and waited for Joe and Maria.

  Eventually they arrived, with Joe looking very suave and continental in a black, open neck shirt with a black and red cravat and black jeans. Maria was a little well-rounded Italian woman whose welcome smile reflected her pleasure at seeing Peter. Her Italian accent was more pronounced than Joe’s and her devotion to Joe shone through as they approached holding hands

  Laughing and joking, with Maria between them, they walked up the street to the motel that Peter had heard was running a good, licensed Italian restaurant.

  Maria ordered for them and the Italian rolled off her tongue in a never-ending stream. She seemed to know the chef when he rushed out to greet her as a long lost friend.

  Joe didn’t seem the least bit frazzled when the chef arrived at their table and lifted Maria from her seat to hug her warmly.

  “He’s another one of Maria’s myriad relatives. She’s got them everywhere,” was Joe’s amused comment.

  Peter laughed as the chef returned to the kitchen.

  “I see you haven’t lost your taste for the old country,” Peter remarked when Maria started on her meal of Porcini Dusted Sea Scallops with Tomato Relish while he and Joe hoed into thick T-Bone steaks.

  As Maria and Joe sipped their Cortese di Gavi, (a dry, white, sparkling wine from Piedmont) Peter suddenly realized that he’d been drinking tomato juice with a slice of lemon.

  Paling, he put down his knife and fork and stared at the glass before him. His heart thumped as he remembered it had been Jennifer’s drink that very first night with her. Almost unable to cope, he found that he couldn’t speak for a few minutes while his two dinner companions prattled on, oblivious of his distress.

  Maria stared at him as he tried to cover his true feelings by laughing.

  “It’s okay for you two drunkards to get stuck into the wine but this boy is driving tonight!” He saw Joe staring at him and he winked before sculling his glass of juice and rejoining the conversation.

  With an aching heart, he tried to be cheerful and to hide his inner feelings from Maria.

  Her motherly pat on his hand showed that she knew of his inner turmoil.

  The meal ended and knowing he had a few hours driving he paid the bill and stood to leave.

  As they returned to the workshop, they laughed and discussed the weather almost as though they wanted to stay clear of any topic that could possibly include Jennifer.

  Peter took Joe and Maria into the workshop office where they waited around, filling in time while he went off to put on his overalls and gloves and to find his jacket. He returned with some papers in his hand.

  “You two behave while I’m away. There’s a suite arranged at The Majestic on the Quay which has world famous Italian Cuisine. As well I have booked you for a seaplane flight and lunch on Sunday.” Enjoying the stunned look on their faces, he threw the booking on the table. “Enjoy your second or is it your 22nd honeymoon. Maria, tell me if he plays up. I’ll see you Monday Joe, if you can remember where work is. All charges are on me.”

  He chuckled at the unbelieving looks on their faces as they turned to look at each other. His generosity had stunned them.

  “But don’t send the company bankrupt,” he included as a parting shot.

  Ignoring their embarrassed thanks, he marched off surprised at the change in the weather. Rain lashed down out of leaden skies and he pulled his coat tighter about him as the unseasonable, freezing wind whipped about him.

  Within an hour, Peter was back on the merry-go-round - the relentless succession of pick-ups and deliveries, the drive to Bathurst and the train trip home. The grumbling engine dragged him up the mountains with the headlamps stabbing into the fog and mist.

  It seemed only hours before he was back on Monday ready to deliver the next truck.

  He had delivered truck two and then truck three with little difficulty, he thought. Yet it was only as he hauled himself up into the cab of truck four that Peter realized he was again relying on those same damn tablets from an earlier trip with Susie. Clad in his usual garb of worker’s thick overalls and welding gloves, he settled into the seat and started the engine.

  He remembered that it was Friday and he should be with Ted and Bob. Shuddering, he realized that he couldn’t be with them - too many memories there for him. Peter shook his mind free of such thoughts and began to concentrate on the trip. Trying to remember exactly when he had last been to bed, he realized he ached too much to bother.

  His throat was dry and his eyeballs felt seared as he stared into the fog that came rolling down the road from the mountains to swallow his lights. Rain smashed against the windscreen and the wipers sang an endless lullaby as the truck crawled through the traffic. Drivers hurrying home speared past, ignoring the darkness, the danger and the water.

  Visibility became worse and the downpour continued to lash down. Carefully he began the long haul up the eastern escarpment, past the restaurant where he and Jennifer had dined all those months ago at the beginning of that weekend of magic. Still the truck crawled onwards with Peter’s hands and feet dancing a constant tattoo - brake, accelerator and clutch until his legs ached.

  He
felt hungry but refused to stop. No, there were still too many memories. Mount Tomah loomed into view. Stretching his right leg, he winced at the remembered pain of that trip which so easily could have cost him his life.

  His thoughts centered on Jennifer. ‘Why have I punished myself? I tried to win Jennifer and lost. That ending was so final. Yet, his mind pressured him to go on. Jennifer’s departure for Melbourne - I just have to grin and bear it. Ah, well, life goes on.’ He allowed his thoughts to wander freely.

  Shaking his head, he forced himself to concentrate as the fog became a thick white wall replacing the rain and the engine growled its distaste at his efforts to crawl cautiously around the mountainside.

  Even his police friends must have found it miserable and he gave them a friendly blast on the air-horns as he edged past.

  Behind him, two lights intensified from mere candles in the fog to penetrating searchlights, scorching their message into the mirrors and burning his tired eyes.

  “Bloody car driver,” Peter muttered under his breath as a little green Mini flashed past.

  “Jennifer!” Peter’s shriek was unheard. “Slow down, there are dangerous curves ahead.”

  The red taillights disappeared around the bend into the fog, but then, even over the loud complaints of the engine, Peter heard the scream of tortured metal and the crash of the impact.

  “Please, God, noooooo!”

  Even in the short time it took Peter to arrive at the scene, a number of cars had stopped and the drivers had grouped around the burning wreckage. They jumped clear as his truck skidded to a halt.

  Tongues of fire were licking the interior of the car as Peter threw himself at the wreckage. The other drivers reached out to hold him but he beat the well-wishers aside. No army could have stood between him and his Jennifer. He was ripping and tearing, screaming as if demented.

  “Jennifer, Jennifer, I’ll get you out!”

  Peter shattered the driver’s window and tore the door open.

  The driver’s skirt was already alight as he lifted her in his arms. The fire, denied one victim, attacked him, but he could only laugh wildly as he was holding his Jennifer once again. His head bent to hers as he heard a sudden loud crump and felt an iron fist smash into his back.