Blood Tears

by JD Nixon

  “Yep.”

  Perhaps the tenseness of my body, or the fact that I could barely get a word out between my clenched teeth alerted him that something was wrong.

  “It was expensive, huh?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  I sensed he wanted to say more, but held his tongue.

  I was silent while we drove, not paying much attention to anything, my mind swirling with juggling bills and paydays, trying to get the pieces of my terrifying financial puzzle together.

  The Sarge pulled over, an uncertain expression on his face. “Didn’t you break down round about here?”

  I glanced around. “Yeah. I remember that clump of trees over there. God only knows I studied it for ages waiting for you to turn up.”

  “I came as soon as I could, Tess.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” I said, feeling churlish.

  I pulled out my phone and rang the impoundment unit of the Big Town police. I gave the reception person my vehicle’s make, model and number plate on the off chance it had been impounded.

  Nope.

  “Those buggerdy bastard Bycrafts,” I almost shouted, banging my fist on the dashboard and wanting to peg my phone into the nearby field.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “They’ve gone and nicked my Land Rover.”

  “How do you know?”

  “What else could have happened to it? Who else would want to steal it but that bunch of little shits? They’d have loved a bit of revenge after yesterday’s episode.”

  “But we left as soon as the mechanic rang. We should have passed them heading into Little Town on the way. Perhaps the mechanic finished a while ago and they stole it before he even rang?”

  “No. He told me he’d just finished working on it when he rang.”

  “Okay. The only other option is they drove it towards Big Town.”

  He pulled out into the traffic again.

  “It’s not even as though they’d get any joy joyriding in that old beast,” I moaned. “They’re just doing it to spite me.”

  “We don’t know for sure it was them.”

  “I do. Oh, how they would have loved stumbling across it. And the keys were in the bloody glove box.” I covered my eyes with my hand. “I hope they don’t write it off.”

  “Did you have any insurance on it?”

  “Yeah, replacement value. We’ll be lucky to get enough back to buy one tyre of a newer car, especially after I pay that mechanic’s bill.”

  We drove another fifteen kilometres towards Big Town, my eyes darting back and forth across the road, trying to scan both sides at the same time.

  “Oh, no,” I moaned when I spotted it.

  Either it had been deliberately or accidently driven off the side of the road. I wasn’t going to discount either option until I found out who’d been driving. It had collided with a tree slightly side on so that the front right bumper was crumpled, the headlight crushed. The engine was still running.

  We stood and surveyed the damage for a minute.

  “Will I call a tow truck?” asked the Sarge.

  “Don’t bother,” I said dully. “At least it’s still running. I’ll just drive it home.”

  “We could get forensics to dust it for . . .” He trailed off at the expression on my face, knowing himself only too well how fruitless that would prove, even if the Super would allow her precious forensics team to be used for such a frivolous purpose.

  I climbed into the Land Rover and carefully reversed, worried the whole front bumper would drop off at any little dip in the road. I completely annoyed every other driver on the road by putting along well below the speed limit, but was spared from any building road rage by the Sarge trailing after me in the patrol car. I appreciated that he stayed with me, not entirely confident my 4WD would make it, particularly as we approached the steep rise up the mountain to Little Town.

  Somehow, and I wasn’t sure if it was the power of my prayers to every deity I could think of, or my curses I called down on the Bycrafts, the Land Rover actually made it home.

  I took a few minutes to check on Dad, finding him awake and watching TV. I made him a sandwich that I was pretty sure he’d refuse to eat and a cup of tea, and pulled out a blanket to wrap over his legs when he complained about the cold. I deliberately didn’t tell him about the horrendous mechanic’s bill coming our way or the fresh damage to the Land Rover. He didn’t need to worry about things like that.

  “Let’s go get them,” I said grimly when we climbed back into the patrol car.

  “Tess, we don’t have any evidence it was the Bycraft teens,” he argued with a calm reason that angered me more.

  “Think of some evidence we can use.”

  He regarded me closely. “No, Tess. I’m not going down that path, and neither are you. Understand? We’ll have our chance with them eventually, and it will be done in accordance with the law so we can make it stick.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I do understand, and I’m angry with them too. But I’m more concerned about you.”

  I whipped my head his way. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’m concerned about the pressure you’ve been under the past few months.”

  I looked out the window. “Save your concern for someone else.” Save it for someone who deserves it, I thought moodily.

  “No can do,” he said with easy casualness. “I haven’t got a drop of concern to spare for anyone else.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. Just don’t say it.”

  “I have to say it. I work with you and whatever you do, or whatever happens to you, happens to me too.” He kept his eyes on the road. “We’re partners, remember?”

  And though I didn’t answer him, I’d decided that what he’d said was the nicest thing I’d heard from anybody for a long time.

  Chapter 23

  We’d barely returned to the station when I caught a phone call from someone who wished to remain anonymous. But I recognised her voice as one of the unfortunate residents of Jarrah Street, and therefore close neighbour to that minion of Hell, Lola Bycraft. In a shaking voice, she told me she wanted to report a fracas occurring at Lola’s house. And before I could even thank her for being a good citizen, she’d hung up.

  “Don’t get too comfy in your chair,” I warned the Sarge. “Disturbance at Lola’s house.”

  He groaned. “Again? Don’t they ever take a break?”

  “Are you really surprised?”

  “No. But why are you smiling about it?”

  “This could be my chance for some retribution.”

  “Tessie, what did I say before?” he said in his finest I’m-definitely-not-taking-any-shit-from-my-senior-constable voice.

  I looked at him innocently. “In accordance with the law, of course, Sarge. What else did you think I meant?”

  “Oh, God. Why am I suddenly dreading this?”

  I walked to the counter and opened the hatch. “Just remember the old Little Town police motto.”

  “Which is?”

  “Take as many Bycraft prisoners as possible.”

  “Oh, God. Now I am wishing I was lazing back on the Mediterranean again.”

  When we pulled up out the front of Lola’s house, the ‘fracas’ was still in full swing, and had spilled out on to their front verandah.

  “It’s like the last time all over again,” said the Sarge wearily.

  “And the time before that.”

  “And the fifty times before that.” We looked at each other. “Check your weapons, Tess.”

  “Already doing it,” I replied, running through my usual pre-incident drill – gun, baton, handcuffs, OC spray. “Ready for action?”

  “I’m ready. Let’s hit it hard.”

  We ran up the stairs to the verandah. From first viewing, it appeared as if Rosie Bycraft was laying into Rick with a largish piece of timber. The other Bycrafts stood around, smoking, some
drinking, everyone watching their relatives scrapping with idle indifference. Without talking, the Sarge and I each took one of the Bycrafts locked in the fierce battle – Rosie for me, and Rick for him.

  “Hey!” the Sarge bellowed, fearlessly getting between them, pushing Rick in the chest with a couple of little shoves. “Settle down. Get away from her. Tess, pull her back.”

  I slipped my arms around Rosie and hauled her backwards as far away from Rick as I could. I struggled to contain her as she angrily thrashed in my arms, waving her stick around with reckless abandon. And as she had huge, cosmetically acquired boobs, it was difficult to achieve, and maintain, a good grip on her because they kept getting in the way.

  “Sit down here,” yelled the Sarge at Rick, pushing him down on to the floorboards of the verandah with a hand on the top of his head. “And don’t think of moving a muscle.”

  “Drop it,” I warned Rosie as she lunged forward to attack Rick again, brandishing the piece of timber. The Sarge had to physically force Rick to the ground again when he half-rose to take on his sister.

  “I told you to stay there!” yelled the Sarge so loudly that neighbours abandoned their behind-the-curtain stickybeaking, and ventured to their verandahs, always entertained by a good show involving the police and the Bycrafts.

  Seeing me struggling with the fiercely uncooperative Rosie, the Sarge handcuffed Rick to the railings of the verandah, and rushed to assist me. He disarmed Rosie of her timber, and we manhandled her to the other end of the verandah where I managed to also cuff her to the railings. And even though cuffed securely, they both raged at each other. They rattled and yanked against the cuffs, though that had little benefit to them, and only hurt their wrists.

  “Right,” said the Sarge, exhaling heavily. “Someone want to tell me what this is all about?”

  Both Rosie and Rick started talking at once. This renewed their anger with each other, sparking a whole new fight between them, only this time with words, not weapons.

  “Shut up!” bellowed the Sarge in a voice that made even the Bycrafts shut up. He pointed at Rick. “You, first.”

  “That bitch over there,” he virtually spat out with anger, “is inviting our useless turd of a father to Denny’s funeral. I don’t want him there. I hate him!”

  “He’s our father, and Denny’s father, you fucking insensitive prick,” Rosie yelled back at him. “Do you think he wants to miss his own son’s fucking funeral?”

  “He missed Denny’s entire life. Why do you think he’d give a flying fuck about attending his funeral? He’s about as fucking welcome there as piglet is.”

  “Don’t you bring me into this,” I warned, not in any kind of mood to tolerate Bycraft insolence.

  “Who cares what you think, you stupid little snivelling shit?” Rosie taunted. “Just because Red and Karl and Tommy and Dad are all banged up, you think you’re the man of the house now? Well, here’s a secret for free, shithead – you’re not. Mum’s fucking ten times the man you’ll ever be, and you know it.”

  “Shut your ugly face, you fucking slag.”

  The Sarge sighed and said in a quiet voice to me as the other two raged back and forth insulting each other. “You’re writing up this report.”

  “Thanks a bunch, Maguire. I’ll just recycle one of the old ones and change the names as needed, will I?”

  “Might as well,” he said to me, before assuming his loud cop voice. “Shut up, you two. I asked what was going on, not invited you both to a swearing competition. So, let me get this straight. Part of the family wants to invite Denny’s father to the funeral, and part doesn’t.”

  “No,” immediately objected Rosie. “Not part of the family. Just that dipshit brother of mine sitting over there.”

  “Shut up, bitch. Jakey doesn’t want him there either,” insisted Rick.

  “Jakey’s never said that to me,” interjected a mostly disinterested Lola, a grey cylinder of ash dropping unnoticed from her cigarette on to the threadbare carpet in the hallway of the house where she stood. “And we’ve talked about Denny’s funeral a hundred times.”

  That was news to me, though I supposed it made sense that if Jake was funding the funeral, he would probably have some opinions on how it should be conducted. And now that Red was back in jail, Jake was his mother’s favourite child, though Rosie probably came a very close second. If I were feeling charitable, I would concede that would probably mean that Lola would want to lean on Jake during a traumatic time like this. But I wasn’t feeling charitable, and I wanted her to stay away from him every bit as much as she wanted me to do the same.

  “Okay, I’m bored of this family squabbling. I’ve got better things to do with my time,” said the Sarge. “Do either of you want to press charges against the other?”

  They both shook their heads sullenly.

  “Are you going to behave yourself when I release you both?”

  Two sullen nods were his only response.

  “Uncuff her, Tess.”

  I grumbled as I freed Rosie from the cuffs. As she stood up, she swiftly scooped up the piece of timber and lunged towards Rick. I ran interference, copping a whack on the side of my head that had me reeling against the railing and seeing stars for a few moments. With me out of the way, she rammed her way towards a newly freed Rick, and started whacking into him.

  “I’ll teach you to disrespect our father, you cocksucking limpdick,” she yelled as he cowered, moving backwards until he was cornered against the railing and the house.

  “Tess, you okay?” asked the Sarge in a worried voice, barely able to spare me a glance as he yanked Rosie away from Rick again, cuffing both hands behind her back.

  “Yeah, I think so,” I said, feeling a painful bump on my head.

  “She should have beaten you to death with it,” sneered Lola.

  I walked over to where Rosie had been forced to drop the timber – a little woozily maybe – and picked it up. Then I walked right up to Lola, almost toe to toe, towering over the scrawny little monster.

  “You want your stick back, Lola?” I asked.

  I didn’t know what my expression showed at that moment, though I knew I had deep black hatred in my heart for this awful woman, but whatever she saw was enough to make her take a small step backwards.

  “Why don’t you keep it as a souvenir of today, piglet whore?” she retorted, not losing any of her bravado.

  “Why don’t I just leave it here for you?” I suggested, dropping the piece right on her barefoot, causing her to wince. “Oops, sorry. It must have slipped.”

  “Tess,” warned the Sarge. “I need you to help with this woman.”

  “Fuck you, you fucking bitch whore,” Lola screeched. “I can’t wait until Red comes home. He’ll sort you out good and proper. You just wait and see.”

  I patted my gun and stared her down. “You tell him I’ll be waiting for him, Lola. I love me a good prisoner escape. And you know I’m a crack shot.”

  “Crazy bitch,” spat Rosie, struggling in the Sarge’s arms.

  “Shut up, you,” he said, shaking the handcuffs until she cried out in pain.

  “You fucking touch one hair on Red’s head and that will be the end of you, piglet,” Lola threatened. “And I’ll arrange it personally.”

  “I promise I won’t touch a hair on his head,” I said provocatively. “I’ll put the bullets through his chest instead.” I patted my gun again and smiled at her benignly.

  “Tess, leave it,” the Sarge warned in a terse voice.

  I held my hands up innocently. “Just having a bit of fun, Sarge.”

  “Stop it and help me get this one into the patrol car.”

  “You’re not arresting my Rosie,” Lola snarled.

  “No? Just watch us,” retorted the Sarge, pushing Rosie towards the stairs.

  “What the fuck for, copper?” Lola ventured out of the house to the stairs as we forced a fiercely struggling Rosie down them. “She’s done nothing wrong. It was just a family squabble.
Ricky’s not going to press charges, are you, Ricky?”

  “No, Mum. Course not.”

  “She assaulted Senior Constable Fuller,” the Sarge said coldly over his shoulder.

  “So fucking what? That’s not a crime. The whore deserved it.”

  “Call Senior Constable Fuller that one more time, and you’ll find yourself in the cell next to your daughter.”

  Lola laughed uproariously, her hands on her scrawny hips, cigarette dangling precariously from the corner of her mouth. “Just try it, copper. I dare you.”

  Neither of us bothered answering her, bundling Rosie across the dry expanse of weed-ridden dirt that constituted Lola’s front yard. That was when the hail of objects started.

  The Sarge was first hit. An egg, which from the smell of it was way past its use-by-date, clocked him on the back of the head, the yolk and white dripping down inside his shirt. Needless to say, that didn’t improve his mood.

  “Who threw that?” he demanded angrily, briefly stopping and turning around.

  A gaggle of Bycrafts stood on the verandah, all with their hands behind their backs, sniggering at us.

  “Must have fallen out of the sky, copper,” Lola smirked, engendering rippling laughter from her kin.

  “Come on, Tess. The sooner we’re out of here, the better,” the Sarge. “Next time we’ll let this bunch of savages beat each other to death. It would be a favour to the world.”

  When we turned around again, they pelted us with an assortment of objects. A disposable nappy full of excrement narrowly missed me and thumped on the ground, spilling its disagreeable contents.

  “Gross,” I said.

  The Sarge copped another rotten egg in the middle of his back, while I caught a rock on my right shoulder. I spun around to see Chad quickly whipping his hand behind his back again.

  Inflamed by that, by what had happened to Annabel, and by the theft of my 4WD, red fury engulfed me. I let go of Rosie and charged back towards the house, heading straight for Chad. Though not the smartest of creatures on the planet, the Bycrafts were all blessed with rat cunning. Sniffing danger, he turned tail and legged it.

  “Tessie, get back here! Now!” the Sarge yelled after me, but it was too late.