Blood Sport (Little Town)

by JD Nixon

  I struggled furiously to free my arms, but he only held on tighter. While it meant that I wasn’t able to reach for his gun or my knife, neither was he, so we were at an impasse. Red’s hoodie and t-shirt had ridden up when he’d slipped over and I couldn’t escape the sight of the obscene tattoo he had inked on his taut honey-brown stomach of him raping, stabbing and strangling a woman who strongly resembled me. She was smiling in ecstasy as he did the sick deed. He told me once he’d had the tattoo done so that he could relive his favourite fantasy about me every day when he was in jail.

  “The Sarge is on his way,” I warned him coldly.

  He smiled up at me lazily, the ten-centimetre scar I’d given him on his neck when I was fifteen only enhancing his rakish attractiveness. “I don’t care. We’re together again at last, Tessie. You’re a hard woman to get near. Especially with that lovesick copper hanging around you all the time.”

  I ignored the jibe – everybody knew the Sarge was engaged.

  “I’m going to sit on you until the Sarge gets here.”

  “Good, because I can’t tell you much I’m loving it. Let me get you in a better position though,” he said and wriggled his hips around, pushing me back a bit until I was astride his pelvis. “Oh yeah, that’s real good for me.”

  He groaned with pleasure and moved against me suggestively.

  “Stop it!” I insisted in disgust, attempting to get off him. He held me down, his hands fast around my wrists.

  “Not a chance,” he laughed nastily, continuing to thrust himself against me. His growing excitement was evident through his jeans. “You’re giving me a hard-on already.”

  “You’re repulsive,” I spat out. “Let me go!”

  “No way! Why should Jakey have all the fun with you? He’s not good at sharing his playthings.”

  He yanked on my wrists and pulled me down towards him, trying to kiss me. I twisted my head and his lips landed on my cheek instead of my mouth. He flicked out his tongue and licked my face with relish from my chin up to my eye. I jerked back in revulsion, but he pulled me towards him again, clamping his mouth on to mine and forcing his tongue inside.

  Nauseous at the unwelcome intimacy, I bit down on his tongue, hard enough to taste blood. He gave a muffled scream, releasing one of my hands to crack me one across the chin, flinging my head sideways. Damn, that hurt!

  I righted myself, moving my jaw around experimentally to check that it was okay, as I reached my free hand down to grab my knife from its sheath. Problem was that he simultaneously reached for his gun with his free hand. Not liking those odds, I fisted my fingers instead and punched him solidly in the stomach, the impact forcing him to free my other hand as well as dropping his gun to the ground.

  I stumbled to my feet.

  He leaned over to wrap his hand around the gun with one hand, reaching out for my ankle with the other. With brutal intent, I stamped my runner down on the hand reaching for me, paying no heed to his furious screech of pain. I kicked at his other hand as I took off, hoping to send the small pink-handled gun flying out of his control into the pool. I was just short of my target though, and it stopped right on the edge, the muzzle dangling over the chilly pristine blue water.

  I ran away from him, slipping on the pavers and fumbling desperately with the pool’s childproof lock. I threw the gate back once I finally managed to work out how to open the bloody thing, and escaped towards the two sprawling pale green rendered brick buildings that housed the community’s residents. The nearest one to the pool was called the ‘Let it Be’ house; the other one, ‘All My Loving’. A neatly manicured row of lilly pillys grew down the side of the house along the boundary fence, hugging the winding brick path (known as ‘Penny Lane’) that led from the pool area to the two houses. I sheltered behind the slender trees, moving from one to the next, all the while keeping an eye on Red. He reclaimed his gun and held it in one hand as he struggled with the childproof lock himself. He didn’t look the slightest bit happy, favouring his injured left hand, blood trickling down the side of his mouth to his chin. He was going to make me pay for that, one way or another.

  A side door to ‘Let it Be’ opened and George Harrison poked his head out, fortunately hiding the rest of his probably naked body from my view.

  “What the hell’s going on out there? Who are you people? This is private property! Piss off now before I call the police.”

  “Mr Harrison, this is Senior Constable Tess Fuller,” I yelled at him from the shelter of the lilly pillys. “Please go back inside the house and lock all the doors and windows and don’t let anybody out. There’s an armed man on the loose in your grounds. Sergeant Maguire’s on his way.”

  “Bloody hell! Is that Red Bycraft?” he asked, his eyes popping out of his head when he noticed Red through the rain, swearing up a storm and still struggling with the pool gate.

  “Yes, it is. Get back inside, right now!” I yelled.

  He didn’t need to be told twice and ducked back inside, slamming the door and locking it behind him. I could have retreated inside the house and sheltered with him until the Sarge arrived, but I didn’t want to endanger innocent citizens with my presence. If Red had any sense, he’d cut his losses and escape now while he had the chance, before the Sarge arrived and it was two against one. But as I’ve said before, Bycraft men are very obsessive and not easily diverted once they’ve made up their minds that they want something. And unfortunately, I was Red’s ‘something’.

  “Tessie Fuller, I’m really pissed off now. I’ve waited for you for months and finally got you on your own. I had such plans for you and now it’s all gone to shit,” he shouted out in frustration as he struggled with the lock.

  “I’m so sorry for you, Red, you have no idea,” I yelled back sarcastically as I checked my watch. Seven minutes since I rang the Sarge. He’d be here soon.

  His laugh was bitterly derisive. “Nothing’s gone right in my whole fucking life since I was born.”

  “I’m weeping genuine tears here. You better stop before I drown.”

  “Fuck you, Teresa Fuller! Think you’re too good for the Bycrafts, don’t you? You’ve always been a frigid stuck-up bitch.” He was rabid with anger. If I could see him better through the misty rain, I’d bet his mouth was foaming white.

  “That’s not what Jakey said to me the other night,” I taunted.

  “Fuck you!”

  “In your dreams, but in my nightmares.”

  He didn’t bother to respond, but stood in the rain for a moment, head flipping between me and back over his shoulder at the fence, trying to make up his mind what to do. The faint whine of the patrol car’s siren sounded over the gentle plopping and dripping of the rain. He finally made a decision and spun on his heels, jogging back towards the fence.

  “Hey! Red Bycraft, stop! You’re under arrest,” I tried, yelling after him.

  “And you can go fuck yourself, piglet!” he replied and ran back to the fence.

  I watched him escape. What was I supposed to do? I was off-duty with no weapons except for my knife and no current back-up. Not to mention that it was raining. I wasn’t sure I loved my job enough to sacrifice my life for a two-bit crim from a bad family whose recapture would barely rate a paragraph in the local paper, let alone state or national TV time.

  On the other hand, Red was a violent and dangerous sexual predator, a wife-basher and a lousy father. And although he was nowhere near number one on the state’s most wanted list, he continued to be a direct and personal threat to me while he was on the loose. I couldn’t let him go. Not like this.

  I unsheathed my knife and ran to the pool fence, not intending to waste time by fumbling with that lock again. I steadied myself against the fence and blinked through the rain. While Red began climbing the timber fence back to his car, I held my knife up in the air by its tip, circus performer style, judging distance and trajectory. Then I flung it as hard as I could towards his retreating back.

  Chapter 2

  My knife mis
sed him, of course. This was real life, not some action movie where the good guy was blessed with credibility-stretching luck. It landed with a loud thud into the timber of the fence, so close to Red’s face that it startled him and he lost his grip, falling back on to the pavers. Infuriated, he scrabbled to his feet, turned and carelessly shot off his gun, taking me by surprise with nowhere to hide.

  Had I not dropped to the ground at the very second he raised his arm, his wild bullet would have torn into my stomach. As it was, it winged my upper left arm, ripping through my favourite jogging jacket and causing an inordinate amount of pain. I cursed under my breath and groaned, clutching onto the wound, the warm dampness of my own blood instantly seeping through the material. God, that hurt!

  “Tessie, what’s the matter? Did I hit you?” Red demanded, standing still as the rain fell heavier around us and the siren grew closer. He peered through the murky dawn light, straining his ears for any sound from me.

  I stayed motionless and silent, lying on the wet pavers, but couldn’t quite suppress the involuntary little whimpers of pain that escaped. I clamped my lips together.

  “Tessie? Are you hurt?”

  I was hoping he’d come closer to me to investigate, giving me another chance to bring him down, but he didn’t move.

  “Tell me!”

  The siren grew very loud, gave a final piercing yowl and stopped suddenly as the Sarge pulled up in front. Red panicked and deserted me, frantically climbing over the fence towards his own car. I sat up and pulled out my phone again, punching in a speed dial number.

  “Tessie? I’m out the front. You must have heard me,” the Sarge answered.

  I gasped, gritting my teeth. “Red’s escaping to his car in front of the mango tree, next door to the community. Right side from the street. He’s going over the fence now.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t forget he has a gun, Sarge,” I managed to remind him before he hung up. “It’s just a pissy little thing, but be careful.” I staggered upright again, pressing my right hand down on my wound. Why did it hurt so much?

  It was my duty to go to the Sarge’s assistance, no matter how I was feeling. We were a two-cop town and we had each other’s backs, one hundred percent guaranteed. And anyway I really liked him, not wanting him to come to any grief, especially from a Bycraft. I hadn’t thought much of him when he’d first arrived in Little Town because he’d had a stick up his butt bigger than a giant sequoia and had been distant and unfriendly with me. But over the four months since then, we’d spent a lot of time together, grown closer, learned a little more about each other and how to work well as a team.

  I felt sorry for him because he’d come from the city expecting to find order, due process, justice, and respect for the law in a small town. Instead, he’d been landed with the entire huge clan of uncontrollable Bycrafts, as well as me, a fairly lawless law enforcement officer, as his junior.

  My previous sergeant, Des, had never cared much about what I’d done. All his attention and energy for the entire two years we’d partnered had been concentrated on his retirement and his extramarital relationship with the town’s good-time girl, Foxy Dubois. I’d grown used to doing whatever I had to so I could survive in Little Town, even if that meant stepping outside the precise letter of the law. But the Sarge was more of a serious, by-the-book kind of guy, and hadn’t always agreed with my approach to policing. I’d battled hard to learn how to be subordinate again in the months since he’d arrived. It didn’t come easily to me though, accustomed to looking after myself.

  I searched around the pool area for something to use as a bandage. My eyes fell on a pile of neatly folded and laundered pool towels housed in a small sheltered glass-fronted cabinet, not needed at this time of the year. It would be bulky and not ideal, but I shook a towel out and wound it tightly around my injury, tucking the ends back into itself. I struggled with the childproof lock for precious moments, before retrieving my knife from the fence, my ears pricking at the loud voices coming from next door. The Sarge and Red were facing off.

  I wasn’t sure I could manage the climb over the fence again with an injured arm. Instead, I jogged slowly up ‘Penny Lane’, past the ‘Ticket to Ride’ multi-car garage to the ‘Hello, Goodbye’ portico that housed the front gate and mailbox. I let myself out of the complex.

  Cautiously, I crept my way to the vacant block next door to the community, flattening myself up against its tall, burnt orange rendered blockwork front fence. I had my knife out again as I moved forward, trying to ignore the pain in my arm.

  “Put your weapon down and your hands on your head,” the Sarge ordered loudly. He came into view as I approached the vacant lot, dimly lit by the community’s security lights that George had thoughtfully switched on for us.

  “Fuck off, pig,” replied Red’s distant voice. I couldn’t see him yet.

  “Sarge, it’s Tess. Approaching on your left side,” I warned him in a raised voice, not wanting to be shot at again, especially with a police-issue Glock. Tensions always ran high in a standoff situation and people were prone to make mistakes. Sometimes they were even fatal, so it was usually best not to startle the person holding the gun.

  “Gotcha, Tessie,” he shouted back. “Go to the car and get your bulletproofs.” He slid one hand into the pocket of his jeans and threw the keys in my general direction, not taking his eyes off Red the entire time.

  The keys landed short and around the fence line from where I was standing. To retrieve them, I was going to have to leave the shelter of the fence. I’d been lucky this morning and wasn’t keen to tempt fate yet again by putting myself in Red’s sights once more.

  The irony of my situation wasn’t lost on me – I needed the bulletproofs to get the keys, but I needed the keys to get the bulletproofs. The Sarge had locked the patrol car because we always locked it around here, even if we were only three metres away from it. Red’s teenage cousin, Chad Bycraft, was a skilful car thief, and if you didn’t want your vehicle to end up as his joyriding plaything for an afternoon, you learned to keep it locked at all times.

  Warily, I poked my head around the corner and spied the keys lying up against the side boundary timber fence of the community, the same fence that Red and I had climbed over earlier. Dropping to my hands and knees, I crawled around the corner of the fence, keeping low, heading for the keys.

  “Hello again, Tessie,” Red yelled out to me with spiteful glee, spotting me in the lights. “I’m glad to see you’re still alive.”

  I looked up to see him raising his head from behind the bonnet of his car, grinning, visible in its high beam. He hadn’t bothered wasting time by turning the headlights off before we started playing cat and mouse earlier. I wasn’t happy about being detected so quickly.

  He laughed nastily. “Did I shoot you? Are you bleeding? Are you hurting?”

  I didn’t respond, not willing to add any fuel to his vindictive fire.

  “You okay, Tessie?” shouted the Sarge, concern evident in his voice.

  “I’m great, Sarge,” I lied, squeezing my eyes shut at the pain that leaning on my left arm produced as I crawled. “Red thinks he hit me, but he missed me by miles. He’s rubbish at shooting. Don’t listen to him.”

  “You’re a fucking liar, Tessie Fuller. And a terrible one too. Tut, tut – what would the saintly Nana Fuller have said about such deliberate dishonesty?” Red laughed again. “Why do you have that towel wrapped around your arm if I didn’t hit you? And what’s that red stain on it? You’re bleeding to death.” He shouted out suddenly, cruelly. “Do you hear that, copper? Your precious little piglet is dying. And I shot her.”

  Silence from me. I was almost at the keys and concentrated all my energy on reaching them.

  “Tessie?” the Sarge shouted again, not sure who to believe, maintaining his constant eye contact with Red, but becoming fidgety with his overpowering need to reassure himself that I was all right – to set eyes on me, to talk to me, to touch me. He was a naturally prot
ective man, and teamed with a female partner who had significant relationship issues with a family of rapists and murderers, all of his instincts had ramped up exponentially. Especially after I’d shared my scrapbook with him. He’d read all the newspaper cuttings and crime scene reports relating to the long-running Bycraft-Fuller feud that I’d carefully collected over the years. I hadn’t shared that depressing album with many people in my life. Not even with Jake, for obvious reasons.

  “Sarge, he’s lying to you,” I lied to him. “He wants you to look away. He’s trying to distract you and then he’ll shoot you. Don’t listen to him. I’m not dying. Do I sound as if I’m dying to you?”

  “I hope you’re in a lot of pain, lovely,” Red taunted, keeping up the pressure. “Just as much as I was when you shot me all those months ago. Hope your last thought is of me when you die.”

  “Tess?” the Sarge wavered. He wanted to believe me, but he also knew that I’d say and do anything to win against the Bycrafts.

  “Sarge! He’s trying to psych you out. Don’t listen to him. Please!” I implored. It could prove lethal to him if he was distracted by his concern for me right now. I would be devastated if something happened to him because of me.

  I turned my attention to Red, and if we’d been under heat-sensitive lights, my whole body would be glowing red with anger. “Red Bycraft, if I’m dying this morning, I’m bloody well taking you with me, matey,” I yelled back at him.

  And despite the rain, his resultant laughter was freakily echoed by the sudden raucous and hilarious call of a pair of kookaburras from a nearby gum tree. It was as if nature had taken up against me in this town as well, I thought sourly. Red laughed even harder at the unexpected avian support. As usual, he was having a great old time.

  I stretched out to grab the keys, pulling them towards me with my extended fingers. Clutching them in my hand, I quickly crawled backwards, not sure what Red could see through the rain. In a normal police situation, this would be where I radioed from the patrol car requesting urgent back-up from our colleagues. But our nearest support was that ninety minute drive away in Big Town. And to be perfectly honest without being disloyal, that support was always grudgingly given and slowly delivered whenever I’d been desperate enough to ask for it in the past. They had important cases to deal with, didn’t we know, and it was a nuisance for them to be called away to deal with our ‘petty little town’ problems.