Blood Sport (Little Town)

by JD Nixon

  I stretched enjoyably as I retrieved the message. It started with heavy breathing. Oh God, I groaned to myself. Not a saucy siren seeker at this time of the morning?

  “They’re doing something terrible.” The voice was hoarse, whispery and panicked, but I recognised it as belonging to Mickey, the computer nerd from the bikie retreat. He half-sobbed, half-sighed. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be involved in this. I never realised . . .” A second while he fought for self-control, his breathing uneven and ragged. “Now. Please come now. 140 Beach Road. The girl’s going to . . .” More sob-breathing. “I don’t want to be here anymore. I hate them! But I’m so scared of them. I only want to live quietly. I don’t want anyone to be hurt or –”

  The message cut off, out of time. I could have thrown my phone at the wall in frustration if I hadn’t almost broken it doing that once already. But I’d heard enough to get my hackles rising. Something was going to happen to Kylie soon. If that wasn’t motivation enough to get me out of the warm, comfy bed, then I didn’t know what would. I reminded myself that she was only fourteen and was powerless and probably frightened in a house full of men who were doing unspeakable things to her. I also acknowledged with grim satisfaction that what I’d been planning to do all along had now been legitimised by Mickey’s urgent emergency call.

  I hunted around for some dark clothes to change into. All the constant rain, combined with little time to do any washing and living out of a suitcase, meant that I was fast running out of clothes to wear. The black outfit I had on the other night would have been ideal for tonight’s activities, but I hadn’t had a chance to wash and dry it. I peeked in the Sarge’s laundry room to see if my clothes were mouldering in a corner, but saw them hanging up neatly on a clothes horse. I touched them. They were dry. I smelt them. They had the lovely clean smell of freshly laundered clothes. Wow! The Sarge had done my laundry for me! What a wonderful surprise. Why Melissa hadn’t frogmarched him down the aisle the second he’d popped the question was beyond me. I’d never met a man who was more of a keeper – if you liked the nurturing, comforting, mother hen kind of guy, that was.

  Dressed in black, I pulled on my waterproof jacket and the Sarge’s beanie again, finding some calm in wearing something that was his. I didn’t want to think about the scorching bollocking he was going to serve up when he found out what I’d done. But hey, I was only responding promptly to an emergency call, like a good cop. And he wasn’t here to help me deal with it, so he was the last person to complain.

  But that reminded me that I should leave him some message about what I was doing, just in case. I quickly scribbled a bare note on a scrap of paper, detailing the time and where I was heading. I left it on the kitchen table, anchored under the salt shaker, where he’d see it immediately. I tried again not to think about how angry he was going to be with me. I’d worry about that once I was back home, safely tucked up in bed again.

  I’d have to take the patrol car. It wasn’t an ideal vehicle for undercover work, made to be noticed with its fluorescent, glow-in-the-dark markings and unmissable POLICE signage, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. I left my sling lying on the dresser as I’d need both arms free for whatever happened. I checked my utility belt – gun, spray, baton, handcuffs – and reassuringly patted my knife on my thigh and my phone in my pocket. I didn’t bother with the radio. I’d only end up speaking to that bitch in Big Town again.

  I opened the door, ready to head off, when I jogged back to my room to strap my spare knife around my back, under my jacket. Another ‘just in case’.

  I missed the Sarge, I’ll be honest. We’d been a tight team for four months, living in each other’s pockets, usually working every incident together as well as spending a lot of free time together. I’d grown used to his willing availability, but I guess he was now part of a new team and had a more important partner in his life than me, his work colleague. I would have to play second fiddle from now on. I wouldn’t deny that it felt a little lonely driving off in the patrol car by myself. I missed his gently teasing banter and his unwavering support.

  Little Town was respectably tucked up in bed, not a single light burning on this freezing, rainy early morning as I drove down the main road, heading south. Once on Beach Road, I decided to park in the same place that the Sarge had chosen the other night, hiding the patrol car from the road in the cover of that copse of trees. I slipped the small digital camera that we kept in the patrol car into my pocket. It had replaced the ancient film-based camera that police in Little Town had been using since the 1960s. I’d asked for a new camera for years to no avail, but the Sarge magically conjured one up not long after he arrived. If only I knew how.

  The rain hit my skin like ice shards when I stepped out of the car. I cursed myself for forgetting to wear gloves as the Sarge had forced me to do last time. I set myself a brisk pace walking towards the retreat, careful not to snap my ankle in the unrelenting darkness.

  This time, there were no Bycraft cars parked outside and no loud music thumping out. The house appeared to be in darkness and hopefully everyone was fast asleep. I poked my head around the opening in the front fence, scoping as best I could through the rain. Nobody was on the verandah. Well, they wouldn’t be, because only a raving lunatic like me would be out in this weather at this time of the night.

  I slipped around the gate in the fence, only to have the entire front yard flood with brilliant lighting. I froze. Shit! That wasn’t supposed to happen. The Vypers must have amped up their security lighting since the Sarge and I were here. I ducked behind a straggly murraya bush as someone threw open one of the front windows. He peered out suspiciously into the soggy yard until the lights flicked off.

  The window slammed and I dashed towards the side passage, only to set off the lights once more. The window flung open again and a rain of bullets peppered the front yard. Had I still been behind that murraya, I would have been hit. Several times. They’d obviously posted a trigger-happy sentry at the front of their house.

  Oh dear, I thought belatedly to myself. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. I was in trouble already, stuck in no-man’s land. I couldn’t go back because I’d be shot at, so I had no choice but to keep moving forward. But every time I took a step, a light blazed gloriously through the night shadows. The awful thought that I’d been set up for an ambush by that phone call crept into my mind. After pondering that for a few terrible minutes, I dismissed the idea. Whoever had rung couldn’t know that the Sarge would decide to stay away overnight. It was all just coincidence and there was Kylie inside, needing my help.

  I flattened myself against the wall of the house so that I wasn’t immediately visible when someone leaned out to look around. Hopefully they thought I was a fox or a feral cat. But that soon turned out to be another unlucky wish when a side window was flung open.

  “I’m going to fucking shoot one of them pests,” boasted one of the men, half hanging out of the window, swinging his gun wildly. “I’ll put its head up on my wall back home, like a hunter. Like a real man. I’m Bear Grylls!” He drunkenly roared and grunted out into the darkness several times in what I could only assume he considered to be a hyper-masculine way, but which actually sounded as if he was coughing up a stubborn loogie. The loud, mocking laughter of his compadres seeped out from inside the room, only supporting my opinion. A couple of them joined him at the window.

  “Those fucking lights have been going on and off all night. We all know there’s nothing there. Rusty’s fucking paranoid,” opined one. It was heartening to hear that the lights kept being triggered by animals. If they’d already had a restless night of false alarms they might be slack about checking each time the lights went off tonight. Frankly it was my only hope of avoiding being shot at the moment.

  Another offered his two cents worth. “Yeah. Nobody’s been sneaking around. Who in this shitpile of a town would have the balls? You see those shop owners when we come in? Half of them piss themselves at the sight of us.” They la
ughed dismissively at the townsfolk, making my blood boil. The shop owners were mostly good, decent people, trying to make an honest living. Not like this bunch.

  “Who knocked over the drum then?” challenged Bear-wannabe. It must have been a subject of debate amongst the bikies.

  “Animals, you dumb cocksucker! They’re everywhere around here. It’s the fucking country, remember?”

  “The boss reckons someone took the ashes.”

  “Rusty’s got his head up his arse. Who the fuck would steal ashes?”

  “What happened to them then, smartarse?”

  “How the fuck would I know? They probably melted away in the rain or something.”

  Bear-wannabe considered that response for a moment. “Yeah, I guess that could happen. I never thought about that.”

  A bellow came from deep inside the room. “Just shut the fucking window, Mr Grylls! It’s fucking freezing in here. My balls have shrivelled to marbles in that wind.”

  “So nothing’s changed then, Spider?” joked Bear-wannabe before slamming the window shut behind him. I gratefully exhaled again. This was harder than I thought it would be. I couldn’t even begin to imagine how I’d drag an hysterical and traumatised young teen from the house when I finally found her, without us both being caught. And yeah, I’ll acknowledge that I probably should have thought about that before I set off from the Sarge’s house.

  My back tight up against the house I slid, cautious step by step, down the side passage. It was agonisingly slow-going though, and each time I heard a window being opened I froze after clambering into the nearest shadowy part.

  I slid a few more steps and found that if I moved slowly but consistently, the lights stayed on, so they didn’t attract the men’s attention as much as they had when they were switching on and off all the time. A rustle in a tree nearby halted me in fear, eyes wide, hand on my gun. A possum stared back at me, eyes luminous and equally wide and afraid in the bright light. We eyeballed each other before it judged me to be no threat and turned to scurry away. I exhaled heavily again. I really missed the Sarge and regretted going on this crazy escapade without him. I was drenched despite my jacket, freezing. My left arm was reminding me unsubtly that it had twice been injured only a few days ago and it had been a while since I’d taken a painkiller.

  Swallow a teaspoon of cement and harden the hell up, Fuller, I berated myself. You’re the cop and there’s a young girl who desperately needs your help inside this house. And with those inspiring words in my mind, I straightened up and glided along a few more steps. I’ve always been really good at pep talks to myself.

  After a few further slides, I reached the end of the house where the patio was situated. They’d fixed the light I’d shot out the other night. It was switched on, even brighter than before, blaring unforgiving intense fluorescent illumination across the backyard. After a quick glance behind me to make sure nobody was sneaking up on me, I scoped the patio.

  It was deserted, but the heavy odour of a greasy barbecue lingered in the air. I sniffed inquisitively. Beef sausages, overcooked steak, and satay chicken kebabs by the smell of it. Accompanied by undercooked crunchy potato salad and coleslaw with a thick, unpleasantly acidic mayonnaise. And no, I wasn’t half-human, half-bloodhound, but I knew that those were the standard barbecue items sold in the local supermarket. And also, nobody had cleaned up afterwards and the containers still sat on the long table pushed up under the windows of the house. No wonder they had a problem with foxes and cats.

  The lights were off in the room looking out directly onto the patio, which was one stroke of luck in my favour at least. But it didn’t mean there wasn’t someone sitting patiently inside, armed and waiting for an intruder. At that point, I patted myself on the back for wearing my bullet-proof vest even though it had POLICE written in bold white letters on the back and front. I wore it under my outer jacket so the writing was hidden, but if I had to take off my jacket for any reason, it would be painfully obvious to everyone that I was a cop.

  A feral cat appeared out of nowhere from behind and streaked across the patio, nearly making me scream in fright. It brushed my leg as it ran past, before jumping on to the table, snatching an abandoned sausage from a plate and haring off into the darkness again. The momentum of its leap knocked one of the plastic plates to the cement floor with a clatter. I hastily moved back to the side of the house, expecting a rush of men to the patio to investigate the noise.

  Nothing.

  It was the sort of noise that would have had them running if anyone had heard it, so I felt safe in assuming that there was nobody in that room. Hoping that I wasn’t risking my life with unwarranted over-confidence, I moved on to the patio, now in full view of the back room. I tried the door handle. It opened and, not without some trepidation, I stepped inside the house. I’d already prepared my defence – the law allowed me to enter a premise without a warrant if I reasonably suspected a crime was taking place inside. Otherwise I’d just be a common garden-variety break-and-enterer. I wasn’t prepared to allow anyone to get away with thinking that about me.

  It was warm, dark and quiet inside the house. The room was rectangular in shape and furnished with an odd assortment of old lounges and armchairs. The longer side of the room faced the patio, and a fireplace took up most of the short external wall, while a doorway filled the short internal wall. The embers of a dying fire showed that the room had been inhabited not too long ago. People must be asleep. I guess even bikies needed their eight hours a night.

  Or not.

  The faint murmur and laughter of men’s voices drifted into the room from distant parts. I moved quietly towards the internal door, mindful of the puddles I was leaving behind. It would be immediately apparent to anybody who came across my wet trail that there was an exceedingly damp intruder in the house. I was only going to get one chance to grab Kylie and escape before I was noticed, and I warned myself that I better not blow it.

  I cautiously poked my head around the doorway. The room led out to a long hallway with a number of doors opening off it, most of them currently shut. Probably bedrooms, I reasoned to myself. The house was large and I wasn’t sure which would be the best direction to go. There was a darkened room with its door open on the other side of the hall, nearer to the front of the house than the room I was currently in. Listening carefully for any footsteps or voices coming closer, I dashed quickly to that room. I was grateful that every room I’d encountered so far was carpeted, hiding my path.

  It was the kitchen, dark and silent except for the loud clanking and humming of an old fridge and the slow steady dripping of a tap that someone hadn’t turned off properly. Safely inside, I clutched the door jamb and surveyed the hallway again, uncomfortably conscious that I dripped copious amounts of water on to the linoleum flooring. Down the hall, between two rooms with closed doors, there was a staircase. About to run to it, I froze in place, heart thumping when a man, laughing loudly, burst from one of front rooms and rolled down the hallway towards me.

  Shit! I searched the kitchen quickly for a possible hiding spot and threw myself under the kitchen table, huddling in the darkest, furthermost corner. The guy flicked on the light and lumbered to the fridge, the door squeaking in protest as he opened it.

  “Who drank all the fucking rum and cokes?” he shouted over his shoulder. Receiving no response, he muttered to himself, “Bunch of greedy wankers.”

  He settled for a beer, popped the lid, threw it towards the bin and missed. It bounced under the table and landed next to my hand. I held my breath, hoping that he wasn’t going to be the tidy one in the house and lean under to retrieve it. Instead he burped with thunderous loudness, scratched his balls, groaning in delight as he did, and wandered back where he came from, leaving the light on.

  I was about to climb out from under the table to turn the light off before dashing to the stairs, when another man came down the hall. When he passed the first man, they had a friendly bit of rough-housing, crashing against the walls of the
hallway laughing and cursing each other, before continuing on their opposite paths.

  The second man came into the kitchen and also pulled a beer from the fridge, flicking his top into the bin with more skill than the first man. He switched the light off as he left, but instantly spun around, returning to the kitchen and turning it on again.

  “Who spilled something on the floor?” he yelled out, but also didn’t receive any response. Cursing to himself, he tutted, “Someone’s going to break their neck on that.” Curious, he started to follow the trail of puddles I’d left towards the kitchen table.

  Oh great! I thought with unhappy panic. Out of all the bikies in this place, I had to run into the Vypers’ health and safety officer! I slid my hand towards my Glock.

  At that moment, a third man jogged down the hall and hurried past the kitchen.

  “Gotta take a piss!” he shouted through the doorway in a slurred voice, as if the second man had asked him what he was doing.

  “Good for you, mate,” the second man laughed and muttering under his breath that it wasn’t his job to do the housekeeping, he left the kitchen, switching off the light once more. Hunched under the table, wet, cold and cramped, I released my held breath with relief.

  I waited until the third man finished in the bathroom and returned back to the room at the end of the hall. I cautiously moved towards the door and clung to the doorway nervously, ears straining. I waited another couple of minutes to make sure nobody else was in urgent need of a refreshment or bathroom break before I made my next move. Should I head for the stairs or not?

  My mind was made up by two other men sauntering down the hallway from the opposite direction. They were laughing and joking with each other, not a care in the world.

  “Time to wake the bitch up for some more action,” laughed one in a dirty way that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

  “I don’t think this one’s going to last much longer. She’s given up already.”