A Murder Is Denounced

by Cenarth Fox

  To his credit, Wes kept his cursing to a small tsunami size volume. He headed back to the ticket box. He reached the concourse to be confronted by the grinning Rabies.

  ‘Now, now,’ said Rabies, ‘who’s been a naughty boy?’ Wes scowled. ‘Your boss in Florida is not a happy bunny.’ That stopped Wes. ‘You’re stuck with me, Sunshine.’

  ‘Take me to the airport. I gotta get to Melbourne.’

  ‘Airport? You said you were goin’ by train.’

  ‘He’s on that train. We can meet it in Melbourne. C’mon.’ He set off but stopped when Rabies called. People looked at the two crims.

  ‘Oi!’ Wes glared at Rabies who moved to the American and spoke softly. ‘Can you carry guns on domestic flights in America?’

  Wes felt doubly bad having made a dumb mistake, and then being mocked by an idiot. He and Rabies headed back to the ticket window.

  ‘Back luck, sir,’ said the ticket-seller.

  ‘When’s the next train to Melbourne?’

  ‘First thing tomorrow morning, sir.’

  Wes removed his wallet. ‘One ticket.’

  ‘Two tickets,’ said Rabies.

  Wes wanted to explode. ‘Two tickets.’ Having to travel with this moron made Wes contemplate a double murder.

  Rabies grinned. ‘You can spend the night at my joint—on the floor.’

  Wes walked away. Staying a moment longer would see blood spilt. Rabies knew he’d lost control so yelled. ‘Don’t forget my ticket.’

  On the train, Vlad couldn’t sleep. Sleeping rough the night before should’ve made him tired. But worry kept him awake; that and hating himself for making the most stupid of mistakes. Crooks bribe cops and no-one is safe from the long arm of the Mob. Don’t leave a trail. Lie low. To stay alive, just follow the damn rules, man.

  There was no scenery at night. The clickety-clack of the wheels and the clang of crossing bells kept him company. Other passengers slept.

  He planned his immediate future. He would need accommodation and work. Having access to his healthy funds meant work was not necessary but he needed to do something. Work would keep him sane. But working for a company was the best way for any killer to find him. Giving his name and Medicare details to an employer were beacons or flares for any investigator. He would have to work for himself.

  Self-employed? Yes. He liked the idea; be his own boss. But doing what? Something with travel. Having a base would help any killer on his trail. He would go to the customers. But who are they and what am I doing for them?

  Dawn broke and Vlad got his first look at the Victorian countryside. He snatched a couple of hours of interrupted sleep, and was prepared to pay a king’s ransom for a hot bath. He arrived in Melbourne and found what he called a bathroom. Down Under it was a dunny, loo or the Gents. Washing felt good although his prickly unshaved face itched. He shaved then walked out of Southern Cross station as Vlad or James or … (Insert latest name here) to start another new life.

  At the same time, Wes and Rabies set off from Sydney. Neither man wanted to sit next to the other and for the next 11 hours did just about everything to avoid just that.

  Vlad chose an inner-city, low-budget hotel popular with backpackers, and tourists with little money. He booked in, went exploring and bought a new phone. He needed accommodation and work.

  He settled in a small café and drank coffee. On his phone he found countless websites offering accommodation and employment. His mind buzzed. Where to start? He was about to explore the city when he saw a community noticeboard. The main clientele in this café were students hence the noticeboard. Housemate Wanted. The sign revealed the need for a non-smoker, quiet, and a “tidy person who doesn’t nick stuff from the fridge”.

  Vlad thought about it. Nothing to lose. He rang and a female answered. They arranged a time to visit the nearby Kensington property at 6 pm. With hours to kill and movies verboten, Vlad hopped on a free tourist tram for a grand tour of Melbourne—twice.

  After lunch he showered and put his head down. With his worldly possessions in his rucksack, he caught the train to Kensington and, using Google maps, found the house with room for a housemate.

  It was love at first sight. The residents were female and attractive with one from Ireland and the other from California. The women were on a working holiday Down Under. Vlad called himself Mike Grosvenor from Canada. They liked him and the feeling was mutual.

  He suggested they go out for a meal to celebrate. ‘My treat,’ he said. Good looking and generous, thought the housemates. Mike was a hit.

  As Mike and his new housemates dined out, Wes and Rabies arrived in Melbourne. They transported their weapons across the Murray River and into the sporting capital of the world.

  ‘Where are we staying?’ asked Rabies.

  ‘We’re not if we do the job tonight.’

  Rabies was impressed. ‘Tonight?’

  Wes set off for the nearest hire car place. ‘It’ll be in your name, and we’re heading to Flemington. Google says it’s 12 minutes away.’

  ‘In good traffic. I’ve heard Melbourne’s worse than Sydney.’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Wes and gave Rabies another reason to go berserk.

  The Aussie did the car-hire paperwork and as they drove, Wes switched on Google maps and a woman with a pleasant voice gave directions.

  ‘What do you do, Mike?’ asked the Colleen whose name was Colleen.

  ‘Good question. Back home I worked in the lumber industry but I can turn my hand to pretty much anything.’

  ‘I’ve got a stuck window in my room,’ said Pam from Fresno.

  ‘No problems,’ grinned Mike.

  ‘And the back gate can’t be locked,’ added Colleen.

  ‘I think I’m gunna need a rent reduction,’ he said and they all laughed. But their jokes inspired Vlad. What about a handyman to females in distress? He asked his housemates.

  ‘Home Handyman for jobs big and small,’ said Pam.

  ‘Sounds grand,’ said Colleen. ‘I’ll make you a flyer.’

  ‘We’ll help you in return for fixing our place,’ added Pam.

  This was going well. Two days ago, Vlad was distraught. He panicked but survived. Now he seemed safe and in a good place. He wondered if the women fancied him. He fancied them.

  He found accommodation and possibly perfect employment in a big city. The Mob might struggle to find him now. He removed his wallet to pay, and took out the address of Sasha’s sister, Zoe.

  ‘Are we anywhere near this address?’

  ‘Flemington,’ said Pam. ‘You could walk there in ten minutes.’

  ‘Great. I promised a lady I’d deliver a special package. Can I drop in for coffee on my way back to the hotel?’

  The females both uttered an enthusiastic yes. Vlad paid and the women kissed his cheek, thanked him for the meal and walked home.

  Using his phone, Vlad headed to Sasha’s sister place, the same address to which two armed criminals were currently heading.

  Vlad didn’t have much of a conscience—he was a drug runner—but knew Zoe desperately wanted her favourite earrings and eternity ring having left them by mistake at Sasha’s. The jewellery was bequeathed by the sisters’ grandmother and would never be trusted to the post.

  He crossed Flemington Road, found Zoe’s apartment and knocked on her door.

  Chapter 17

  ZOE WAS NOTHING LIKE HER SISTER SASHA. Zoe checked her peep-hole and smiled. She opened the door and opened her arms.

  ‘James, it’s great to see you.’ They embraced.

  ‘Am I interrupting anything?’

  ‘Of course not; come in, come in. What are doing in Melbourne?’

  He gave some baloney about work. Zoe provided wine and nibbles and couldn’t stop talking. She did, momentarily, when Vlad handed her the jewellery box. Zoe came alive and gave Vlad an almighty kiss.

  He wondered whether he’d shacked up with the wrong sister. Then it was time to talk.

  ‘Zoe, I need you to listen.�
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  She could see he was serious. ‘I hope this isn’t bad news.’

  Vlad gave her a story about disputed debts in Canada and bad guys chasing him. ‘I told them to sue me but they won’t because they know I’ll win. For them, it’s either make me pay or make me suffer.’

  Zoe cringed. ‘James, you must call the police.’

  ‘And tell them what? It’s a civil matter and I’ve got no evidence they’ve threatened to hurt me.’

  ‘So what will you do?’

  Vlad shrugged. ‘Get away. I’ve heard Perth is a nice city so I plan to,’ raising his voice and hand he cried, ‘go west, young man!’

  His levity flopped. Zoe despaired. ‘What does Sasha say?’

  ‘Oh no, I’ve kept her right out of it. I don’t want those debt collectors anywhere near her—or you.’ He stood. ‘So I’m afraid this is goodbye, Zoe.’ He picked up his rucksack and walked to the door. She followed. He took out his phone and put in an Uber request.

  ‘You’re welcome to stay here,’ she said looking at him with feeling. He cursed his luck, bent and kissed her sweetly. She threw her arms around him. He waited till her hug ran out of steam, kissed her quickly, opened the door and left. At the end of the short path, he turned and waved. She blew him a kiss.

  Outside he looked for his Uber driver who came from the southern end of the street. Vlad climbed in and bobbed down to straighten the rucksack between his feet. It was a lucky move because headlights from an oncoming car shone brightly as Rabies and Wes drove in from the northern end. Vlad sat up as the vehicles passed each other.

  ‘Stay here,’ snapped Wes hopping out of the hire car. Being a pro, Wes would never kill unless he could be sure of success and his escape. But he would always be ready if the opportunity arose.

  He crept quietly, looking and listening. Zoe saw a shadow pass her bedroom window. She was sure it was James coming back for one last kiss or maybe to stay the night or, fingers crossed, forever. She bounded to the door and flung it open.

  She and Wes both got a fright. Her smile vanished. He never smiled. ‘Oh, sorry,’ she said, ‘I thought you were someone else.’

  ‘James?’ asked Wes as he put his foot in the doorway.

  Zoe pushed harder. ‘He’s gone. He just left. He got an Uber.’

  Wes decided to believe the woman. If true, his quarry was close. Wes fled and trembling, Zoe closed and double locked her door.

  Rabies saw Wes exit the apartment block at a hundred miles an hour. The hire car was started and rolling as Wes yanked open his door and dived inside.

  ‘Go, go, go,’ he snapped. ‘That was him.’

  Rabies was good with a motor. His three point turn and departure would’ve won applause from petrol heads. ‘The white VW Golf,’ spat Rabies loving the chase. They reached a T intersection. ‘Which way?’

  ‘Where’s downtown?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The city,’ screamed Wes.

  Rabies turned left and floored it. It certainly was brilliant driving but with both occupants of the vehicle carrying an unlicensed firearm, such an exhibition could well attract a mobile gendarme. A vehicle search by the cops would be a disaster.

  ‘Easy,’ said Wes while still wanting speed.

  ‘There,’ cried Rabies spotting the white VW Golf heading in the opposite direction. The lights turned red against the killers. Rabies didn’t hesitate. He drove up and over the concrete dividing hump. Scrape. Who’s paying for the hire car damage? Car horns blared as Rabies cut off vehicles and chased the target. Wes gave instructions.

  ‘Slow down, keep back. We follow.’

  They did and the Uber found its way to Vlad’s new home. He went inside. Down the street, with lights out, Wes and Rabies watched.

  ‘Is that his joint?’ asked Rabies.

  ‘Wait here,’ said Wes and got out.

  ‘Hey,’ called Rabies who went quiet when Wes stared at him. ‘Prick,’ said Rabies under his breath.

  Wes walked along the footpath attaching a silencer to his gun. He reached Vlad’s house, and looked up and down the street. Nothing, no-one. He was about to enter the property when a car turned the corner, headlights blazing. The gun disappeared and Wes turned his back and walked. Car gone, he headed back to Vlad’s place.

  At the house, he crept along the drive. Lights shone in a front room. He stood in the shadows and listened. He caught snippets of conversation about Mike’s gear and his moving in tomorrow.

  So it’s Mike now.

  A female voice got louder and the front door opened. Wes pushed back into the garden and felt a sharp pain in his left calf.

  ‘Ronnie,’ cried the woman, and a cat brushed past and scampered inside. The door closed and Wes left. Removing the silencer, he returned to the car. There would be no assassination tonight.

  ‘Are we good?’ asked Rabies. ‘Is he dead?’

  ‘Listen, Dickhead, I’m a pro. When I do a job, there ain’t no come back, no mess, no cops, nothin’. I have standards. I get work because I’m good. So you stick to driving and keeping outa the way. Capiche?’

  Rabies was ready to shoot the smarmy bastard there and then.

  ‘I know where he is. I come back, and I do the business.’

  They drove to a motel in Sydney Road and took two rooms. Sharing would mean swearing, glaring and daring. Wes rang Larry back in Florida while Rabies rang his boss up in Sydney. The news was good to excellent with the perfect result expected in the next day or two.

  Vlad enjoyed coffee with Colleen and Pam, and fixed the stuck window before he headed back to his hotel. He was looking forward to tomorrow even if it was to be his last on planet Earth.

  Chapter 18

  AFTER THE FUNERAL, Michael dropped Jo home. ‘Do you want to have dinner tonight?’ he asked not expecting her to accept. She didn’t.

  ‘Thanks Michael, again. I don’t even want my own company tonight. Going back to work tomorrow should appeal but now I’ve got to work with a man who’s got my heart in a mess.’

  ‘You need a cup of tea, a Bex, and a good lie down.’

  ‘A Bex?’

  ‘An aspirin.’

  ‘You might be right, again.’

  She kissed his cheek. At her front door, she paused, gave him a smile and a wave and went inside. Driving home, he spoke aloud.

  ‘You ain’t the only one with their heart in a mess, Detective.’

  Jo checked her phone. There were texts and emails from many people congratulating her on her eulogy, wishing her well and offering their sympathy on her loss. She remembered reading a biography of a famous person where the star was in love but the object of his desire didn’t reciprocate. It was the waiting for the phone to ring that hurt the most. The star couldn’t bear the waiting. Life oozed misery. Jo knew that feeling although it wasn’t only romance putting her in a funk.

  The one text which grabbed her attention was written by a child.

  Dear Detective Jo. I hope you are good and I am good. Can you take Rags for a walk please? I will be waiting. Harry Carr

  Now there was a boyfriend she could love and trust.

  But what about his old man giving that blonde a smooch?

  She smiled and wished for a boring life. Not really. Let’s face it; girlie, even if your life is tough, there is always someone worse off than you. What to do, Joanna? You could sit here and feel sorry for yourself, text or phone family or friends, try and solve the latest homicide, or go running. Good idea. She ran.

  Usually she kept to the quiet streets with visits to the Darling and Edinburgh Gardens but this time she went over the top throwing routine to the wind. Out of Clifton Hill she ran, into Collingwood, across the Yarra, beside Studley Park and beyond. Run, Jo, run.

  Her thoughts of grief, love, career and life in general grew dim as she ran for her mental, emotional and physical wellbeing. Her fitness became her medicine, her release from stress, and it worked.

  Back home, sweaty and pumped, she hydrated and then some. A ba
th would take too long. She stood under a shower for five (or was it ten?) minutes.

  She whacked a so-called healthy meal in the microwave and turned on the telly. Oh no. It was a soppy rom-com where unresolved sexual tension lingered until a nanosecond before the end, when true love triumphed. Jo knew the film and now was not the time for a repeat.

  She killed the TV and her phone rang. She looked at the number and felt worse. About to send it to voicemail, she changed her mind.

  ‘Good evening, Pierre.’

  ‘Bonsoir ma chérie and ‘ow are you after your day of sadness?’

  ‘Recovering and thank you again, Pierre, for coming to the funeral.’

  ‘It was the least I could do. Now, Mademoiselle, I know you must be drained and tired from such a day, but I would be ‘appy to take you to a quiet place for dinner or supper, whatever your ‘eart desires.’

  ‘Thanks, Pierre, but no thanks. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically.’

  ‘But not emotionally?’

  Jo hesitated. At least now he was addressing their relationship and perhaps his failure to tell her he was married.

  ‘That too, Pierre, definitely that too.’

  He paused wanting to get his thoughts and words correct. ‘I know I ‘ave ‘urt you, Joanna, but please believe me, it was not deliberate. I would never deceive you, ma chérie but I was uncertain.’ He paused. ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Oui.’

  ‘I knew my feelings for you but did not wish to assume you felt the same way towards me.’

  ‘You thought my kisses were insincere?’ That was harsh and Jo regretted her words.

  ‘Ah, again I ‘ave offended you and again I must apologise.’

  ‘No, Pierre, I think … Look, with your mother’s passing and your arrest in Paris, the death of my grandmother, the pressure of working together, and your marriage situation, it might be better if we remain friends but cool our romantic relationship.’