by Else, Chris
'Come on, Fat Boy!' The voice said. A big laugh.
Something flickered for a second in the glass of the front door and then that, too, exploded.
'Yee-ha!' A different voice, a different laugh, high-pitched, crazy sounding. I pointed the rifle but there was no one there to see.
Another thump on the side of the house. Quiet for a bit, and then the crash of another window.
'McUrran! Come outside. I want to talk.'
Phone, I thought. Call Hemi. Call somebody. I felt in my pocket for my mobile.
'Yooo-hooo!' The second voice. 'What you doin', Fat Boy? Fucking that little cunt of yours?'
Then suddenly Gith lost it. She was on her feet, grabbing for the rifle, trying to pull it out of my grip.
'No!' I told her, hanging on to it.
'McUrran! Don't be greedy!'
Gith started screaming, her hands over her ears. She ran across the living room, through the kitchen. I followed her but she was too quick.
'Gith!'
She was at the back door, pulling at it, wrenching it open. I almost caught her, my fingers just brushing her sweatshirt as she ran onto the verandah. I followed her but she was gone, out into the dark.
A noise to my right. The pump of a shotgun. Somebody was there, moving towards me. Just for a second I thought I'd have a go but the odds weren't good: a twelve-gauge against a bolt action twenty-two, especially when whoever it was already had the drop on me. I kept real still as he came closer. I could see him in the starlight now. Peter Kocher, his eyes wide — big staring circles. A mad look.
And then on the other side Wayne Wyett, holding a knife.
'She got away?' he asked.
'Yeah. Don't worry about her.'
'Oh, but I want her,' Wyett said. 'Boy, do I want her.'
'Later,' Kocher told him. And then to me. 'Put the gun down, McUrran. No point in being stupid, eh.'
I was a couple of strides away from the back door. Would I make it if I tried for it? I didn't think so. Slowly I let the rifle down and leaned it against the wall. Kocher motioned me away from it with the barrel of the shotgun. I stepped aside. Wyett stuck the knife into a sheath on his belt and moved forward, picked up the rifle. He gave that weird giggle.
He looked at Kocher. 'What now, bud? We tear the place apart, huh?'
'That little bitch might fetch the cops. Let's stay cool. Let's stay in control.'
'Cont-er-roll, man. That's good.'
'My place,' Kocher said. 'We plan from there. Come on, Fat Boy.' He did another wave with the gun and I started walking. Along the verandah and down the side of the house. Kocher and Wyett were a couple of steps behind. I figured I had no chance to make a run for it. I would be too slow and I didn't trust either of them not to pull the trigger. The shock of what had happened was starting to ease now and fear was coming in instead. I felt like I was going to throw up.
Down the drive. The van was parked beside the service station. Kocher opened the side door and motioned me to get in. The vehicle was empty and there were no seats, only two long boxes with hinged and padlocked lids, one on each side. I sat on one and Kocher the other. He laid the shotgun across his knees but kept his hands on it. Wyett closed the door and climbed into the driver's seat, started the motor.
We turned left onto the highway and then into Pakenga Valley Road, another hundred metres to Kocher's house. We pulled into the driveway. The Starlet was out front so Wyett parked down the side in front of a gate.
'What's this about?' I asked Kocher.
'You'll know.' He grinned, widened his eyes again. I could see Gith's picture in that look and then, when the grin settled, the downturn of his mouth, like a sad puppy — that was in her drawing too.
'I haven't a clue,' I said, thinking about the package.
'You're a stupid prick, that's why. Somebody has business with you.'
'Meaning who?'
'Meaning shut the fuck up.'
Wyett was there at the door, sliding it open.
'Out.' Kocher waved the shotgun at me.
I got down. Wyett backed away, covering me with the twenty-two. Kocher got out of the van behind me. We were just at the corner of the house. Wyett climbed the concrete steps and opened the door. There was a scuffling noise and the dog came out, tail wagging. It stopped when it saw me. Its lips went back in a snarl and then it barked, once. I guess it could smell the fear.
'Here, boy!' Kocher said.
The dog gave a whine and ran to him.
We went inside. Halfway down the hall Wyett turned around and waved the rifle at a door to my left. A living room. Nothing much there. A couple of old sofas and a big flatpanel TV, a stereo and, on a little table, a tray with some sort of glass tube thing, a candle and a box of matches.
'Right,' Kocher said, 'take your jacket off.'
Wyett came and took it. He was close enough that I could smell the sweat on him — and something else, something sweet and sick. He stepped back and went through my pockets, found my mobile and tossed it onto the sofa next to Kocher. Then he looked at me and grinned.
'Got you, Fat Boy,' he said.
'Right!' Kocher said. 'Turn around, hands on the wall. Feet back.' I did as I was told. 'Further back.'
Wyett came up behind me, bent down and spread my legs wider. His hands padded up my right calf, my thigh, into my crotch, gripping me there. Squeezing till the pain started to come. He laughed then and let go. Hands down my left leg. Then he reached into my back pocket for my wallet and the sides for my keys. His fingers were like worms there, wriggling. He stepped away.
'Okay,' Kocher said, 'drop your strides. And sit down.' I did that too, sitting with my back against the wall under the window. The two of them sat on the sofas. The dog gave a whine and flopped at Kocher's feet.
Wyett was going through my wallet. There wasn't much in it, maybe thirty bucks, but he took it anyway. Then he found the photo of Gith that was there. He held it up and looked at it.
'Whoo-hoo,' he said. 'I'm gonna fuck you good, baby. Just you wait and see!' He laughed and tucked the picture into the pocket of his shirt.
Kocher had pulled out a mobile, dialled a number. He waited.
'We're at my place,' he said. 'All okay so far.' He was quiet for a bit, listening. 'Okay. Cool.' He folded the mobile away and looked at me.
'What you got to tell us?' he asked.
'Nothing. What's this about?'
Wyett leaned towards me. 'You know what it's about, Fat Boy! Don't you fuck with me!' Then he seemed to lose track for a second. He shook his head, rubbed his face with his hand. 'I gotta . . . I gotta . . . Where we going?' He giggled again. He shuffled along to the end of the sofa and reached out for the tray.
'Can't you leave that?' Kocher said.
'You want my help — I need my help.' Wyett lit the candle, picked up the glass pipe. Maybe this was the stuff that was in the package. That, I figured, was my one bargaining chip, but how was I going to use it?
'Hurry up!' Kocher said.
Wyett was leaning forward, holding the glass thing over the candle. His nostrils flared. 'Here we go.' He gave a big sniff.
Kocher turned to me. 'It'll be easier for you if you just tell us where it is.'
'Where what is?'
'Don't act dumb. You know what I mean.'
Should I just tell them? But then I didn't know exactly where the package was. Somewhere in Len and Kath's house. What would they do if they knew that? They'd wreck the place.
'Wheee!' Wyett flopped back on the sofa, his arms spread wide. He started to laugh.
'For fuck's sake!' Kocher said, turning to him.
'Quiet, I'm quiet,' Wyett said, and giggled again. Then suddenly he was on his feet, pacing up and down the room, from the end of the sofa to the door and back again. The dog watched him.
'Jesus! Sit still!' Kocher said. 'We're wasting time. Get focused here.'
'Focused, right. Do the job, right.' Wyett took three quick steps towards me and kicked me in the s
tomach. I toppled over, gasping for breath, clutching at the pain. He bent over me — I could feel him there — and he whipped off my glasses.
'Now, Fat Boy,' he said. 'The fun starts.'
I looked up at him. He was a vague blur. Kocher, on the sofa, looked even vaguer. Then I felt the hard metal of the twenty-two against my head.
'No shooting!' Kocher said. 'Not unless we have to. There's still cops across the valley at Vield's place. They'll be on us like the clap if there's a gunshot.'
'We can cut him, then. I'll cut him. Bit by bit. I'll carve him up like a fat piggy-wig. Hey, Fat Man! You goin' to feel the knife, boy.'
Crazy, I thought. He's crazy. Jesus!
Wyett turned away, striding across the room. Then he came back.
'Oh man,' he said. 'Oh man.' He was big over me but I didn't see the next kick coming. It caught me in the side. A rip of pain. I thought my heart was going to stop. I curled up, rolled over onto my knees. Knelt there.
'You thought you could fool Lord Wayne Wyett. Man, you are a sad fucker. You thought you could fool that little old blind lady. And you did, too. But she told me enough. A big fella, she said. And then you was talking to that little creep Cleat. We got to him, boy. He told us ev-ree-thing. All about you sicking him onto people. So we know, Fat Boy. We know, we know. We figured it out. So now, you fat prick, you're going to tell Lord Wayne where the little package is!' He was bending over me. I could smell his sour, sweet smell. It made me want to throw up. And then I felt a little stab of pain in my shoulder, a flick. I put my hand up to it, felt the stickiness, saw the blood when I looked. 'That's one little cut, Fat Boy. And you got a whole lot more coming. You're gonna bleed and bleed, man. You should see your little friend Cleat. He ain't got no teeth to smile with any more. But it ain't nothing like what you'll be missing. Oh boy, do I know how to cause you pain!'
What's the point? I thought. 'Give me my glasses,' I said.
'Like fuck!'
'I can't see without them. I can't think. Give me my glasses and I'll tell you.'
'You tell me now, Fat Boy!' Wyett screamed it.
The dog gave a bark.
'Quiet!' Kocher said. Was he talking to the dog or Wyett? The dog whined again. He was on his feet. I could see the vague dark shape of him.
'Somebody's out there.'
'No, man,' Wyett said, his voice still loud.
'Listen, maybe we better not do this here. Those fucking cops make me nervous. And I don't want blood all over this carpet.'
'The carpet's crap, man.' Wyett sounded puzzled.
'I mean I don't want anyone finding blood in here. Maybe we better go to your place. Your garage. We can hose that down afterwards.'
'Fuck, man, we were nearly there,' Wyett said. 'I had him shitting himself. Now you want to start again?'
'We gotta be careful.'
'You want me to go look? Outside?'
'Yeah. Take Blackie.'
'He won't come with me. He don't like me.' Wyett moved. His blur hovered in the dark of the doorway for a second and then he was gone.
'Give me my glasses and I'll tell you where the package is,' I said.
'No can do,' Kocher said. 'Wayne's got them. But if you tell me, you can have them when he gets back.'
'I'll wait,' I told him.
'Don't wait too long. You'll be a dead man.'
Blackie whined again, moved to the door.
'What is it, boy? Who is it?' Kocher asked.
Wyett came back.
'Nothing,' he said. 'Nothing. Blacker'n a nigger's cunt out there.'
It was then that the rock came through the window. I heard the shatter and the thump as something hit the floor. Jagged bits of glass went all over me.
Blackie was on his feet, barking.
'What the fuck is this?' Kocher yelled.
'Yee-ha!' From Wyett.
'Ya-hoo!' It was like somebody answering from outside — the last voice in the world I wanted to hear right then.
'Whoo-hoo!' Wyett said. 'It's that little cunt. I want it! I'm going to go get it!'
'Wait!' Kocher said.
A weird kind of silence. Damp air was drifting through the broken window. Then something else came through. Something bigger. It clumped to the floor and rolled over. I could vaguely make it out. The colour. Navy blue. Oh shit, I thought. There goes my bargaining chip.
'What's that?' Kocher said.
Wyett made a move.
'Don't touch it!' Kocher shouted.
'It's not a bomb,' I said.
'What is it, then?'
'Give me my glasses and I'll tell you.'
'Like fuck!'
One of them, Wyett I think, was bending over the dufflebag, opening it up. The brown of the package in the blur of his hands.
'Oh, man! It's a fucking miracle!'
'What?' Kocher was standing next to him. I could see the dark angle of the shotgun. 'Is that it?'
'Look,' Wyett said. 'Look here! Special K.'
'Call our friend,' Kocher told him.
More blurred shifting.
Then Wyett's voice. 'Rick? Hey, man! Guess what, my man! You believe in miracles?'
'Give it here,' Kocher told him. Vague arm reaching out. 'Yeah, man. We got the missing goods . . . What — now? . . . Right . . . Uh-huh . . . Okay, can do.' The arm went down. The call was over.
'Okay,' Kocher said to Wyett, 'here's the deal. Number one priority: we get the stuff out of here to somewhere safe. Number two: we find out what this prick knows. How he got on to us. But not here, right? Not round here.'
'Where we going? The old house? Like with Billy boy?'
'Yeah.'
'You got it! On your feet, Fat Man!' Wyett poked at me with the barrel of the rifle.
I tried to get up but there was a jab of pain in my side and I slipped down again.
'Give me my glasses,' I said. 'I can't see. I'll be a lot quicker if you give me my glasses.'
'Fuck! Okay,' Kocher said, and then to Wyett. 'Give him his bloody glasses.'
'No, man. No way.'
'Give him his fucking glasses!'
Wyett moved. I could see his hand reach up to the top pocket of his shirt and then come towards me. I grabbed the glasses and slipped them on. Seeing clear was a big relief.
'On your feet,' Kocher told me.
I stood up, pulled up my jeans. My left hand was cut and there was blood on my right hand too, from my shoulder. Kocher was standing by the door with the gun trained on me. His bug-eyes seemed bigger than ever.
'Move,' he said.
I walked ahead of him out into the hall and through the front door. Kocher sent Blackie back inside the house and locked him in. I climbed into the van. Kocher followed me and we sat the same as before. Wyett climbed into the driver's seat and reversed down the driveway, swinging the vehicle back round into the road.
Then the left rear wheel fell off.
I knew what she'd done soon as I felt the crunch. She could have taken something from the motor instead, the distributor arm maybe, but it wasn't easy to get into the engine compartment on a van like this. Just as good to take the wheel nuts.
The van had stalled. It was half out in the road, blocking the driveway.
'What the fuck?' Wyett climbed out, went round to the rear of the vehicle. 'Oh Jesus!' His voice was muffled but the thump of his fist came through loud and clear. He came back, opened the side door.
'We lost a wheel,' he said.
'What?'
'We lost a fuckin' wheel, man!'
Then, from somewhere beyond the house, 'Yoo-hoo!'
'I'll get you!' Wyett screamed and he ran, out into the dark.
'Hey!' Kocher piled out after him. 'Come back, you stupid prick!'
I got out real slow. Kocher had his back to me. He was standing by the front of the van staring down the road at whatever the headlights were shining on. I figured the light would blind him for a second if he turned round, and that outside he would be even less likely to use the gun. I
eased my way towards the back of the vehicle. The wooden fence down the side of the section was a little less than shoulder height. I ducked round it, crouching down, moving as fast as I could. Long wet grass grabbed at my feet. On my right was a fourstrand wire fence. I climbed over, fell and rolled into the dark and dew of the paddock. A shout behind me.
'Fuck!' Kocher said.
I lifted my head and looked around. About twenty metres behind me the lights from the van made a glow above the fence. I could see the shape of Kocher's head and shoulders as he stood looking out into the paddock. I waited. I had to find Gith but I had no idea where she was. She could be close to me here in the paddock, or away on the other side of the house on the slopes of Bobrown Hill. Wyett was out there searching for her. If I shouted I'd give myself away to Kocher, and run the risk of her calling back or making a move that would lead Wyett to her. I looked back towards Kocher. He'd gone. Where? If he went to fetch Blackie I was in trouble. Yes, I figured, that was maybe the biggest danger of all right now.
Way ahead of me, up a rise about three hundred metres away, was a light. Monty's place. I got to my feet and started to run towards it. Silence and darkness all around me. I looked back towards Kocher's house. Nothing to see there. The lights of the van had been turned off. What was he doing? His number one priority was to get the package away somewhere safe. I figured Gith would have fixed the Starlet too, so I doubted he had a vehicle. Maybe he was walking. He had my keys though. He could go back to our place and take the Surf. I hoped to hell that Gith wasn't there. I figured she would have more sense. If she was going to hide, it would be at Len and Kath's place. Kocher and Wyett didn't know the owners were away. They wouldn't think to look for her there.
I came to another fence. On the other side was Monty's drive. The scrape of my shoes on the surface seemed just too loud so I stuck to the grass at the edge. A steeper hill now. Monty's house was closer. There was a light on in the living room. Monty was still awake then? What time was it? I couldn't tell. My watch showed nothing in the dark.
Sam didn't hear me. Or if he did, he knew who I was. I reached Monty's front steps and started to climb them. There was a bark, but not much of one. I reached the door, knocked. It was ten seconds or so before a shadow crossed into the glass of the window.