ThornyDevils (40 page)

‘And you used Poppy to lure me here?’

‘Poppy was very helpful babysitter for you. It was her suggestion to bring you here. She is very clever girl,’ Babikov replied turning to Poppy.

Peter glared at her. ‘Fraternising with your clients—that’s not the Poppy I knew.’

‘You never knew me,’ she replied impassively, avoiding eye contact. ‘Nor were you meant to. I was just doing business. And in business you have to destroy the opposition.’

‘You cold, psycho bitch!’ he cried. ‘I had feelings for you. I even let you tie me up. You mad bitch. Wasn’t I fucking crazy?’ He ran at the rails thrusting his hands through in an attempt to grab one of them. Donarto and McCracken stood back and started to laugh. Poppy looked away.

‘You’re not a big man now, Clancy,’ McCracken sneered.

‘I’m going inside. I’m getting cold,’ Poppy stated abruptly.

‘We’re staying,’ said McCracken. ‘Watching Clancy die will be the highlight of this whole bloody saga.’

Poppy looked bored. ‘And one final thing, Peter. You asked me once which was my favourite Frederick Forsyth book.’ She turned away and began walking back to the shed. ‘It’s
The Odessa File
.’

Fucking bitch
, Peter thought.

‘He is getting agitated,’ Babikov pointed to Zlobin. ‘And he is boring me. Do it now.’

Zlobin nodded slowly in agreement and lumbered towards the gate, brandishing his cleaver. Peter threw himself against the gate at the opposite end of the cattle yard, as Zlobin advanced. Peter detected that the cattle were getting uneasy.

‘Why don’t you just fucking shoot me, you big bastard?’

‘Too quick,’ Babikov sneered. ‘Killing can be pleasurable. Like hunting. It can give you joy.’

Zlobin raised the cleaver as he approached Peter. Peter kept pressing hard against the gate. The cattle started to call out in panic and push up against each other.

‘Stay still,’ Babikov advised, ‘and it won’t hurt as much.’

‘Fuck you, commo,’ Peter yelled as he attempted to kick Zlobin in the groin. Like kicking a cement post. Then snap, a cracking sound, as the wood fractured. Peter felt himself falling backwards as the gate broke away. The cattle were bunched together but instead of trampling him, they jumped over, rushing towards Zlobin, who was attempting to push them away from him. One large steer slammed its head into Zlobin’s abdomen and he dropped the cleaver. He was toppled to the ground by the impact still holding his abdomen, as the cattle trampled him. Babikov rushed to the gate and opened it to let out the cattle.
He jumped back as they charged towards freedom. McCracken and Donarto careered through the yard, dodging and weaving.

Peter rolled away. He remembered how, when he was a child, he had once drifted into a cattle yard and instead of being stomped to death, the cattle had parted as he wandered through the yard and hopped out the other side. Now he stood up and started to run with the cattle, towards the darkness.
Give me the night, give me the bush,
he thought. He could make out thick scrub a hundred metres away.
Safety
. He could hear Babikov, Donarto and McCracken stomping towards him. Peter dropped and hugged the ground as a torch shone in his direction. When it had passed over him he got up and kept running into the night, into the dense undergrowth. He fell against a tree, panting. Then he suddenly heard gunfire. Bullets were coming in his direction. One bullet struck the tree he was leaning against.
Keep going. Keep going
. He kept running, charging headfirst into low hanging limbs, sensing the stony ground under his feet, feeling the pain as his feet were ripped by sharp stones and twigs.
But run where? Can’t see. Need help! Need help!
The bullets were still coming.

***

‘I think we’re lost,’ Detective Jenner sighed as she backed up the police car back along the narrow dirt road. ‘It looks different at night. Bugger!’

‘Do you know where this farm is?’ Dave asked.

‘I know it’s somewhere along here. I’ve just gone down the wrong track.’ Jenner reversed back to the bitumen road and continued to slowly drive.

‘Peter’s in trouble,’ Sam said anxiously. ‘I know someone’s trying to kill him. I can sense it.’

‘How do you know that?’ Jenner asked.

‘Don’t ask,’ Dave interrupted. ‘He has a sixth sense.’

‘Can you sense where the farm is then?’ Jenner asked.

‘Can’t help you on that one,’ Sam said.

Just then, Jenner screeched the car to a halt and wound down her window. ‘What the?’

Sam and Dave followed suit. ‘That’s gunfire,’ said Dave.

‘And not far away,’ Sam added.

‘I think we need back up,’ Jenner said nervously. She lifted the handset of the radio transmitter from its holder and was about to speak into it.

‘What’s that?’ Dave yelled.

A few metres ahead of them, a white silhouette flashed alongside the road, caught for a moment in the headlights. It was moving towards them.

‘Bloody hell! I think it’s Peter!’ Sam added.

Jenner lifted up her head, dropping the handset as she caught sight of a naked, torn and bloodied Peter falling across the bonnet of the car.

Tullamarine International Airport. Two weeks later

‘Are you sure you want to go to London?’ Sam asked as he sat with Peter in the waiting lounge. ‘Not running away again, are you?’

‘Why do you want to go so far away? You could pick any job you want now. You cracked open a huge overseas drug ring. Because of you, McCracken, Donarto and Poppy, along with those Russians are going to jail for a long time. They reckon there’s going to be a Royal Commission into police corruption. All of it is due to you,’ Dave said. ‘You were a big part of it. You know that.’

‘Sorry, I just want to get away,’ Peter explained. ‘I’ve got some bad memories.’

‘It’s not about that bloody Poppy, is it?’ Sam asked.

‘I don’t know. I’m not a good judge of women, I guess.’

‘Don’t run away, Peter,’ he responded, ‘just go for a holiday. Have a rest.’

‘No. No,’ Peter insisted. ‘I’ve always had this ambition of working in London with the big boys. You’ll take care of the Stag for me, Sam, won’t you? While I’m away?’

‘I said I would, didn’t I? Got the keys right here, young fella.’ He patted his trouser pocket.

‘You know you’ve nothing to prove now,’ Dave remarked.

‘It’s not that. I just don’t want to get to forty and realise my life’s slipped away. I’ve got to give it a go. What about yourselves? What are you going to do?’

‘Melbourne’s interesting all right, but it’s not home. We’re thinking of heading back to Queensland sooner or later,’ Sam answered. ‘Apparently Shazza might come with us.’

‘Looking serious, Dave,’ Peter smiled.

‘Looks that way. Who knows, we may even get engaged,’ Dave blushed.

‘Congratulations,’ Peter shook Dave’s hand. ‘You’re not worried about seeing Max again?’

‘Queensland’s big enough for us to stay out of each other’s way.’

Their laughter was interrupted by an announcement over the public address system.

Qantas Flight QF1 to London via Singapore is now ready for boarding through gate lounge thirty-seven.

‘Young fella,’ Sam said as he cleared his throat, ‘there’s something I want to tell you before you go.’

‘Yeah,’ Peter said impatiently as grabbed his carry-on bag, ‘but you better make it quick.’

‘You know how I said my real name is Samson Clancy?’

Peter was distracted by the farewells of others around them. ‘Sorry, Sam, but can’t it wait? Only my plane’s boarding.’ He leapt to his feet.

‘No worries. Can’t miss your plane. We’ll catch up soon,’ he grinned.

‘In London? Melbourne’s a country town compared to London.’

‘The Queen lives there,’ Sam joked. ‘She’ll look after me.’

‘I’ll be in touch,’ Peter said as he shook Dave’s and then Sam’s hand.

‘I just know it, young fella. Wherever you go,’ Sam laughed, ‘there’s going to be bloody trouble. And I’m going to be the one who will have to get you out of it. I just know it.’

He was almost through the doors leading to customs before Dave noticed that Peter had left a book behind. Twenty-two hours and nothing to read seemed an awful prospect. He picked up the book and ran after him.

‘Here, you almost forgot this,’ he said, handing it to Peter. ‘Good book?’

‘Thanks, mate, it’s an old favourite of mine.
The Odessa File
. You should read it someday.’

‘Not a big reader, I’m afraid,’ said Dave.

‘Well then,’ Peter declared with a grin, ‘just in case you never get around to it, I’ll tell you how it ends. The journalist wins. Remember that.’

Dave looked at him blankly. ‘Have a great trip, mate.’

Peter tucked the book under his arm, and chuckled to himself. With a final wave goodbye to Sam, he farewelled marvellous, murderous Melbourne and disappeared through the automatic sliding doors.

THE END