G'Day USA

by Tony McFadden

  I moved the cars around, an exercise in vehicular ballet, and sat behind the wheel of my old VW Beetle.

  The car park exit was on the south side of the building, exiting on S. Venice. The opposite side of the building. I should be clear. I plugged my phone into the cig charger and pulled up to the security keypad. I entered the six-digit code, but before I touched the “enter” key the door started to raise. I threw the Beetle into reverse and backed up as a pair of cops walked in. Shit.

  One of them recognized me through the car window, placed his hand on his holster and started running toward me. ‘Miss Bourke. Stop the car and keep your hands where we can see them.’

  As if.

  I looked over my shoulder, backing though the maze of pathways in the garage, the young cops keeping pretty close. I drew them well into the garage before shifting to first gear and flooring it. ‘Sorry boys.’ I hope they were quick on their feet. They split, one of them diving to the floor. ‘Not necessary, buddy. I was nowhere near you.’

  I glanced in the rear view mirror. The one on the ground had drawn his gun. Doubt he would use it, but it wasn’t worth the risk. I shifted into second, yanked the car around a corner and made a beeline for the garage door.

  There were no shots. I bounced on to S. Venice and headed inland. My plan of taking off in the Beetle was shot. The description and license plate would be on every cop’s dashboard computer within five minutes. In addition to the money I couldn’t access and the phone I couldn’t turn on I had a car I couldn’t drive. Two cars I couldn’t drive. Happy days.

  I had to get rid of the old girl quick, before it was seen. The last thing I wanted was a high speed chase. Not in this car. I might be able to outrun cops on foot, but not their cars. A couple of blocks down the road, sirens in the distance, I saw the perfect spot. The Venice Farmers Market had a huge tree-lined parking lot. The gate was closed, but there were gaps between the trees wide enough to accommodate my little car.

  I carefully navigated the curb, wincing at the scraping noises that didn’t sound good at all. I turned off the headlights and navigated by the full moon. A nice dark corner, far from the adjacent roads, became its home. I locked her up, gave her a gentle pat on the hood and slipped between the trees.

  I was tired and I had nowhere to go for the night. I looked at my phone. I couldn’t call Cathy. She wasn’t back yet and besides, I didn’t want to get her involved with this. And my luck I’d be located just by turning it on. I wasn’t sure how that worked.

  There was a cheap hotel about a mile up the beach. Far enough from home nobody would know me. With my face on half the billboards in town I still had the risk that someone might recognize me. I had to get rid of the hair. A pair of sunglasses, scissors and an Angels ball cap at a 7-11 would have to do the trick.

  I walked a few feet down a walkway by the canal, took a deep breath and started butchering the hair that had made me the poster girl for Blood Thunder. It was a crude job. I didn’t care at that point. Each fistful of hair I removed went into the canal. I cut it short enough so the ball cap would completely cover it. I could make it presentable in the motel.

  I had to waste a fifty over the room charge to get in. I had no identification and the kid was a little bit of a stickler for the rules. Very little bit, since the fifty shut him up.

  The TV was on, the news playing in the background while I attempted to fix my hair. It was a never-ending battle of attrition. By the time I was finished I looked like a tall, flat-chested Anne Heche.

  It had been a long day. The shower was refreshing. And toweling my now short hair, I wondered why I didn’t cut it earlier.

  Probably because I wasn’t running from the police earlier.

  I dropped on the bed and turned up the volume on the news channel. My face was on the screen. The talking head was in mid-sentence:

  “ - bizarre twist in the Bart Sweeney acquittal, suicide and then murder case. Sources inside the police department who wish to remain unnamed are telling us the case against actress Ellie Bourke, former lover turned accuser, has become very strong. Evidence at the scene, as well as her actions when approached by the authorities, put her at the top of the list of suspects. If you see her please do not approach her. Call your local police authorities or 9-1-1 immediately. She is considered dangerous.”

  Fuck.

  I turned off the TV. This was probably on every channel. The kid downstairs, odds on, just saw this also. Staying here would be worse than stupid. And I was just digging myself a deeper hole.

  I stuck my nose out the door to the walkway along the second floor of the motel. Quiet still. I grabbed my jacket, made sure I had my phone and slipped down the stairs. I jogged past the office and saw the kid from the front desk talking on the phone. He saw me and started talking more animatedly.

  Double fuck.

  I hopped across the street, hat pulled down on my head and headed as far from the motel as possible. It was midnight, I was wanted and had nowhere to stay. The news report made it sound like the street was crawling with cops looking for me.

  Fifteen minutes of walking later I leaned against a back-alley wall. The only thing that made sense was to do what they least expected me to do. I’d walk back to Venice and live in the shadows for now. The crowds would be my cover. I wasn’t the girl in that picture. She was a glamour girl. I would be a surfer girl again, living on the beach and evading the cops.

  Until I figured out what in the hell was going on.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Oh, sweet Jesus those guys can be stupid.’ Perkins clicked off the TV and dropped back in his recliner. He took a sip of his drink and rubbed his forehead. ‘She was never his lover. She’d kill him first.’ He grunted and took another sip. ‘Well, looks like she really did it this time.’

  ‘What was that, dear?’ His wife of thirty-seven years came out of the kitchen with a cup of tea. ‘Were you talking to me?’

  ‘No. Don’t worry about it. I’m going to have to crash soon.’

  ‘Is it about that case? The suicide that wasn’t?’

  He nodded. ‘The reporters are having a field day. They’ve got most of the facts twisted and would have the public believe she’s a threat to everyone around her.’ He sipped, winced and swallowed. ‘She’s a scared girl who killed a man because she thought justice wasn’t served. And I agree with her - justice wasn’t. Sweeney should have been in jail for at least ten years for what he did. His release was a travesty.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘A lot of people were upset he was released. I know his victim’s brother was upset.’ He looked to his wife. ‘He’s a cop too, you know. Transferred down here from Boise after Sweeney killed his brother. I think he thought he might hook up with Miss Bourke.’ He shook his head. ‘She’s not going to kill again. I can feel it in my gut. She’s running scared. Hopefully no citizen tries to be a hero and take her out.’

  ‘You like her.’

  Perkins smiled at his wife. ‘Don’t worry, sweetie. She’s way too young for me. I do like her though. Very down to earth, very tough. Very independent. And very funny in the things I’ve seen her in. Shame she had to let the hate go to her head.’

  The Killer paced his living room, muted news as his backdrop. The waiting was worse than he thought it would be. ‘One down, many, many more to go.’

  The plan was fool proof. The cops bought the sloppy fake suicide and the planted clues. Almost better than killing Bart was watching Ellie squirm. He wanted to watch her squirm, though, not imagine it. And he always got what he wanted.

  ‘Where are you, bitch? Where are you hiding?’

  The news on the TV rolled around to the top of the hour. 1:00 a.m. There was no tired. There was only doing. He would have plenty of time to sleep when he was dead. ‘But I’m going to live forever.’

  He grabbed a jacket and ran out of the apartment. He’d find her. He couldn’t not find her. He had to watch her squirm.

  Detective Jacob Sampson was exhausted. ‘It was never this hard in Bo
ise.’ His dog looked at him and cocked an ear. He leaned down and scratched the Golden Lab behind the left ear. ‘Not talking to you, Lisa. Why aren’t you asleep?’

  Lisa’s soft woof and shuffle toward the back door was a clear message.

  ‘Sorry I’m late, pooch. Helluva day.’ He opened the back door and let her out to the fenced in yard. ‘Starting to get cool. Don’t be long, dog.’ The full moon lit up the small yard, the yellow lab casting a sharp shadow.

  Jacob left the door open and went back into the living room and turned on the TV, catching the last half of the news report. He watched with a combination of amusement and dismay.

  Lisa padded into the room and dropped on the floor beside his chair with a grunt.

  ‘You close the door behind you?’

  The dog looked up and him and woofed softly and lay her head back on her paws. He smiled, reached down and gave her head a pat. ‘Good girl. You were the smartest one of the lot.’ He gestured at the TV. ‘Did you see that? Ellie is a dangerous fugitive from justice. My ass. I can sort of understand why she did what she did, but I can’t really believe she did it.’ He shook his head. ‘That’s not the Ellie I know.’

  Lisa lifted her head at the sound of Ellie’s name and looked up at Jacob.

  ‘Yeah. Ellie’s in trouble again. Big this time.’ He gave Lisa a pat. ‘But there’s nothing we can do about it tonight. Time to hit the sack.’

  The Killer cruised the streets of Venice. 2:00 a.m. and there was still enough traffic he had to pay attention to what he was doing. ‘Where are you, you little bitch?’ A flutter of self-doubt grazed his conscious and he snarled. ‘Fuck no. No doubt. I’m looking in the right place. I know I’m looking in the right place.’

  His cheeks were heavy and his eyes were starting to burn. He looked at the clock on the dash and did some mental math. He had to do it three times before he trusted the answer. ‘Forty-two hours awake. I can go another twelve, easy.’ He grabbed an Altoids tin from the glove compartment and popped a couple of pills. ‘Dead easy.’

  Angles weren’t straight and the colors a diffuse brilliant, but he was still conscious. Judgment started to slip a bit, to be expected in this situation. He spotted a tall girl ahead of him walking briskly away up the street, Ellie’s height and build. He pulled over, two wheels on the sidewalk, in front of her.

  ‘Marty, honey, what’s going on with Ellie? I liked her so much.’

  Marty looked up from his iPad and frowned. ‘I don’t have the foggiest fucking idea. She’s off the ranch. I’ve had a couple of talks with the police and they’ve got enough evidence to lock her up for a very long time.’

  ‘All the times we’ve had her over for dinner I didn’t once get that vibe from her.’

  ‘Yeah, well, Sweeney was in jail then. He was out of her life. She was satisfied knowing, in large part due to her efforts, he was paying the price for killing her friend. Things were right with the world. I think she snapped when his lawyer got him released. For her, he was the epitome of all that was wrong with this industry and him back on the streets must have been too much for her.’

  His wife snapped shut her paper with finality. ‘We need to reach out to her and let her know we care about her predicament.’

  He cocked an eyebrow. ‘I’m all for helping friends in need, but we’re entering felony territory. Aiding and abetting after the fact, or something like that.’ He closed the iPad case and stood. ‘If she turns herself in I’ll make sure she’s got the best lawyer her money can buy. But this isn’t a trivial matter. We’re talking premeditated murder.’ He walked through the glass doors from the lounge room to the back pool area. ‘I know she’s a tough girl, but I never would have thought she’d have that in her.’ He looked back into the lounge room. ‘Hon, get out here. This is the most brilliant full moon I’ve seen in a long time.’

  He jumped out of his car. ‘Ellie. Fancy running into you here.’

  The girl lifted her head. ‘You looking to party, mister?’

  The Killer narrowed his eyes. ‘Tramp. You’re not Ellie. Move off before I gut you.’

  She flipped him her middle finger. ‘Get fucked, pal.’

  She received a punch, a right cross, for her efforts and fell on her ass. ‘Jesus, you prick. That wasn’t called for.’

  The Killer kicked her in the ribs. ‘Fuck off.’ He spat on her and got back in his car. He glanced at the hooker in his rear view mirror as he drove away. She had her eyes closed and was she was muttering something.

  Then he forgot about her completely.

  ‘Come out, come out wherever you are.’ He scanned the road. Logic would dictate she wouldn’t be walking around on the street at 2:00 in the morning, but the logic part of his brain hadn’t functioned normally in a long time.

  ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.’ His heart fluttered and palpitated. He coughed and punched himself in the chest. ‘Not now. Definitely not now.’

  He blurred a bit and glanced his car off the curb. ‘Okay. Time to rein it in. Time to stop it, time to pack it in for the night. Forty three hours. Is that Keith Richard’s record? Whatever. It’s good.’

  He pulled off the surface streets onto the I-10 and made his way back toward his home. He’d get her tomorrow. He had a way of locating her.

  The plans were starting to gel. The list was long, but doable. The order wasn’t yet defined, other than the keystone. Sweeney had to be first, of that there was no question. Number two was just out of his reach.

  But there would be a death tomorrow.

  Another one.

  Marty’s wife took him by the arm and led him back into the house. ‘It’s past two. You’ve got a meeting with Hanks and Favreau tomorrow morning.’

  He waved her off. ‘The meeting is at 10:00. Here. I can sleep until 9:00 and be ready. At my age, six hours is more than enough sleep. Not that I’m going to sleep.’

  ‘Why, Marty. What do you have in mind?’

  He laughed. ‘If you’re up for it, I am. I was talking about Ellie though. I can’t get her out of my mind.’

  ‘I’m jealous.’

  ‘You know what I mean. Where is she? What is she doing? What in the hell is she expecting to accomplish? Argh, fuck, you women can be frustrating. Your collective logic escapes me, most times.’

  ‘So much for you getting lucky tonight.’

  ‘No, seriously. What in the hell is she thinking?’ He peeled off his clothes and tossed them into the laundry hamper. ‘She actually thinks she can outrun the cops?’ He brushed his teeth and slipped under the covers. ‘Does any of this make sense to you?’

  ‘She’s scared, she’s pissed off and she doesn’t trust the cops. Can you blame her? The last time the police were certain about something she had to ram evidence down their throats to convince them of the truth. Now she knows they’re on the wrong track again. Except this time it’s against her. She has nobody to help her. So she has to help herself.’

  Marty groaned and shoved his head under his pillow. ‘You’re going to want me to help, aren’t you?’

  ‘Stay out of the felonious territory. I kind of like this lifestyle. But yes, Marty, I want you to help her as much as you can without going to jail yourself.’

  The Killer snapped his head forward with a snort, drool flying off his mouth onto his steering wheel. ‘Oh, my fucking head.’ He’d fallen asleep in his car on the side of the road, about half a block from his apartment building. ‘Not good.’

  He yawned and scrubbed his scalp with his finger tips. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ He felt like shit. A thick layer of sweat coated his body. He rubbed the back of his neck and it felt like he’d just been in a sauna. He climbed out of his car, gripping the open door to steady himself.

  ‘Shit.’

  He held on to the roof while he closed the door and locked it. He leaned back against the car and closed his eyes. ‘So fucking tired.’ He took a deep breath, clenched his jaw and stood upright. ‘Fuck tired. There is no tired.’ He inhaled deep through his nose
and walked the half block with as steady a step he could muster.

  Three attempts required to get the key in the lock of the main door. Four attempts to get the key in his apartment door. He threw the key ring on the floor and dropped into the chair in front of his laptop. He consulted a piece of paper on the desk and logged into the site. After a minute of searching a message appeared telling him the mobile was offline. ‘Fuck.’ He ticked the box to get an email when the device was located.

  ‘You can run, bitch. But you can’t hide.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bizarre swirling dreams of The Little Mermaid and the old woman selling food to birds collided with cold water on my feet and a foul stench.

  I went from lying in the sand to sitting upright fast enough to get head rush. I put out my hands to steady myself and smashed poor Ann in the face. She rolled away and sat up. So the source of the smell was clear now.

  The sparkly red vision dissipated and I could see where I was. The cold water on my feet was the tide coming in under the Venice Fish Pier. I was well under it, and Ann was sitting beside me with a brown toothy smile on her face.

  ‘You slept well? You snore, you know.’ She tried to pull a ratty, no doubt lice-infested, blanket over my shoulders. ‘You’ll catch your death of cold.

  I struggled to shrug it off. ‘No, no. That’s okay. Leave me alone. Just - just - just keep your distance, okay?’ I brushed sand off my hands and scrubbed my scalp with my finger tips. Shit. It was short. I forgot. I brushed my hand over it, getting used to the feel. It was okay. I could get used to this.

  I yawned. ‘Where do you pee around here? I’m busting.’

  She pointed up the hill toward the boardwalk. ‘Public toilets. Or under here. Nobody can see.’