Kinky: Three Men, One Collision

by Peter Butler

  Zac pondered that thought for a moment, then said as he dove his hand into one of the backpacks, 'No worries. We'll cover our faces with these rags.' He handed one of the filthy rags to Wood and began to wrap the other around his face. He struggled with the knot at the back because the rag was only just big enough to wrap around his head. 'Jordy, give me a hand tying this stupid knot.' He turned his back to him and waited while Jordy secured it.

  Wood's rag was slightly bigger and he managed to tie it himself. It stank of turpentine and paint but it did the job. Only his eyes were visible once the wide elastic headband, with the circular miner's torch in the middle, was pulled over his forehead.

  The three boys moved to the very corner of the alley. Jordy's role was to whistle if anyone looked like coming their way. Wood was solidly built and he knelt down to allow Zac to climb onto his shoulders. He took the extra weight in his stride and stood up. Jordy made one final check that they had the place to themselves, then said, 'Okay. All clear.'

  Zac and Wood flicked on their torch lights and the area suddenly burst into focus. Wood walked steadily to the opposite wall and edged along beside it until he was under the two new security cameras. Zac lifted his arm to full stretch and pointed the spray-can into the camera that faced out towards the roadway, he squeezed the button and a fine jet of black paint shot out, saturating the lens. Satisfied, he dug his feet into Wood's ribs like a jockey urging on his horse and Wood edged further along the wall to allow Zac to spray the second camera that looked back down the length of the alley. As he brought his arm back down Zac suddenly felt the rag give-way and slide down his face to his neck. He struggled with his free hand to try and pull it back up but before he could get it all the way back in place Wood had already arrived in front of the camera and turned to face it. Zac looked straight into it with only part of his face covered with the rag. He stretched and sprayed that lens also. He quickly dropped his gaze when he had finished. He was aware that for a split-second his face was right in front of the camera. But it would be okay, because the torch light would blind it.

  Wood lowered Zac off his shoulders and Jordy joined them at the wall. They didn't speak, fearing the cameras might also have microphones built into them. Jordy and Wood turned off their lights and went to the entrance of the alley to keep watch as Zac began setting up his gear.

  This would not be a work of art, tonight, just a simple statement to the Retard..."Don't mess with me"

  ***

  Larry woke at his usual time, despite having a poor nights sleep. He blamed the fumes from the chemicals he was forced to use yesterday to remove the graffiti from his beautiful brick wall. Deep inside he knew it was more likely the disruption to his normal day, starting with the water problem - that had been catastrophic and he still itched on his shoulder where the shampoo residue had not been completely rinsed off. He feared what this mornings bowel movement would look like given his past twenty-four hours of heightened anxiety. Heaven knows what impact that would also have on his cancer. The more he thought about his gut problem the more convinced he became that cancer was the most likely diagnosis. If Jaquelin had been poisoning him he probably would have deteriorated a lot more by now. He decided to visit his G.P and have the man order some tests to see if he showed any traces of the more popular poisons, like arsenic and strychnine. It would not be necessary to check for more exotic chemicals, as Jaquelin did not have sufficient education or intelligence to think beyond the obvious, even if murder was her objective.

  The only aberration in Larry's morning so far had been the necessity to allow the water in the shower to run for a few extra seconds. It was a murky, brown color when he turned the faucet on - obviously some dirt had entered the pipes during the repairs. Larry had flushed his pipes and begun his normal routine, even managing a smile, followed by a quick shake of the head, as he successfully finished counting his shampoo rinse time. He smiled because he managed to complete the task this morning, he shook his head because for a second his mind had behaved like that of an average person and worried that the water would seize-up again. Fat chance of that, a sinkhole had to be a one-in-a-million event.

  Larry was an admirer of the investor Warren Buffett, he loved the story of Buffett sending large numbers of insurance salespeople to the area around New Orleans straight after Hurricane Katrina had wreaked havoc on that part of the country. It was so logical to both Warren and Larry that the chance of another massive hurricane striking the exact same area in the near future was almost not worth calculating. Statistical records stated very clearly that big events like that were usually separated by tens, if not hundreds of years. Both Larry and Mr Buffett knew that average people only react to what is currently foremost in their minds, and the thought of another Katrina landing on top of them, had the citizens lining up to insure against it happening. In the process putting huge amounts of money into Mr Buffett's pocket. Money he knew he would be able to invest for many, many years before any meaningful payouts would be required. Thinking like that had made him one of the richest men in the world.

  Larry knew he was on the same mental level as someone like a Buffett, but he didn't covert anything as mundane as wealth, Larry's objective was nirvana. He had studied as many religions as he could stomach, only to determine that they all existed to empower the people who ran them. Some were downright cruel and oppressive, like the worst political regimes. He couldn't understand how people could actually believe in all that poppycock; the pomp and ceremony and the costumes and candles and bells and... - Brainwashing was the only logical deduction. So many organizations purporting to represent God just didn't add up when their ideas and methods were all different. Larry reasoned that if God existed and was running things, like these religions suggested, He would just have to come down to earth and endorse one. And if God couldn't do that, then Larry certainly wasn't going to choose one.

  Of all the religions he examined only Buddhism came close to making any sense to Larry, but he could not bring himself to commit to joining. It was the only organization that seemed to be searching for a civilized, intelligent peace. On the negative side of the ledger, Larry thought the clothes some followers wore were medieval and ridiculous, and the idea of not stepping on animals like ants, was just stupid. Larry reasoned that every living thing on the planet ate, and that meant eating other living things on the planet - even at a microbial level - so death at the hands of an another was part of the deal. How it occurred was the only unknown variable, therefore he was allowed to step on things. This was an important deduction because Larry hated insects; creepy little things with either fangs or pointy stabbing stings, most with a capacity to deliver painful chemical excretions. Stepping on them was the right thing to do.

  There was only one solution to this whole problem that made any sense to Larry. He had been working on this thought for some time now, but it was delicate - getting it wrong would create a huge problem. In the end he had decided that God would want this, he had given Larry the superior brain, surely he intended it to be used in the correct way. Decision made: God wanted him to start his own religion and it would be an extension of the Buddhist beliefs, improved by his special ideas. It would be the perfect religion when he had perfected the plan.

  Larry's drive to work went as it should and he pulled into the alley beside his hardware store fifty-two seconds early.

  And immediately a shrill scream exploded from him.

  His brick wall had been desecrated... Again!

  He rushed to where the cameras were located and could see that paint had been used to block their lenses.

  'Bloody poo shit..!' he muttered to himself, his body tense with fury, his fists so tightly clenched the color had disappeared from them. Larry didn't like profanity, it was a lesser-mans reaction, and it took extreme provocation to extract it. His mood was definitely at the extreme end of the chart at this moment and he knew if the sprayer had been standing in front of him he would have killed him.. on the spot. Just like an insect.


  He charged into the store and went straight to his office, ignoring the welcoming calls of, 'morning, boss' and 'howdy, Larry'. He went to his computer and turned on the monitor. The new security program was running, the screen was split into four separate images but the screens showing the cameras in the alley were blank. He had Clive install two cameras in the timber yard and they were functioning. The top of the screen had the companies name and phone number. Larry dialed.

  'DayNight CCTV. Clive speaking.'

  'Mr Glazer, I've been violated again. Your cameras have been rendered useless and my brickwork tarnished with vandalism.'

  'Is that you, Mr Rafferty?' Clive asked, knowing full-well it was. 'How have they been "rendered useless"?'

  'They have sprayed something black over the front of the cameras. I assume it is paint, as that is their normal tool of destruction.'

  'I did suggest we put them up higher, Mr Rafferty.'

  'Enough of this defensive nonsense, Mr Glazer, I'm not ready to allocate blame, just yet,' Larry took a deep breath to calm himself a little. 'I need to know how I can look at the footage that came from those cameras before they were ruined.'

  'That will be easy enough to do. If you click F1 on the keyboard, you'll see a pull-down menu on the screen. Click on the third tile from the top, called "Highlights". Click on "Camera 1" and you will see the screen fill with lines of thumbnail still images of the main events that the camera recorded. Because they will all be black you wont have trouble finding the last exposed frame. Use your left arrow key to scroll back until you come to what you want, and hit "Enter" The screen will fill with the vision at that time. Use your left and right arrow keys to move the footage forward and back.'

  Larry was doing it as Clive was instructing him when he suddenly saw a bright light fill the screen, then a blurred image, of something he couldn't quite make out, moved into shot. Then the screen went black.

  'It's useless Mr Glazer. They shone a bright light into the lens before they blacked it out.'

  'We can fix that. First, you need to hit your "Backspace" key twice and then try "Camera 2" and see if you have any luck with that vision.'

  Larry watched as exactly the same sequence of events played on his monitor.

  'No. That camera is the same.'

  'Okay. I want you to scroll back to when the light first hits the lens, then press the F10 key. That will drop the brightness. Keep pressing until you have an image you can make sense of.'

  Larry pressed as instructed and after a few moments a blurred face gradually appeared out of the white light.

  Larry knew that face.

  ***

  Dillon knew he was in trouble, he was out of control, going too fast and the shopping trolley he had picked was a dog. One of its wheels on the front kept wobbling violently when he needed it to grab into the road surface and help him make the turn.

  He thrust out his right leg and dragged the rubber sole of his sneaker to slow the thing, but it wasn't helping much. He threw his backside to the right and at the same instant pushed his arms fiercely to the left. The trolley was now pointing in the correct direction, but because of the front wheel being out of alignment the thing was just angled sideways, but still kept going in the same original direction. A direction that had to end in tears against the concrete wall.

  Dillon jumped off the metal bars that projected out over the back wheels that he used as footholds, but he was going too fast and his feet failed to grip on the smooth roadway surface. His body angled behind the trolley he hung on tightly to the handle while being dragged along, his knees and the toes of his shoes the only parts of him making contact with the road as the concrete wall rushed to greet him. The impact happened on the left front corner first and because the car park driveway was curved, the trolley followed its contour, smashing Dillon shoulder first into the concrete wall. Still hanging on for fear of death his face crashed forward and hit the handlebar with a glancing blow. Pain shot though him and his vision went starry in the eye that was closest to the point of impact, but he still held on. The trolley's contents spilled into the basket section, he could see eggs slowly dripping between the wire segments. A plastic milk bottle bounced from side to side and even in his his state of pain he was grateful he hadn't chosen the one made of glass.

  His lower legs were both dragging along the ground which started slowing the trolley for the first time since he had lost control. Eventually, the trolley rolled to a stop and he let go and collapsed on the ground, just as a car that had apparently been following him drew level. A middle-aged woman with very neat hair sneered at him lying face first on the ground behind the bent trolley. She drove slowly away without offering assistance. Dillon watched her drive off and was surprised to see the old-girl flip him the finger out her side window. Trolleys were forbidden from the roadway, Dillon knew this very well, but he had always carefully chosen his time to do this mad run down the tempting curved roadway. Up until now.

  What else could possibly go wrong today? He mused as he lay on the cold hard ground

  He slowly pulled himself upright. He moved his neck and shoulders - he hurt, but nothing seemed to suggest he had broken any bones. He prodded his cheek with his finger and pain shot through his face. He touched again more gently, feeling up to his eye. The whole area was swollen and his vision was still a little blurred. He didn't have a mirror but he could guess he looked a mess. His jeans had a tear on the left knee and some blood had colored the edges of the hole.

  Mom's going to love that. It just keeps getting better.

  He pushed the trolley into an empty car slot and started repacking the groceries. The eggs were history as was a jar of pickles and a plastic bottle of cream that had popped its lid, spilling the thick white goo over a packet of biscuits. All in, he had to throw out half of the purchases. That hurt. He knew he'd be the one having to replace them as Mrs Kemsley only received a small amount of Government financial assistance.

  Dillon's contempt for the rogue trolley was so great that he left it sitting in the bay covered in broken eggs and cream. Someone else can deal with it. Maybe they'd just trash it - that was more than it deserved. He carried the two remaining bags back to his bike, limping as he went.

  He rested them on the ground and knelt to unlock the chain that held his bike to the "No Standing" sign. He stood up and turned to see Zac, Wood and Jordy standing in front of him.

  Oh shit!

  Zac's fist flew at him as he was still wondering how he hadn't heard them approach. The knock on his head and his blurry vision made his reaction too slow, he turned his face just enough for the knuckles to smack into his other eye. He felt a pair of hands grab his upper arms and then another fist crashed into his stomach. On his knees now, another fist slammed into the back of his neck. He fell, face first and kissed the concrete, popping open his lip. He lay there, unable to move until a boot slid under his chest, then lifted him and rolled him onto his back. He pried his swollen eyes open only to see a distorted image of Zac's face hovering over him.

  'Keep your filthy hands off Emily Kane... Or I'll kill you.'

  SEVEN

  For the second time, Dillon said, 'It's me, Mrs Kemsley - Dillon!'

  'But! .. but, I don't know you,' she said in an alarmed voice.

  Dillon smiled at her which only made things worse as it popped open the cut on his lip making a trickle of blood run down his chin.

  Mary's face collapsed in dismay. 'I'm going to call the.. the.. Government...! I don't know you.' She shook her head, worriedly. 'What is the number?'

  Dillon gently eased himself beside Mrs Kemsley and squeezed through her front door and began walking to the kitchen. He was surprised when he turned around after placing the shopping-bags on the bench to find she wasn't there behind him, as usual. He unpacked the groceries and took the one bathroom item that had survived the trip, toilet paper, to the appropriate room.

  He placed the roll on the floor and backed out of the small toilet. Then froze. A cold,
hard metal barrel of a gun had been pressed into the back of his head, behind his right ear.

  'You put both those hands above your head, boy. Nice and slowly, or it will be the last thing you do.' The voice was soft and female, but that didn't make the gun any softer. It definitely was not Mrs Kemsley, which Dillon took as a good thing, Mrs Kemsley and a loaded gun together could only end badly.

  Dillon raised his hands as high as he could.

  'Keep on backing out of the potty-room and then turn around so I can get a good look at our intruder,' she said, and the gun left his head.

  Dillon thought her voice had a hint of a laugh in it, but he wasn't in any position to test his theory. He slowly turned and was disappointed to see the gun was only a foot in front of him, pointing at his nose. It was a big gun, shiny and silver and she held it expertly in one hand with the other cupping it from the side to give extra stability. Slowly the gun began to lower. Dillon found his eyes tracking it until it was pointing at the floor beside her feet. Then he reversed the trip.

  He was looking at Sherri Jennison, Mrs Kemsley's neighbor and she was a lot closer than she had ever been before. Sherri was only wearing a towel draped around her upper body, which Dillon assumed was the first thing she could grab when Mrs Kemsley had arrived at her door with the news she had an intruder in her home. Sherri was looking at him with a smile on her lips that also contained a frown, highlighted by her vivid red lipstick.

  'I see we have a false-alarm on this occasion, you come here all the time, don't you? she looked a little closer at his face as she said it, as if verifying her opinion. 'And, I can see why Mary got confused.'

  Dillon was still slightly shaky from his crash and the subsequent beating, and having Sherri this close to him wasn't alleviating the multitude of different feelings he was experiencing. 'I get her groceries for her,' he said after a pause and a deep breath.