Gith (23 page)

'Me.' She tapped her forehead five or six times. 'Head.
Thtuffed.' Then she made the yapping moves with her fingers
and tapped again. 'Talk. Thtuffed. Bobby okay. Nithe boy.'

'Yeah,' said Tackett. 'Thanks.'

She held out her hand. He shook it.

'I think she's saying we should let it go,' I said.

'Yeah,' he said. 'She's right.' He held out his hand and I
remembered the last time we had shaken. He wasn't grinning
now though. He seemed dead serious.

'Good,' I said.

'Whooo-hoo!' Wyett laughed. 'Ain't that cute. All loveydovey.'

Gith turned to him. 'You,' she said. 'Dickhead.'

'Hey, you little cunt . . .' He made a move to come at her
but she got in first. Both hands in a big push on his chest. He
went back with the force. One hand on a bar stool to stop
himself falling.

'Aaargh!' she screamed at him.

He was struggling upright, trying to get at her. Tackett
grabbed him.

'Leave it!' he yelled.

'Little bitch . . .'

Wyett was still struggling but Tackett was a lot stronger
than he was.

'Shut the fuck up,' Tackett told him. 'She's right. You're a
dickhead.' He turned to Gith. 'Sorry,' he said. He sounded
like he meant it.

Now Simon Ingrest was there. And a few punters moving
in to support him.

'It's okay,' Tackett told him. 'Everything's cool.'

'We're going,' I said.

Simon nodded. 'I think that's a good idea.'

We headed for the door.

'Watch yourself, Fat Boy!' Wyett shouted after me.

Outside, Gith bounced down the steps and did a twirl in
the car park. She was laughing.

'Wait for me,' I called to her.

'Pth!' She spread both arms wide and started to run. I let
her go.

She was way ahead of me when something moved to my
right among the parked cars.

'Mr McUrran, sir.'

Oh shit. I stopped. 'What do you want?'

Billy shuffled up to me, wriggled his shoulders. 'Something
to report, sir. That other man. He has a dog. A black and white
dog. And a white van. Toyota Hiace. Number . . .'

'I know all that.'

'Sorry, sir. Only trying to help.'

'Look,' I said, 'just bugger off. Leave me alone. Please.'

'Please? Nobody has ever said please to me in years and
years. And nobody's ever said thank you neither. So thank
you, Mr McUrran. Sir.' Billy's eyes moved away somewhere
to my right. Suddenly he was tense. He turned and shuffled
off. Fast.

Rick Parline was walking towards me across the car park.

'What the fuck are you talking to him for?' he said, stopping
in front of me.

'I wasn't. I . . .'

'Someone told me you were mates with him. I thought that
was bullshit.'

'No mate of mine,' I said, 'but I hear he works for Ray
Tackett.' I stepped past him, walked away. I didn't look back.

SOMETHING WOKE ME. A thump. I felt it and heard it.
It woke Gith too, stirring beside me. It was twelve-sixteen by
the bedside clock. We lay there in the dark, tense and listening.
Another thump. Huge, this time, right on the outside wall of
the bedroom. Gith made a little scared noise.

'Get dressed,' I said. 'Be quick.' And a thought. 'Leave the
light off.'

We were out of bed, feeling around for our clothes.
Suddenly there was a hammering on the front door and a
voice. 'Open up! Open up in the name of the law!'

I went out into the hallway. I could see a shadow out
there, against the glass. It didn't look like a cop. As I watched,
it seemed to double over. Somebody pissing themselves
laughing. Gith was there beside me, her eyes wide. You
bastards, I thought. I knew why they were there.

'They've come for that package,' I said.

A smash of breaking glass from the bedroom. Gith
screamed. Another voice, then, calling through the broken
window.

'McUrran! I want to talk to you.'

A voice I didn't know. The rifle was still in the living room.
I grabbed it and slammed the magazine in, flicked off the
safety. Gith was in the hallway, curled into a ball with her
arms around her head.

'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 stomach. 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.