Blood Feud (Little Town)

by JD Nixon

  “Don’t move. Drop the gun and get on your knees, hands in the air,” I told him coldly.

  “Why don’t you step out into the light where I can see your pretty face? It’s been so long.” He crept closer to where I was hidden, guided through the darkness by my voice.

  “Redmond Christopher Bycraft, you are under arrest. Don’t move. Drop the gun and get on your knees, hands in the air,” I repeated louder. “That was a lawful direction from a sworn police officer.”

  “Fuck off with the pig-speak, Tessie,” he laughed. “You’re dying to kill me, aren’t you? Death by cop is what you’re planning. ‘Accidently’ and fatally shot while resisting arrest is my guess.”

  “You better believe it, arsehole.”

  “Not going to happen.”

  “Come closer,” I tempted.

  It would be the perfect excuse to shoot him dead. Yes, ma’am, he was threatening me and advancing on me with his weapon drawn. I had no choice but to defend myself. I did aim for his shoulder, but he moved, and that’s how I accidently shot him in the head. Five times. At close range. Oh yeah, and once in the wanger too.

  He stayed where he was and laughed again, waving his gun towards me. “That’s not going to happen either. But top points for trying, Tessie.”

  Without any warning, he twirled on his heels and sprinted away from me, down the side of the house from where he’d come.

  “Hey!” I shouted and sprinted after him, tripping over my own feet in my haste. “Stop, Red Bycraft! You’re under arrest!”

  My girls clucked loudly in alarm, protesting the disturbance. I had to ignore them this time, and pounded after Red down the side of the house, trying not to stumble over the pieces of rusting machinery that Dad had stored up against the fence over the years. I could shoot Red and bring him down. I was a crack shot, but it was dark and he was a moving target. Plus, it’s always hard to explain shooting a man in the back.

  He turned the corner from the side to the front yard and I lost sight of him. A commotion sounded from the front of the house, an angry, cursing voice and stifled scuffling noises. I sprinted to the front to find Red on the ground having tripped over one of the small timber borders framing the sad remnants of a once-beautiful flower garden that my mother had planted as a newlywed. It was now overgrown and neglected because I never seemed to find any spare time to garden these days. The border was rotting and termite-ridden in parts.

  I dived on to him, clasping him around his thrashing calves. There was no way I was going to let him escape from me once again. We wrangled and rolled across the garden bed, each trying to get the upper hand.

  We flailed wildly together, turning over and over as we struggled against each other, breaking the spongy timber of the garden edge to roll out of the garden on to the lawn.

  I managed to stagger to my feet and hauled Red upright by his upper arm. I had my gun trained on him, and it seemed as though we were done and dusted and I’d recaptured myself a fugitive. But of course, life is never that simple, and Red hooked his foot around the back of mine and rammed into me. I stumbled backwards. Red took advantage of my unsteadiness to fling me aside and make a run for it.

  I jumped to my feet, covering Red with my gun. “Don’t move! Put your gun down, kneel on the ground, hands above your head.”

  “Fuck you,” he raged and picked up a rock from the driveway, flinging it at me. I dodged it, diving to the ground. That gave him the opportunity to make a run for it out the gate and to his car, which was parked on the grass verge between my front fence and the highway.

  I staggered to my feet and chased him to the gate. I stood still, taking aim, letting off a shot. I would have hit him except he dropped into the driver’s seat of his car at that moment, keeping low. Instead, my bullet whizzed past him harmlessly. Damn! He revved up the engine and tore off, wheels skidding in the grass, not even bothering to turn on his lights. I shot again and thought I might have hit the boot. The car fishtailed across the highway, but he regained control and kept driving, screeching off down the highway as fast as the car would let him. I watched helplessly.

  It was pointless jumping into our ancient Land Rover to chase him. Then my eyes alighted on Jake’s shiny, souped-up gold ute, the love of his life and the apple of his eye. Without wasting a second on boring self-moralising over whether or not it was right to borrow someone’s car without asking, I sprinted inside and appropriated his keys.

  Never having driven the ute before and too used to driving either the patrol car or the clunky Land Rover, I overshot when I reversed and skidded out of my gates as I spun right.

  Shit! I cringed, battling to straighten the vehicle. When I had, I planted my foot and accelerated in the same direction Red had driven. He was heading for the border. I pursued him at a speed unsafe to suit the darkness of the evening and the winding nature of the road. Tonight was my night, I told myself. Not being in the patrol car or on duty meant I was finally free to pursue him across the border without the attendant tons of paperwork.

  The low, grumbling roar of the revved-up ute combined with me being lost in one of my favourite debates – whether I should double-tap Red or triple-tap him – kept me ignorant of the traffic around me until I checked my rear view mirror. Catching up with me was the patrol car, its lights flashing. As it closed the gap between us, I could also hear its siren wailing.

  The Sarge flashed the car’s headlights at me, a signal to pull over. I ignored it, instead speeding up in response. I could smell Red Bycraft, could taste him, could almost touch him. I wasn’t let go of him for anyone, no matter the consequences.

  In what could only be described as a risky manoeuvre, the Sarge accelerated faster, the powerful engine of the patrol car more than a match for Jake’s ute. He pulled alongside me. He honked the horn and pointed to the side of the road, further indications he wanted me to pull over.

  “No!” I shouted back at him, though he couldn’t possibly hear through our closed windows.

  We both had to slow down considerably to safely manage a hairpin turn. He took advantage of the patrol car’s superior speed to pull ahead of me, tapping on his brakes. Unless I wanted to rear-end him, I was forced to also slow down.

  But I wasn’t fast enough on the brakes and clipped the back of the patrol car, sending the ute veering off the road on to the narrow verge. I applied the brakes gently as we’d been taught, resisting the natural urge to slam on them. I steered the car parallel to the road, where I managed to bring it to a safe stop.

  The Sarge screeched the patrol car to a halt sideways across the road, presumably to prevent me from further driving. He flung open his door and stormed over to the ute where I sat clutching the steering wheel, adrenaline coursing through my body. He’d left the headlights and strobe lights of the patrol car on to warn any oncoming vehicle of the traffic hazard we posed.

  He threw open my door with such force I thought it might tear from its hinges, and dragged me from the front seat. He gripped my upper arms so tightly I had bruises there the next day. He shook me roughly.

  “What the fuck do you think you were doing?” he shouted right in my face. “You could have killed yourself, you stupid woman!”

  “Let me go!” I struggled to free myself from his hold. “It’s Red Bycraft! You’re letting him escape, you idiot.”

  “There’s only one idiot around here and it’s not me.”

  “I said, let me go,” I shrieked desperately.

  I wanted a piece of Red and he wasn’t getting in my way. I shoved him in the chest with my hands, but it was as fruitless as pushing a brick wall. I hooked my foot around the back of his leg and tried to pull it out from under him, just as Red had done to me, but he stood still, his feet fixed firmly on the ground. I tried to swing a punch at him, but he restrained my wrists and twisted my arms up behind my back, moving against me until I was sandwiched between the ute and him.

  Another burst of frantic struggling gained me nothing but him pressing against me tighter.


  “Get off me,” I panted in frustration.

  “I’ll get off you when you stop behaving like a wild animal.”

  “You’re letting him escape.”

  “He’s long gone, Tessie. He’s over the border.”

  “I can chase him there this time.”

  “And then what? Maybe get yourself picked up for speeding and reckless driving there? What do you think that will do for your career? What do you think the Super would say about that? You’re already treading a thin line.”

  “I don’t care about my career. I want him! I want to catch him and I want to stop him.”

  “I understand.”

  “No, you don’t!” I screamed, struggling furiously again. “How can you? Nobody understands what it’s like to live every day of your life not knowing if you’re going to be alive tomorrow. Nobody understands what it’s like to be the subject of such insane fatal obsession just because of the simple misfortune of being born a Fuller in this bloody town.”

  I tried to knee him in the groin, but he blocked my leg with his and tightened my arms behind me. He was hurting me, but I wasn’t going to admit it, staring up at him with defiant (and I’ll admit it, probably half-crazy) eyes.

  He leaned down, keeping his eyes intently on mine, releasing his grip slightly. “I do understand and I’m trying to help as much as I can. I would do anything to make all this go away for you.”

  And just like that, he defused my anger with his simple, but genuine, words. I collapsed against the ute, emotionally exhausted.

  “Good,” he said. “When I let you go, you’re going to get back in the ute, turn around and go home. Do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Are you going to attack me if I let go of your arms?”

  I shook my head.

  “I’m trusting you, Tessie.”

  He let go of me and braced himself as if expecting an onslaught from me. Slightly hurt about that, I rubbed my wrists where he’d been holding me too tightly.

  “Drive home. I’ll follow.”

  And so I did.

  Chapter 26

  Jake was anxiously waiting on the verandah for my return, but I wasn’t sure whether it was me he was worried about, or his precious vehicle. He bounded down the stairs and over to me when I stepped out of the ute.

  “What’s going on, babe?” he asked, about to embrace me when he stopped in his tracks. He moved around to the front of the ute and ran his hand along the crumpled right bumper where I’d clipped the patrol car. A quick glance at that vehicle showed a corresponding dent in the back left.

  He lifted a distraught face to mine. “What the hell, Tessie? What happened to my ute? What have you done to it?”

  “I’m sorry, Jakey.”

  “What the hell? How could you do this?”

  “Red was here at the house. I had to go after him. I’m sorry.” I placed my hand on his arm and he shook it off angrily.

  “That’s going to cost a fortune to fix. You didn’t even ask if you could drive it.”

  The Sarge ambled over during this exchange and stood next to me, hands in his jeans pockets.

  “I can’t believe you crashed my ute.”

  I knew I deserved a ticking off from him – what guy wouldn’t be upset about his girlfriend dinging his car? – but every word he said stung worse than those green ants. He looked up and noticed the Sarge for the first time.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “Listen to yourself, Bycraft. Tessie just told you that your brother was here during the night and all you care about is your ute? Nice priorities, mate.”

  Jake strode over to him so they stood toe to toe. “I’m sick of you hanging around Tessie all the time, so piss off. This is none of your business. She’s my girlfriend, not yours.”

  “Then why don’t you look after her better?”

  “I don’t need anyone looking after me,” I protested hotly.

  “Why don’t you just fuck off out of our lives?” said Jake aggressively.

  “Why don’t you make me?”

  Jake shoved him in the shoulder with his palm. The Sarge shoved him back.

  “No way,” I jumped in, sensing danger. “There’s no way you two are doing this.”

  Jake swung a punch at the Sarge’s jaw, but he ducked, smashing his fist into Jake’s stomach. Jake kicked out at him, landing a blow on the Sarge’s shin. They circled each other warily, each looking for a weakness to exploit. They were evenly matched, the Sarge marginally taller and bigger, both fit, young, and trained to subdue.

  I could not believe my eyes. Two respectable grown men fighting like street scrappers over . . . ? I wasn’t even sure what they were fighting over. I wasn’t sure they knew either.

  “This is lunacy. It has to stop now!” I shouted at them, but they were so caught up in the intensity of their hatred for each other at that moment they probably didn’t even hear me. It was as if the months of suppressing their true feelings and being polite finally erupted in a testosterone-laden need to defeat the other.

  Jake threw another punch that the Sarge almost dodged, it glancing off his chin. Jake blocked the Sarge’s next stomach blow with his arm.

  “You know what? Have your pissing competition! Beat each other to a bloody pulp. I don’t frigging care,” I shrieked and stomped up the stairs, slamming and locking the front door behind me.

  I sat on my bed almost shaking with anger – anger at Jake, at the Sarge, and most of all at myself. It was my fault things had escalated to this point between them, my fault they were in constant conflict with each other.

  After about ten minutes, a loud hammering on the front door drew me there.

  “Tessie, babe, let me in.”

  “Go away, Jake.”

  “Babe, let me back in. It’s over.”

  “And so is your sleepover.” I gathered all his belongings, opened the door, and flung them at him.

  He stood stunned as his clothes and personal items fell on the verandah around him. His lip was bleeding and his shirt torn. I slammed the door and locked it. He hammered on it again.

  “Babe!”

  “Go away!” I shouted.

  Muted swearing floated through the door, and a minute later his ute revved up with unnecessary force and he drove off. A couple of minutes later came another knock on the door.

  “Tessie, let me in.”

  “No. You can go away too.”

  “You’re not staying here by yourself. You either come back to my house with me or you let me in.”

  “I’m choosing none of the above.”

  “Tessie, be reasonable.”

  “Reasonable? Ha! That is so unbelievably rich coming from someone who was just fighting another man like some drunken twenty-year-old. Go away!”

  “If you won’t let me in, I’ll sleep in the patrol car.”

  “I don’t care what you do, just go away and leave me alone.” And I refused to talk to him again, though he tried to engage me for a while.

  I attempted to go back to sleep, but it was a fruitless endeavour. At dawn I rose from bed, groggy with tiredness, my stomach tied in knots from the dramas during the night. A jog will help clear my mind and burn off some angst, I thought. It had been a while since I’d had the chance to exercise, so I pulled on my running gear with more enthusiasm than normal.

  As I left the house, I noticed the patrol car still sitting in my driveway.

  “He didn’t, did he?” I muttered to myself. The Sarge lay in the reclined passenger seat, his arms crossed, apparently asleep.

  He opened an eye, yawned, stretched, and sat up. His already bruised nose had freshly bled during the night, and a small pyramid of blood-soaked tissues sat on the driver’s seat. Dried blood crusted around his nostrils.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, more than a little irritated.

  “I told you I wasn’t leaving you alone,” he said, stepping out and stretching his long limbs.

  “
You’re ridiculous, Maguire. I hope you had a long, horrible, uncomfortable night.”

  “I did, thanks,” he said coolly.

  “Good.” I stalked off towards the gate.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “What does it look like? I’m going for a jog.”

  “You’re not going by yourself.”

  “I’ll do what I want.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “I want to be alone.”

  I jogged off, but had barely run one hundred metres before the patrol car crept up beside me, keeping pace with me. I stopped. It stopped. He rolled down the window.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I demanded.

  “Sticking with you like I’ve been told.”

  “I don’t want you to.”

  “I don’t really care what you want.”

  “You’re such a pain in the arse.”

  “God, look who’s talking.”

  Ignoring him, I continued my jog, shadowed by the patrol car the entire way, raising the eyebrows of everyone we came across. Back home, I locked him out again, fed my girls, showered, ate breakfast, and dressed in my uniform, taking my time about all of it. I also packed more clothes to take back to his house.

  He waited impatiently in the patrol car for me, strumming his fingers on the dashboard. We drove to the station.

  “Why were you there last night anyway?”

  “I received an urgent call about gunshots coming from your house, so I ran every red light in town to get there as soon as I could.” My smile at that joke was small and reluctant. “First thing I noticed was Jake standing on the verandah looking puzzled and his ute missing. I didn’t even stop at your house but kept driving, knowing that I would find you up to something that could get us both fired.”

  “I suppose you’re waiting for me to apologise?”

  “We both know I’ll grow old and die before that will ever happen. But pulling a stunt like that not long after the Super warned you isn’t smart behaviour, Tess.”

  “Are you going to tell her?”

  “No.”

  “Thank you.”