Blood Sport (Little Town)

by JD Nixon

  I didn’t get to say another word.

  “Investigating!” she repeated in awe, and looked around her as if she had an audience. “Well, fuck me sideways with a chainsaw! My little dumb-as-dogshit llama-fucking hayseeds have been investigating. Just like real cops! How absolutely fucking adorable! I’m so proud of you that I could fucking burst an artery, and just bleed to death right here on my desk with pride. And you can’t get much more fucking proud than that, can you, Tessie?”

  “No, ma’am,” I agreed swiftly, standing as stiff as a board before her. She was angry, really angry, and I didn’t know if it was with us or with her cigarette-less existence. I hoped it wasn’t personal.

  She picked up a pen from her desk and started sucking on it, before flinging it down in disgust. “Fuck this! I need some cancer sticks.” She reached into one of her desk drawers and pulled out her purse, grabbing handfuls of notes and tossing them at the Sarge.

  “Maguire, go and get me some ciggies. As many packets as you can buy with that.” The Sarge took a nanosecond to move. “Well, what are you fucking waiting for?” she screamed at him. “I fucking need them now, not tomorrow!”

  He collected the money and shot her a dirty look before leaving in search of some cigarettes for her.

  “Life’s too fucking short and horrible and full of wankers and dickwads to give up the only thing that gives me any pleasure. Don’t you agree?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I wasn’t saying no to her – not today.

  “Besides, my mother smoked her whole fucking life and she still refuses to drop dead, the old bag.”

  “Good genes, ma’am.”

  She looked at me properly for the first time. “Sit down.” I sat down promptly, perching rigidly on the edge of her uncomfortable visitor’s chair. “Where are you staying at the moment?”

  “With the Sarge, ma’am. He’s being very generous.” I always tried to put in a good word for him when I had the chance. I don’t think the Super was very fond of him. Not that he seemed to care.

  She snorted. “Of course he fucking is. Make sure you lock your bedroom door at night. The way that man looks at you should be a crime.”

  I squirmed in my seat. “Ma’am, you’re wrong about that. You know that the Sarge is –”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. He’s engaged. Big fucking deal.” She drummed the fingers of both hands on her desk, impatiently waiting for the cigarettes. I hoped the Sarge wasn’t going to take too long. “In my experience, a man quickly loses interest in a woman when she’s not in his face every day. Absence only makes the cock grow softer. A man’s attention is automatically focused on women within dick-whacking distance, and that man’s dick is pointing squarely in your direction, Tessie.”

  “Stop it please, ma’am!” I insisted desperately. “You’re embarrassing me and you couldn’t be more mistaken about the Sarge. He’s just a nice guy.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Sure he is. He’s a saint and I’m made out of fucking fairy floss. So let’s all hold hands and skip off to Happy Land together singing ‘Sunshine, Lollipops and Rainbows’.”

  That line of conversation was abruptly and thankfully ended by the Sarge’s return. He was panting heavily and had probably sprinted the whole way across the road to the shopping centre so as not to leave me alone with the Super for too long. He was thoughtful like that. He tumbled five packets of mega-tar cigarettes onto the Super’s desk and slapped down a handful of change.

  “Thank you, Maguire,” she said sweetly – probably the nicest thing she’d ever said to him. “Take a seat.”

  She swept four packets into her top drawer and opened the fifth, pulling out a cigarette. Moving over to her window, she cranked it open, letting in a cold howl of wind. She lit the cigarette and sucked on it deeply, her eyes closed in bliss. We sat quietly, shivering in the cold, not daring to interrupt her while she enjoyed her first hit of nicotine for the day. And when she’d finished that cigarette, she crushed the butt against the window sill and lit another. Again, we waited patiently for her to finish.

  When that butt was duly crushed as well, she shut the window and returned to her desk, serene and business-like. Before she spoke though, she surprised us by reaching into her blouse and ripping nicotine patches off her chest and upper arms, flinging them into the bin. I counted ten of them at least, which I was fairly sure was about ten times over the recommended amount needed to get a normal person through cigarette withdrawal for one day.

  “Right. Where were we?” she demanded, her cold eyes raking over the Sarge and then me. “Oh yeah. You two bumbling clodheads think you’ve uncovered something worth bothering your very busy superior officer about. Speak. And it better be fucking good, because I have draft budget papers to scrutinise so I can calculate exactly how many different ways those ugly cocksucking bastards in the city are trying to fuck me up the arse.”

  It was my baby, so I explained what we’d been up to over the past few days. She didn’t say a word, not even when I admitted that we’d trespassed on the bikies’ property and stolen from them, merely closing her eyes in quiet supplication. I paused for a moment, giving her the chance to have another cigarette. She didn’t move, so we finished by setting up the light table and showing her the fragments of film we’d recovered from the ashes.

  When I’d said everything I had to say, she looked at her watch and without a word, stood up and walked to the door.

  “Bum!” she screamed down the hallway. “Get my car ready. I have that lunch meeting with the Mayor and I don’t want to be late again. That greasy old turd had drunk half the fucking wine by the time I arrived last time.” She turned in the doorway to face us, her face hard, voice obdurate. “Don’t ever waste my fucking time again by dumping a load of old horseshit in my office like you’ve just done.”

  “Ma’am!” I protested, my cheeks blazing bright red with humiliation.

  “What the fuck have you come up with exactly, Tess? Some Bycraft whores hawking their holes to a bunch of sleazebag bikies? Big fucking deal! Who gives a shit? I don’t. And a couple of scraps from a rough gangbang film? Again, big fucking deal. My Ronnie probably wanks himself senseless to worse videos on the internet when I’m working late.”

  “But, ma’am, they’re underage girls!” I tried stubbornly again.

  “You are so completely wet sometimes, Teresa Fuller, that I despair for your survival in this arse-fucking world. Kristy Bycraft’s been picked up here in Wattling Bay for soliciting three times this year. Three fucking times! The last time she had Jade Bycraft with her, offering themselves as a double act. Kissing cousins, plus plenty more if you want to pay to see it or do it. You know that, don’t you?”

  I nodded my head reluctantly. I’d decided to keep that bit of news from Jake’s ears though.

  “And yet you still want to believe that these are innocent girls being corrupted. They’re not. These are fucking hard-nosed bitches who’ve made an early career choice to earn easy money lying flat on their backs.” She turned back to the hallway and screamed. “Bum! Where the fuck are you?” Her attention returned to us. “Don’t come back to me until you have some solid evidence of a real crime. And you better make sure it’s fucking admissible this time. We haven’t got a chain of evidence for nothing, you dumbshits. I should send you both back to the fucking police academy with all the clueless recruits because you’ve obviously forgotten everything you ever learned there. Now sod off back to Frogfuckers Town straight away and do some actual policing for once instead of creeping around at night, creaming your panties over imaginary crimes.”

  And with that said, she stalked off, leaving us sitting in her office, bruised and battered. The Sarge exhaled noisily and I shot him a wry glance.

  “I think we got off pretty lightly, all things considered,” I joked.

  “Oh yeah,” he agreed. “We still have our jobs.”

  “And all our limbs.”

  “And nobody was transferred.”

  “Or demoted.”
/>   “Or de-knobbed, for which I personally am eternally grateful.”

  “And,” I smiled wickedly. “She didn’t say to stop investigating the bikies.”

  “Tessie . . .” he groaned.

  “She wants us to continue, because she would have been very clear about stopping us otherwise.”

  “I think you’re reading extra meaning into her words.”

  “No, I’m not, Sarge. She said don’t come back until we have solid evidence. She could have said don’t come back, full stop.”

  He rolled his eyes and sighed. “You are tenacious.”

  “Thanks, Sarge.”

  “It’s not a compliment. It makes you a pain in the arse, actually.” He stood and picked up his light table. “Come on, let’s go back home and shag some sheep or roger some rabbits, or whatever it is that the Super thinks we do all day.”

  I giggled. “How about some lunch first? Your shout.”

  “It’s always my shout.”

  “Hey, you’re the one on the sergeant’s salary, not me.”

  He pulled a face at me and led the way out. On route to the exit we ran into Xavier and Zelda returning from a job.

  “Hey, guys,” Xavier said, his face lighting up at the sight of us. He tweaked my nose in greeting. “How you going, beautiful? Captured any more fugitives lately?”

  I greeted the pair. “No more fugitives. We don’t need any more excitement for the day. We’ve just survived a bollocking by the Super.”

  “What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger,” Xavier intoned piously, before looking around him carefully and lowering his voice. “She’s an absolute sea serpent today. She’s given up smoking again.”

  “The Sarge bought her some cigarettes just before so things should improve by this afternoon,” I told him.

  “Oh, good man!” he said heartily, thumping the Sarge on his back in appreciation. “Some people should never be allowed to be without cigarettes.”

  “How’s it going with Blondie?” I asked him, smiling.

  He groaned and clapped his hand over his eyes. Zelda looked down at the ground, trying to suppress a laugh. “Don’t ask! Apparently we’re a couple now. That’s what she’s telling everyone. She’s talking about moving in together, for God’s sake! It’s like some kind of bad dream. I don’t seem to be able to stop her from steamrolling me.”

  I threw the Sarge a playful look. “Sounds like you and the Sarge have a lot to talk about,” I smirked. “Why don’t you both join us for lunch?”

  “Would love to, Tessie,” he said regretfully, “but the Super wants our report on her desk by the end of the day or she’s threatening to go all Hannibal Lecter on our livers.”

  I shook my head sadly. “It’s a cop eat cop world around here, no doubt about it.”

  He smiled. “Don’t be a stranger now, Tessie. We never see you enough here in Wattling Bay.”

  “Are you kidding?” asked the Sarge, incredulous. “We’re here almost every bloody day.”

  “Let me know next time you’re here. We’ll catch up over lunch,” he insisted.

  “Okay, Mr X,” I smiled.

  “Psst, Blondie alert,” Zelda hissed discreetly as a group of uniforms climbed the stairs to enter the building. They must have all been on the same lunch break.

  “Shit! Gotta go,” Mr X said, and they hurriedly scurried upstairs before the young probationary cop set eyes on him.

  As we headed to the entrance, the Sarge and I exchanged friendly nods with the Big Town uniforms and I slapped hands with my friends, Eliza and Jenny, Abe’s girlfriend.

  “Whatcha doing here, Tessie?” asked Eliza, a plump motherly senior constable who’d had her third child just over six months ago.

  “Getting a right royal arse-chewing from the Super,” I told her. They all made sympathetic noises, except for Blondie (what was her name?) who spared us one indifferent glance before pulling out her compact and checking her makeup.

  “Better you guys than us,” said Eliza, smiling and patting my shoulder in consolation. “She’s been a monster all day. She’s given up smoking again.”

  “Don’t worry, she’s fallen off the wagon already,” I informed them and they all whooped with joy.

  Leaving them with that good news, we waved goodbye and left, making our way to a small cafe to have a late lunch. The Sarge ordered a smoked salmon salad sandwich for himself.

  “Smoked salmon? Taking a walk on the wild side today, are you, Sarge?” I teased.

  “You’re making me feel guilty about the tuna,” he grumbled.

  “Salmon are fish too, you know. And they’re being overfished as well.”

  His withering look made me smile to myself as I read over the menu and virtuously ordered a meat-free meal of toasted cheese, tomato and avocado sandwich with extra pepper and a few jalapenos. I wanted something warm and bitey to counteract the chill of the dismal afternoon. The Sarge eyed it balefully when it arrived at the table.

  “Get off my back for once,” I groused. “It’s a pretty healthy lunch, compared to the other choices they have. I could have ordered a deep-fried something.”

  “I was just thinking that it looks really appetising and I wish I’d ordered the same,” he said, taking an unenthusiastic bite from his own sandwich.

  “You’re just feeling guilty because no animals died for my lunch,” I teased again, then relented. “I’ll swap you half-a-sandwich for half-a-sandwich.”

  He didn’t even think twice but plonked half his sandwich on my plate and took half of mine. “Thanks, Tess. You’re a great partner.”

  I complained. “I didn’t think you’d take me up on it.”

  “More fool you,” he smiled between bites. “Word of advice – don’t offer what you don’t want to lose.”

  “That’s very good advice for a woman,” I agreed, standing up and moving to the counter to buy us both a coffee, carefully counting out my ten and five cent pieces.

  “Payday’s a while away, huh?” asked the patient cashier with an understanding smile.

  “Sure is, buddy,” I smiled back. “And even then it’s not going to make a dent.”

  “I hear you,” he sympathised, sorting the coins into the register. I carried the coffees back to our table. Keeping our hands warm around our mugs, we discussed what we’d do for the rest of the day.

  “We’ll stay away from the bikies for now,” he decided.

  “Sarge, I’ve been thinking. Why don’t we check the missing persons database for Lucy and Kylie? If they are runaways, they might be listed on it, particularly if they’re underaged. We could find their real names then and maybe talk to their parents. Maybe Lucy returned back home and we could talk to her about the bikies?”

  “Good thinking, Tess. Why don’t we do it at the station here? They have better internet connection than us.”

  “Should be safe – the Super’s gone to that lunch meeting.”

  We finished up and headed back to the Big Town police station, wheedling the use of a spare computer out of Patricia, one of the duty sergeants. She was a freckled, tall, thin woman in her early forties with a sensible brown bob and rimless glasses, whose face lit up with great beauty each time she smiled. I always found her practical and levelheaded and had we worked together, I felt sure that we would have become very good friends. As it was, we were friendly acquaintances.

  “Help yourself, guys,” she said, opening the door at the counter to the back room. We went straight to our favourite computer, the one that nobody ever seemed to use. It still had the same cobweb on it that it had four months ago. I sat at the computer and the Sarge sat on the desk, his feet on my chair.

  I brought up the nation’s missing persons database, a joint initiative of the federal police and all of the state police forces. It had proved invaluable for finding runaways and for identifying Jane and John Does. I tapped in ‘Kylie Francine Petroff’. No hits. I typed in ‘Kylie’ and received 248 hits. I groaned.

  “Print a report on th
em all,” he ordered.

  “Hang on, don’t be so quick. I can narrow it down.” I looked up at him. “What’s the maximum age we think our Kylie could be? Will I put in twenty?”

  “Yep.” So I fine-tuned the search to only those girls born less than twenty years ago. The number of hits reduced dramatically. Kylie was a popular name during the 1980s, but not so much in the following decades. There were only fifty-two young Kylies missing in the country at the moment.

  “That’s still so many of them,” I said sadly, printing the report.

  “You know, that’s only any use if her name actually is Kylie,” he noted.

  “But Sarge, she didn’t hesitate when I asked her what her name was. Not like when I asked her the year she was born. That gives me hope that our Kylie is in this pile.” I went back to my next search, tapping on the keyboard, all my attention on the screen.

  “Do you want another coffee?” he asked.

  “Hmm?” I wasn’t really listening, absorbed with punching data into the computer.

  “Do you want another coffee?” he asked again, patiently.

  “Sure, that would be great, thanks honey-boy,” I said absently, my mind on the task, continuing my typing. I suddenly remembered who I was talking to with that excruciating physical jolt of blinding pain that accompanies the realisation that you’ve just made a terrible faux pas. I jerked my head up at him. “Oh sorry, Sarge! I slipped into Jakey-talk then for a minute. I’m so sorry.”

  God, how embarrassing! It was like calling your teacher ‘mum’ at school. I could feel myself blushing for the third time today. On top of the snuggling incident, it was definitely a sign that the Sarge and I were spending far too much time together.

  “No worries, my darling,” he returned lightly and continued on his way to the well-equipped kitchen. I watched him go, cursing myself for my blunder. He was going to think that I had a ‘thing’ for him soon, if I didn’t start watching myself.

  “Teresa Fuller!” called a very unwelcome voice from out in the foyer. My blood froze. How in God’s name had she spotted me sitting here in the back office? And what on earth was she doing back so early? I’d thought we’d have plenty of time to escape before she returned from lunch with the Mayor.