Blood Sport (21 page)

Her tummy was well-rounded now and she stared at me with her customary look of contempt as she leaned on the counter.

“How’s the pregnancy going, Dorrie?” I asked politely, not that I cared in the slightest. It was just one more Bycraft brat being born to make my life miserable.

“I feel like a real woman when I’m pregnant,” she replied, tossing her long dyed black hair behind her shoulders, her heavy black eyeliner making her small brown eyes appear harder and meaner. “Not that you’ll ever know because who’d ever want to get a freak like you pregnant? How old are you now anyway? Forty-five?”

“I’m the same age as you, as you well know,” I said patiently, not rising to the bait. We’d been in the same class at school. “Twenty-seven.”

“I feel sorry for you. I’m on my fourth kid and you haven’t even had one yet.”

I snorted with laughter. That attitude you find in some women, as if there was some special skill in getting knocked up other than opening your legs to the nearest willing man, always cracked me up.

“That’s because I have a job, Dorrie. Ever heard of that word? J-O-B. Look it up in the dictionary next time you’re near one.” Then I deliberately chuckled loudly at the very thought of Dorrie Lebutt anywhere near a book, let alone a dictionary.

She stared at me sullenly, but didn’t insult me like she normally would have. And that was because I recorded her behaviour in the station’s ancient attendance book each week. I dragged it out from under the counter, noted the date, the time, wrote a general comment on both Rick and Dorrie’s behaviour during the week, signed it and turned it around for them to sign as well.

Rick was quiet, but clearly angry. Red’s recapture and my rampage at Lola’s house was going to cause me a lot of grief with the family for some time to come. Strangely though, no matter what happened in the future, I didn’t regret what I’d done, still remembering the revengeful satisfaction I’d felt as I’d smashed those windows. When I looked at Rick’s furious features, I thought about Miss Chooky’s limp body and the mud falling on her as I’d buried her in the pouring rain, and my heart hardened to stone again.

“Thanks for coming, guys. It’s been a pleasure as usual. See you next week,” I called out cheerfully as they left. I lived to give good customer service.

Dorrie turned and I could tell by the way her fingers twitched that she really wanted to flip me off. She restrained herself though, slamming the door behind her instead and I smiled to myself. Young Kenny and I exchanged a glance and he graced me with a faint smirk. He knew exactly what a sarcastic bitch I really was – he’d been watching me closely in action for well over two years now, after all.

The Sarge was on the phone when I re-entered the back room, impatiently explaining to the caller that it was the Mount Big Town police station, not the Saucy Sirens Gentlemen’s Club. We had the same phone number as an illegal brothel in Big Town, except for two transposed numbers. We were forever getting phone calls from eager men looking for saucy sirens. I was forever being mistaken for one.

The Sarge slammed the handset back onto the phone. “Who the bloody hell goes looking for a sex worker on a rainy Monday morning?”

“Someone who works shifts?” I suggested, sitting down at my desk.

“Who was at the counter?” he asked, tapping on his computer keyboard.

“George Harrison from the nudist community is complaining about a horrible smell coming from the bikies’ secret retreat. An unpleasant chemical smell.”

“Oh God,” he groaned. “Not a meth lab?”

“I hope not, but that’s what sprang into my mind straight away too.”

He sighed heavily. “We better check it out.”

“We have to finish our chat first. You were telling me that you were really pissed off about something yesterday . . .”

“Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Sarge!”

“Let’s go to the secret bikie retreat,” he insisted, making it clear that he had absolutely no intention of continuing that interesting conversation.

“I need to eat first.”

“You
always
need to eat first,” he complained.

“I always keep missing meals. I haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday morning. Your disgusting pancakes.”

He stared at me, for once not biting at my teasing jibe. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. I just couldn’t cook in my kitchen. Not after . . . everything. And I was so tired yesterday after cleaning up that I couldn’t be bothered eating.”

“Tessie,” he reproached, his dark blue eyes clouded with guilt. “I knew I should have woken you up last night for dinner.” He stood up. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

“Thanks Sarge. I’d feel guilty just eating Tim Tams.” I threw him a half-smile. “You must be rubbing off on me.”

“And with that tantalising image in my mind, I make my departure,” he tossed over his shoulder, heading out. I stood puzzling over what he meant by that, watching him drive out the gates. The rain continued relentlessly, thundering with a deafening roar on the thin tin roof of the station.

I went back to work on my report, only stopping long enough to phone the Super. Surprisingly, she was free and answered the phone herself.

“Midden. Speak,” she barked into the receiver.

I thanked her for her support and help the previous day, apologising again for all the trouble I’d caused.

She exhaled heavily, obviously sneaking an illicit ciggie in her office, breaking at least one law as she did. “You’re worth it, Tessie, unlike most of the other useless fuckers who cause me trouble around this place. I really want you to –” A pause while she rustled some papers, then screamed out away from the mouthpiece. “What the
fuck
? Bum, get in here! What the fuck do you call this report? My cat can write better English than this and she’s half-blind and senile. This report has to go to that royal arsehat, the Police Commissioner himself, and you’ve spelt my fucking name wrong. It’s got
two
fucking ‘ds’ in it, you dipshit! I swear to God that I’m going to replace you with a lump of coal. Not only will it be brighter than you, it’ll have more fucking personality as well!”

She hung up on me. I wondered if I’d ever get to know what she wanted me to do. I wondered if I even wanted to know.

The Sarge returned and I braced myself for a tuna salad sandwich again, but he’d brought back a lovely hot pastie and a coffee for each of us from the bakery, as well as a cup of Frannie’s yummy homemade vegetable soup for me. Just perfect for a rainy Monday morning. I tucked into my food greedily, the flaky pastry of the pastie leaving a huge mess all over my desk, my cargo pants and the surrounding floor.

He gave me that amused tolerant glance that he seemed to reserve especially for me, having managed to eat his without making any mess at all.

“You look like you’re enjoying that,” he teased, smiling.

“I am,” I said, mouth full of food. “It’s delicious. Thank you so much, Sarge. You better add it to my tab. I’ll be paying you off for years for everything you buy me.”

He frowned and stood suddenly, pushing his chair back hard. He scrunched up his paper bag and coffee cup, pitching them perfectly into the bin. “You don’t owe me anything. I told you that before.”

“Yeah, but I better stop freeloading off you all the same. I keep remembering Nana Fuller’s warning not to ever be in anyone’s debt and I think I’m getting a little too used to you feeding me.”

He didn’t respond, instead pointedly turning his attention to his computer screen.

I finished my soup, cleaning up carefully afterwards, even dragging out the huge old broom that had probably been sweeping crumbs from the wide timber floorboards of the police station since it was built. I turned on my heel and strode off to the counter area to collect Young Kenny’s mug to make him his second tea for the day. To my utter surprise, he was munching on a pastie himself with great enjoyment, covered from head to toe with the flaky pastry. In the time I’d known him, he’d never accepted any food from me other than the three sugared biscuits. He looked up at me and grinned gummily.

“That’s a great pastie, isn’t it, Young Kenny?” I commented. He nodded enthusiastically, biting again into the pastry. I returned into the back room. “How the hell did you get Young Kenny to eat that?”

The Sarge winked. “I will never reveal my secrets.”

I snorted with disrespect, even though I was silently impressed yet again with his thoughtfulness. How many other people would have remembered a silent old homeless man in those circumstances? I sat at my desk and checked my mobile only to realise I’d a missed call. It was Jake and he’d left a terse message telling me that he was going to spend the afternoon properly securing my back door and trying to fix as many of his mother’s windows as possible. My shoulders slumped with guilt when I heard that message. My temper tantrum would cause him a whole world of grief, not to mention a lot of physical labour and expense. Knowing him, he would be paying to replace all those windows at his horrible mother’s place, because nobody else in his family had his carpentry skills or a steady income like he did. Poor Jakey didn’t deserve that – I really was a pain in the butt type of girlfriend.

I tried to ring him back, but was diverted to his voicemail. He was probably busy hammering away. I left a lovingly apologetic message, hoping that I’d see him sometime soon before he went back to work for his evening shift.

I made Young Kenny another mug of tea and took it out to him. He had brushed all of his flaky pastry onto the floor and I grimaced when I looked down. The Sarge had managed to find us a once-a-week cleaner who lived on one of the outlying properties with her farmer husband. But she was a fastidious woman who I always felt was judging me harshly, but silently, if the station wasn’t already tidy when she arrived. My housekeeping workload hadn’t reduced much.

I hauled out the old broom again and with one arm, roughly swept the front room to the delightful sound of Young Kenny slurping his tea. Too lazy to fetch the dustpan, I just kept sweeping the crumbs out the front door and off the side of the veranda.

The mail van drove into the carpark and Joanna, our mailwoman, dashed to the stairs, almost stumbling in her ridiculously high heels in the gravel. She and her lovely husband ran the newsagency/post office in town.

Joanna was a huge, bulky woman with a taste for ultra-feminine fashion. And sure, it did look incongruous to see such a hulking, muscular form in a dainty dress and full makeup, but she had a heart of gold. I had a real soft spot for her especially after she’d come to my rescue when I’d been viciously beaten up by some Bycrafts a few months ago. Red Bycraft had been appearing in court on that assault charge when he’d escaped from custody and became a fugitive.

“Hey, Joanna,” I called.

“Hi Tessie. How’s the arm?”

I shrugged. “It’s okay. No point complaining about it.”

“Guess not. What’s done is done and at least you’ve managed to bang up Red Bycraft again. Let’s hope they can keep him locked up this time.”

“Amen to that!”

“Sick of this rain yet?”

“I’m starting to quack,” I joked.

“Tell me about it! Our bedroom’s leaking. Nothing like waking up with cold water dripping on your face.”

“My kitchen’s almost flooded. Dad’s had to move out.”

“I heard about your chickens,” she said sympathetically. “I’m really sorry, Tess. That’s a bastard act if I ever heard of one.”

I nodded silently, acknowledging her kindness, sad again when she mentioned my girls. I turned away to take the broom inside and Joanna followed me in. She greeted Young Kenny and left our few pieces of mail on the counter, but didn’t stop to chat.

“Better be off. Seems to take me twice as long to do my rounds in the rain.”

“See you next time, Joanna. Give my regards to Mark.”

“Will do. And mine to Trev.”

I put the broom away and turned to the Sarge. “I’ve had enough of this housekeeping crap,” I said, hitching up my cargo pants. “Let’s go do some cop stuff.”

“Good idea. Time to visit the bikies.”

My phone rang. I hoped it was Jake ringing me back, but it was the Super.

“Ma’am? . . . Yes, ma’am . . .
Now?
. . . But we were just about to . . . Certainly, ma’am.” I glanced up at the Sarge.

“What now?” he asked.

“We have to go to Big Town straight away. Red Bycraft has a committal hearing this afternoon and she wants us in court.”

“We have to leave right now?”

“Immediately. Or knowing the Super, even sooner.”

He wasn’t impressed, but knew that we ultimately had no choice in the matter. We shooed out Young Kenny and locked up, running to the patrol car before heading off back to Big Town, yet again.

Chapter 13

Despite our rush, he stopped on the way to Big Town to assist a stranded motorist. The flashy little red sports car was pulled off to the side of the road, its hazard lights blinking. The Sarge pulled up behind it, rummaged for the umbrella and went out to investigate. I declined to join him out in the downpour, enjoying the warmth of the patrol car. Happily ensconced in that warm cocoon, I watched as he tapped on the window of the sports car to have a conversation with the driver.